Writing is a habit. Writing takes time and dedication. Writing daily is a commitment one makes to oneself.
At this moment, I am thinking about; 1. Going to the farmer's market in town, 2. going to listen to live music in another town.
The day is gray and I am unmotivated. Gray days aren't my favorite. I like rainy days. But not gray ones.
I met my once at a local restaurant last night. It was planned. He asked, in an email, if we could meet. I had written, "Let me know if I can help with the taxes." He wrote back, "It would really help me, I think, if I could see you." When I walked in the place, the first person I saw was my therapist. Awkward. I can't express what I thought about at that moment. I questioned the sanity of my decision to do this. I wondered how I could explain and what she would be thinking about until we met on Monday. Then I accepted that there was nothing I could do or say so I would let whatever happened happen. But it turned out fine. She came up to order something while we were standing there. I introduced him to her and said that I wasn't sure why we were here but that she and I would have something to talk about on Monday at our scheduled meeting. Funny.
When we sat down, the conversation was pleasant. The kids, the dogs, current events, etc. Then he asked if I liked my new place. Then he talked about that he was thinking about what his next move was. He said he couldn't stay in the big house. I told him what I thought would be a good idea for housing for him. I began to get sad, thinking about broken dreams and broken hearts. I teared up several times talking about missing all the people in my life who I lost, just last year. He talked about taking a legal action about our separation. That he felt like that would be the way for him to move forward. No one said the "D" word. He asked if I knew how to transfer the kid's student loans from my name to his name. I mentioned how I didn't want to leave him without health insurance. Of course, nothing was resolved. But it was progress. Progress toward what?
We talked to an old acquaintance who has a ranch in the desert, near a big river about six hours drive from here. He offered his house anytime. He said it didn't just belong to him. It belongs to everyone. He isn't there all the time. He offered it as a respite; a creative, meditative retreat. This offer, this generosity, I am so tempted. I want the three ladies walking to take a road trip. A long road trip. To the desert in the spring.
