Tired

I just want to say that I've had enough of this widowhood shit and I want Jerry to come home.  Now.

Nothing like a quick blast-from-the-past-summer emotional wave to make me appreciate even more tomorrow's trip to Alabama.  Which is coming just in time.  I know this will pass, I know things are better than they were, I know they'll be better still in the future, I know, to quote Jennifer and Kristian, "It'll be all right again."  But I'm so tired of sadness.  I'm tired of land mines.  I'm tired of being lonely, I'm tired of being celibate for a year, I'm tired of not having someone to hold me, I'm tired of imagining someone holding me who isn't going to... someones both living and dead.  I'm tired of winter.  I'm tired of grey skies, of snow, of cold, of the car covered in road salt, of winter layers, of the woolen sweaters the moths are riddling with holes in my wardrobe.  I'm tired of coming closer to 50 and feeling old and worn out and, to use a phrase that popped into my head on the drive home, "past my sell date."  I'm tired of being in this house alone, full of reminders, full of so much stuff to go through and sort and figure out.  I'm tired of working so hard to live the semblance of a normal life, when I feel like a person apart, even more so than I already always did, a person so scarred and bizarre and different and crushed that no one is ever going to want to be that someone to hold me, ever.

And I hate it that Jerry Enright is dead.  I just hate it.