Sunday, July 3, 2016
I'm so lonely. When I'm working, especially under the pressure of a tight deadline, I am distracted from that, but when I stop writing, I look around myself and I feel bereft. This has nothing to do with my family. There are here and they are lovely. But my husband goes out to work all week and is quite happy to be in his home come the weekend, and my children of course have their active lives filled with friends and plans, and I am an island unto myself. Today I feel as if everyone I know is out somewhere, doing something with other people, and there is no one to call. I know this isn't true, but I am feeling friendless. My husband has been to church and he came home and made a beautiful summer salad for us, with watermelon cubes and basil and mozzarella balls and spinach leaves and cherry tomatoes, all tossed and drizzled with balsamic. Now he is dozing in front of the history channel, and I have enough presence of mind to be grateful that the man I married thirty years ago next month is content in his home. But today I have this churning inside me. Other than taking a walk, which I will do after this, I have no imagination about what to do with myself. I could go all sorts of places, but I hate how I look, and therefore don't want to bring myself to those places. So pathetic. I think this is why I am a bit of a workaholic. It allows me to escape myself for a while. But only for a while. I'm lonely. I feel lost. Today, out of nowhere, I miss my mom. At moments like this, I could always call her and feel connected to something indestructible and true. Her love for me. Mine for her. Now the tears.