I am in the backyard on a beautiful Sunday evening, the crickets chirping, the fountain gurgling, the puppies lounging. I spent the day at my folks and just returned home. I am still beyond exhausted from the week in the mountains and am looking forward to bed.
I just finished the last of the Harry Potter books on CD yet again. As always, I am filled with sadness at once again being done. I wish they could simply go on forever, Harry and his friends’ lives growing old along side mine. Of course, there is more sadness in their departure this time. They were my comfort and companions after Chad left me. I, of course, had hopes that he would return to me before the seventh book came to completion. We all know how that has worked out. I am tempted, seriously, to start them all over once more. I know it’s overly dramatic, but I really don’t feel like I will every truly be happy again, like part of me will always be missing. I don’t remember ever feeling this way before. It scares me. I’m sure I won’t be able to stay true to this, but I am going to attempt, for the moment at least, to not blog about Chad, how I am hurting, and about how hard life is all the time. True, it’s cheap and needed therapy, but how many times can I ask the same questions, cry the same tears, and agonize over the same thing with no answers, relief, or resolution. I guess I have the resolution, huh—just not what I want, hope, pray for.
I am excited for tomorrow. I’ve never really gotten the point of Labor Day before, but wow do I this time. I am only going to allow myself to do one massage as well (maybe two). I am going to work out for the first time in two weeks and spend the afternoon at the coffee shop (maybe working on the short ghost story [it’s crazy how much I miss the coffee shop]) and then spend the evening with MM. I missed his birthday and owe him dinner.
Okay, already my fingers are attempting to take me the direction I said I would try not to go, so I am going to sign off for now and focus on nothing.