There’s nothing more miserable than waking up at 2:30am unable to fall back asleep. This has been happening almost every night for the past month. I woke up in the middle of crashing my parents car after I had to borrow theirs having already crashed my own. I’m not sure how Freud would interpret that dream but I think it falls under regression because I’ve started sleeping with my blanket from childhood again. I haven’t started sucking my thumb yet but I suppose this means I need to start wearing my retainer too.
Everything has moved backwards for me…and not the good kind of backwards when you suddenly remember you are actually 38 and not 39 (this happens). I’m having to start my life from scratch again and I don’t know where to begin, or if I even want to.
I felt extremely isolated and lonely last year and that’s what led to this blog. And now I’m back to writing again in the middle of the night because otherwise I’ll just lie awake letting my thoughts ricochet back and forth until the alarm finally breaks the cycle.
A solitary existence seems to be my calling, not necessarily what I want but what I get. I’m gradually being eliminated from social circles since many of my friends are his friends and gather at the same place, and now even the one person who promised to stick around and not give up on me has moved on too. And unfortunately this disrupts my only other social network. So I’m back to spending Friday and Saturday nights at home…and those were really the only things I had to look forward to for the past several months.
When Jason was alive we developed a weekend routine: dinner out Friday night, maybe a drink or two, then back to the house where we would watch something on Netflix and both fall asleep while playing with each other’s hair. We’d wake up on Saturday and efficiently get all of the dreaded items scratched off our to-do list and then find something fun to do, like attend a show at a music venue, get tickets to the annual film festival or at least start making plans for our upcoming vacation. Sunday morning always meant brunch and a Bloody Mary and then we’d sit around the house feeling icky because we were getting closer to Monday. But at least I had someone to feel icky with then.
This routine felt boring sometimes but I would do anything now to trade boring for this loneliness. There is nobody to accompany me to shows, nobody who wants to commit to a week-long film festival, nobody excitedly planning a vacation with me and nobody to have brunch with anymore. And there is really no point in doing any of these things alone.
“To get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with”