I'm on the train, heading up to Milwaukee, queasy. I planned to work, to spend these two hours writing; usually I enjoy working on the train, with the trees whipping by the window, the fields of cabbages and corn. But something is making me queasy, and I can't concentrate on fiction, and so I write to you, my readers; it seems to be helping, somehow.
I'm wobbly these days. I miss Kevin something fierce -- not just because he's away but because we said some things, good things, I think, just before he left, and we had no time to confirm them, no time to let them soak in. I talked to him this morning, finally, for the first time since he left (not his fault -- phone difficulties), and while it was good to hear his voice, the conversation didn't give me the reassurance I wanted. He's not so good at saying things, especially on the phone. What we needed was to be alone together. I need his arms around me, his leg thrown over mine, holding me down, anchoring me. I feel light-headed, untethered. Maybe it's just the long workout at the gym, immediately followed by a train ride, popcorn and water to sustain me (actual dinner is coming, as soon as I get to Milwaukee).
I thought I knew what would make me happy, before he left. I was fairly certain. Now I'm wobbly again. Should I worry, if I want something different when I'm with him than when I'm alone? That's mostly a rhetorical question; while I wouldn't mind getting the answer from someone, I can't really believe anyone else has it. If there's an answer, it needs to come from me. And maybe him.