The new year has come around. I have not been around. I've thought about it some, but just not found myself with the impetus to show up here and write.
My life doesn't particularly interest me, and so I wonder what there is that could possibly be of any interest. Here.
I go from day to day, doing the things I do. Too many things to list. I love and I do still serve in most of the same ways I always have. But it is, I know, something I am doing. From within myself. Because it feels natural and right to me, to do it.
Except that -- I also know that it is expected. Because I have always done all of these things, I am still just expected to do them. Even as the partner I once had in the dance will not carry through on his part of the choreography. Resentment is ever near at hand. I work to catch it, and head it off. One more way I still do what I've done for a dozen years.
I veer from frightening and violent dreams to highly erotic dreaming. The somnolent torments seem endlessly creative. I am either horny or frightened, and whichever it is, I am still alone in the midst. Awake or dreaming, my life is a singular walk from moment to moment. I live my life in parallel with the one with whom I once shared every single bit of my being.
He seems happier these days. He works, weekly, with a young woman therapist, and I sense that the work they do together is somehow good. But I am only guessing. He does not share any of that with me. Our interactions are quite polite, and generally affectionate. They are simply not intimate anymore. He will never trust me that far.
I stay. I cannot imagine where else I would prefer to be. Alone? In the one room apartment that I might be able to rent? Near the school, so that I could get rid of my car and the attendant payment?
I will travel in March. Across the sea to a part of Europe I am excited to get to see. He claims that he will miss me terribly for the two weeks that I will be gone, and yet... While I am here, at his side... Nothing. He never reaches across the gulf that divides us. Sex and spanking happen sometimes. Not often. But even that is without fire. Who would ever have imagined that lovers could be so close and never actually touch?