It’s not that I don’t want to write, but so much of my time, my thinking, is entangled with him these days.  I no longer feel comfortable telling you about our interactions.  It’s become a bit more serious and it’s not fair to him to share without his knowledge. But, without this sharing, I have nothing left to say.

Strip away our conversations, our dates, our exchange of ideas, and my musings on him and I am a ghostly, diaphanous creature these days.  That’s frightening.  Can I really lose myself so easily – and only after a few months? He called me a “pleaser” last week.  I bristle at that moniker.  To me, a “pleaser” subjugates their wants and needs for another.  On the contrary – I want to share my delight in the world’s pleasures equally, not one-sidedly. I want to please him – and be pleased in return.

Saturday night found me alone – and feeling LONELY.  What new horror is this?  I’ve spent hundreds of Saturdays alone without a second thought – and now the silence is deafening. I finally retreated to P’s house for some company.

Fear is creeping in again. How can he continue to like me if “I” no longer exist?  I’m trying to find myself – especially the part of me who writes here. I spent yesterday in the back garden, cleaning up the mess the winter has left behind – raking leaves, pulling weeds, cutting back dead plants.  Four and a half hours of this moving meditation.  Tonight, yoga – the greatest tool I know for reconnecting with myself, grounding myself – and hopefully once again finding my substance.