I’ve been learning lately. I’ve studied literary theory, literary viewpoint, character development, the construction of violent scenes in plots. I’ve learned more about racism, judgment, the marginalization of people, and about my uncomfortable feelings about all these topics. I’ve learned about yoga and my writing practice and how they are the same thing. I’ve discovered again how much I love my life and my purpose yet again.
I’m home alone now. Remus has gone off with his fishing buddies. I’m looking forward to some yummy meals when he gets home.
I’m enjoying my solitude. I like having my own routines and my purpose. When he’s home, my rhythms in life tend to be his rhythms. I eat when he eats. I go to bed when he does. I don’t always get up when he does, but I try to. I do all this because I cook for him. I love to do that. He loves that I do that and we get consistent nourishment for our relationship in addition to our meals.
His rhythms are good for me. I feel healthier physically. It’s what I need to do for myself, but I lack the self-discipline to do it. I get distracted. I stay awake too late reading or watching a movie. I get busy writing and work right through the lunch and dinner hours. Sometimes I realize at 7pm that I’ve not eaten or drank a blessed thing all day. My muse is quite engrossing. It consumes me sometimes.
I miss him. I miss the scent of his skin. I miss his smile. I miss his sharp, quick wit. I miss his hugs.
I love doing whatever I want without concern for what he wants to do though.
I miss him.