The Edge of the Knife

Once more into the fray, aboard a tiny metal tube hurtling through the air toward Denver, trusting all the numbnuts in row 13 to be relatively COVID-free.

This is a last-minute parental visit before I head out to the land of rain and good bands forever. Alis volat propriis, the state motto of Oregon, is most fitting: “She flies with her own wings.”

Except in this case, of course, in which I’m borrowing the wings of Southwest Airlines.

I’m walking a fine line these days. I teeter on the edge of having all my ducks in a row on the one hand, and losing said ducks over the cliff on the other. There is so much to think about, so much to do, and I’m having to use my whole brain instead of sharing half with someone else, which made everything so much easier. You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone, which in this case is someone to share half the burden.

I didn’t make a mistake. I know that it all had to end, even after a 24-year investment. I’m not mourning the loss of the partnership, I’m mourning the death of what could have been, but never was. It’s a real kick in the crotch to think that I somehow didn’t deserve to spend my life with someone totally invested in me. I’m burying us. Though to be candid I don’t think I have time for mourning or burying right now.

It’s so easy to just stop doing stuff and start crying. Inertia is my enemy these days. Just keep going, one foot in front of the other. I can lose it once I’ve moved us all to our new home. I can weep into boxes while unpacking. I have a whole week once I get there to lose my shit before the new job starts up.

Deep breaths. Keep it together, lady.

I’m reading a book: “Buy Yourself the Fucking Lilies” by Tara Schuster, which is teaching me how to live. I keep putting off implementing the advice, though. Everything is in a holding pattern right now, circling the drain, waiting for the day when I can stop and take stock and learn to comfort myself.

“No time to stop and assess, can’t let it grind to a halt. Can’t stop and look at the mess, and then find out it’s my fault. Can’t stop for a single minute, I know hell, well, I’m living in it. I gotta jump through the hoops.” – The Mighty Mighty Bosstones

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