Chop Wood, Carry Water

That is what I have been doing the last few days.
My relationship of almost six years with a wonderful man has come to a quiet close.
It seems we are quite good friends for one another, but we both agreed that things were vaguely dissatisfying, and so it is.
I went to see him at his new place last night. It is a wonderful big townhouse on the edge of downtown, with a bedroom easily the size of my living room and dining room. His bed is in the middle. The rest of the rooms are devoid of furniture for the moment.

I have been living in this house, the house we shared for almost 5 years, now, alone.
The lawn is mowed, the linen closet cleaned out, the floors mopped, the laundry folded. The bed is made, the photos are hung, the tub is clean, there is fish marinating in the fridge. I have done my books, read some, studied some, enjoyed some prosecco in the evenings with the birds chirping all around me. Cooper and I have walked, I have ridden my bicycle, I have been to the gym, and this morning my chiropractor friend kindly put my bones back where they belong.

I have worried hard about the sorry situations some people I love are mired inside of. I have awakened each morning with a knot in my belly and somehow each morning I have also been able to return to sleep. I may have eaten some cheesy poufs in that bed at night.

Each day unfolds before me slowly right now; eating is a chore, I don't much want to answer the phone, it is hard to concentrate on studying or reading. Tom Waits is playing continuously, his gravelly voice the perfect company for me as I hang pictures, check my email, dust the baseboards.

Life is long, and it is too warm outside, and I am so very sad and quiet.