Lonely in Visalia

Today was long, and like a fish out of water, it didn't have the  lightning rods of habit grounding me. Here I have only me, a television, and whomever I can call on the phone.

I called no one. My laptop is dead. Letterman just isn't that funny. And watching true blood is the last thing I want to do.

I miss her. There was no blog to read to give me a dose of harsh reality, and so I was left to read yesterday's emails. Yesterday. When she loved me. When she wrote of only a future with me, of crying to herself over the impending divorce, and of how I deserved so much more than she was giving me.

I believed her. It feels so strange to suddenly be so completely alone.

It feels strange to not be able to call her. To not fall asleep and dream about her.

Speaking of. Was that last night? No. Sunday night.

I dreamt that I killed my grandmother. I spent days and days in my dream worrying about hiding the body, of not getting caught, of covering my crime.

I woke up and still believed it was true. I was scared. But then I realized that it was a dream, and when I thought about it, it wasn't any of my actual grandmothers. It was an abstraction.

So I killed someone close to me and didn't want to admit it to the world? And that is a metaphor for...?

For her? For my broken heart? Our love? For something else?

I thought a lot about relationships today. About what I would want if not her.

Right now, she seems one of a kind. She seems like the one. I am sure that this will fade in time, but...

But what if it doesn't. She put me through hell, and still I miss her. What if I'd actually had her?

Wow. That would be really something.