I think I've probably told a few people in my life that I'm worried about them over the years. It was certainly true. But it's jarring to hear those words spoken about you.
Am I not alright? Relatively speaking, of course.
I'm eating bitter dark chocolate to shrink my grandiose prostate. I got a flu shot a few weeks ago and learned that my blood pressure was the same as it was when I was 18. I wear a mask in public. I'm going to vote this morning against that infectious disease in Washington. I'm paying some attention to my health and well being and maintaining some connection to and engagement in the world.
What probably isn't healthy is this hangover. It has nothing to do with alcohol. It has everything to do with allowing myself to go to the place I went yesterday morning - beside a sleeping somebody who may or may not still exist as I remember her and who moved on from me quite decisively years ago. Going there is easy - just relax, remember and glide. I glide through memory, the sound and feel of wind, trying to find a very particular feeling again. I get so close to it sometimes but eventually have to descend. A long gradual downward slope. When I touch down, when the earth is firmly under my feet, I have no idea where I am. It takes time to get my bearings, to identify the time zone and the language spoken. Then I start walking all the way back to the present, feeling parched and hollow, where nothing is waiting when I arrive.
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