So, I am at the gym the other day struggling with some weight machine and listening to my ipod to drown out the crap music the gym plays. The view from my arm tenderizer machine it essentially straight into one end of the pool. There is a glass wall with some frosted lines, but you can see one end of it clearly from my seat. So I’m just doing my thing, looking at nothing really but directing my general gaze into the pool area. Someone within my view climbs out of the pool with their back to me, and I see they have the very same surgery scar that JM had. Suddenly I can see his scar so clearly, every part of the surrounding skin and, just, everything. I totally lose it in the gym. Good times. Fortunately I had a workout towel and could mash my face into it until this bullshit subsided.
Something like this happens about every other day. Mostly it surprises me in very public places, which is always very convenient. But I realize I have not dealt with much the last 9 months except external goals and/or follies. And it is affecting other things in my life. I know – I am a little slow on the uptake, but that is what happens when you are trying not to pay attention. So here it is, all out on the table. Here is my catharsis:
More than one person has asked me lately what is up with me, whats with the anxiety and the self doubt and the stress over things that one probably shouldn’t be stressing about. Those who knew JM should know that this is something that happens -I come off like a desperate, wishy-washy, clingy emotional rollercoaster, but the truth is, it is pretty standard.
And then there are those who have no idea what I am talking about.
It was to my surprise I learned that people who know me, and maybe kept up a bit with my racing, or this blog, still don’t know my situation. It’s true, I don’t think I have spelled it out here. I know that this may sound like, well, a lie, but this is not my personal journal (I do it for you, Internet). I wrongly assumed my references would generate enough crayon marks to connect the dots and come up with a picture. But someone asked today, after reading through this blog, if I split up with my husband. This is the last conclusion I want drawn, for many reasons, one being that I mention his name so he isn’t forgotten. Vanity would have me say it’s not my style to pine over someone who dumped me (publicly anyway, ’cause I can pine like a soap star). So I think I need to spell it out for those who don’t know, and for myself, and for him. The word out here is viuda. Soy viuda.
And I miss him like crazy.