April 4

Dear Diary,

I miss him right now. That’s not accurate. I miss the idea of him. I miss the dream that he fed me not the reality that I was living. I miss the promise and possibility that I’d convinced myself was there. I know this because I can’t think of an example of a single thing that I actually miss. I don’t miss his touch, kiss, smell. I miss the idea of having someone I think. The silence here is deafening. I want to be anywhere and nowhere. I know I did the right thing. I made the right choice.

My daughter is recovering. They’re still not coming home. I also know that’s for the best. I guess maybe I’m just frustrated because it’s done but not over. I’m sure some of this if not all is even normal.

I don’t even know what to write about right now, Diary. I feel like I have mixer brain. (What I imagine would happen if I was a cartoon and put my brain in a mixer with a whisk attachment at high speed and then tried to think with it after.) Oh! I bought a ticket for a concert that’s coming in a couple of months. I like having that to look forward to. One day at a time with things to work toward and look forward to, right?

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