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Saturday, Jun 24, 2017 Last update: 04-28-17
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Sunday 3-08
Loss feels even greater on Sunday.

I have lost the interest of this man. I am clearly heartbroken. I wish he would tell me point blank what he didn’t like about me, though perhaps it’s better not. I’ll just have to deduce this, which is more than painful enough.

Fact. I have not heard from him in two and a half days and it is like shooting oneself in the stomach, an immolation, a needless task. Of course, I will remove myself from anyplace not wanted and “belong” where life gives me force. I shall pack up my feelings and relocate, letting cyberspace—the fun I have at the computer—along with its new contacts absorb some of my passion. I was, even from my point of view toward this man, way too forthright. Right or wrong, it didn’t match his needs. I am chastened, reduced in size. The world holds much more for me. I accept the rejection, we all have had to do that.

It is mid-March and the first days of Spring. I watch the nodes of nature burst mightily into the perfumed air. Many buds won’t open, their petals remain tightly bound and drop to the ground. The temperature, the air is too damp or they are planted in the wrong place or . . . . Let me not for a moment think: “If Only . . .” Let me get my ass up and move to the right place. Move Julie, move.

Later: you are hurting, aren’t you? Ah, yes, I am heavily distracted from whatever I am doing and notice that anything that will hurt, will hurt more on Sunday. The shoelaces to my soul have come undone. I’ve fallen between the cracks in this hammock of love. Hot tears soothe my cheeks, giving me all the compassion I’ll need to comfort another like me when the time comes. Sadness, how equalizing it is. Missing some one, or something ... in yourself. More tears, it’s Sunday. Oh, God, it is. [to be continued] ...

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