I'm no prophet, I don't know nature's way.

Breadloaf's nickname could become my own, as I'm 90% complete with my application to this year's conference. I woke up inspired about how to write my "application essay". There's really only one question on the whole form that isn't name/address/what genre/etc., and it's completely open-ended. I just finished writing it, and now I will go take a mid-morning nap, or at least watch some television and let my brain rest so I can come back and revise it later. I'll mail it off later this afternoon after I drop Lowenstein off.

Speaking of, she's leaving town. Ireland, for a week. Yesterday afternoon after we got home from our friends' handfasting ceremony and she started her frenzied ritual of packing, I started to feel the familiar ache in my bones that always precedes getting sick (of the cold variety). We had no Wellness Formula in the house, but made plans to get some later on in the evening when running last minute errands. I don't doubt that my illness is/was just as much psychosomatic about her leaving town, as it's caused by making out with several people this weekend (who also had made out with several people this weekend). Then again, my dependence on Wellness Formula to save me might be psychosomatic as well, so they're a perfect match. So far this morning I'm doing better, or at least I've curbed it from manifesting temporarily.

My week of being alone seems to be full already. Mostly with writing and school. After this application is done I must keep working on a packet to mail out on Wednesday, plus a piece to submit to my online writing workshop for Thursday. I had anticipated my week of being single would be filled with numerous social engagements of both the friendly and debaucherous nature, but it appears to be shaping up as more of Raymond-in-the-Office-Several-Hours-a-Day type week. Which is good too, as I work and write better when I'm in the house alone. Maybe I'll just save up all my energy for a social weekend, starting with Thursday's trivial pursuit game.

I've had several other intense moments from the weekend, but feel I've processed them internally enough or with my partner that I don't want to write about them here. Well, I wouldn't write about them publicly anyway, but I just mean journaling in general seems redundant in this moment. But I know later I'll look back and read entries like this and either remember what else was going on and wonder why I seemed to be ignoring it, or I will have forgotten about these moments and will have nothing to remind me. So this is really just a paragraph to my future self saying: yeah, I know.

Crazy for feeling so lonely.

This is me, trying to write.

This is me, pretending I don't already miss Lowenstein even though it's only been four hours since I waved goodbye to her sitting on the stoop.

This is me, trying to write.

This is me, unsuccessfully ridding myself of a sickness gathering in my tonsils but also not feeling sick enough to sleep or go to bed. I'm only slightly achey, slightly sleepy. But not strong enough to lift weights, or put away laundry, or have sex with myself, or sit at the computer and write for three hours or more that my story requires.

This is me, trying to write.


* * * * * * *

I drove around in the evening, after mailing off the application, after running through a hailstorm, unable to complete most errands. The stores would either be closed or not have in stock exactly what I wanted. The good news is this saved me money. The bad news is now I'm shopping online.

More herbal supplements. More juice. Maybe I could go to bed after all, or at least hang out on the couch. Unfortunately, this activity will not help me get my schoolwork done.

The brightest spot of my evening was running into Jefftown at Transitions bookstore. I actually knew it was going to happen, in that psychic intuition way, though I was still pleased and excited to see him and make plans for finally hanging out. He gives good hugs and he smells good and a couple times since I've smelled him on my shirt.