Aug. 28, 2010

Well, I had the nerve to say (within the last twelve hours, no less) that I was doing well; that things weren't so raw. That'll teach me. At 4:30 am, there was that familiar trickle of salt water into my ears and no sleep to be found as I watched my husband's new beacon of an alarm clock shuffle its digits. When I finally did enter the land of nod, it was one of those journeys where you wake up and fall again and again rejoining the same plotline. When I woke up, I had a sense of relief--- until, that is, I realized I was delusional. I can't really tell it like a story, but in one part I got up from my seat in the Cathedral and turning to put something on my chair, I could see Chris' shadow on the stone wall. There was no sense of the mystical, I believed he was really there in full flesh as it 'twere. I probably woke and slept again to get to this other part: he's not gone at all. He's sick. He's hiding. He's trying to spare me the grief of disconnection by disconnecting now. I will write him. I can write after all. I will be able to say everything in such a way that this problem will be solved. How convenient for me! Then I woke up. Then I really woke up.