This overcast August day, it feels like early fall. I’ve been taking a break in my backyard. Behind the toolshed, it looks very Northwest, with Doug fir and here a baby cedar.
I’ve been relatively quiet lately. It’s been a hard time, a time of reorganization, separating things out as my ex-partner moves on. We’re still friendly, even in a way still partners. He’s still my emergency contact. And yet, as lovers we’re done.
It had been over for a while, the relationship, really.
Toward the turn of the year, I started feeling bored. We’d been fighting a lot, but I kept hanging in there. And then part of me said, I’m done.
It’s rarely me who ends a relationship, although we all know that the first one out wins. Perhaps there’s a small thrill of victory.
I’m sad, though.
I’m waiting for my publisher to get comments back to me, from her initial structural-edit pass on book two. (Next pass is line-editing.) She does a great job, and I look forward … oh, who am I kidding? I look forward to her finding no problems whatsoever. But I hardly expect that.
In the meantime, I’m living life, and ignoring an essay I’m supposed to write. I had to go look at my astrology for the past couple of days, though, because what I’ve done is this: