This is one measure of how well I'm doing: the amount of time that passes after waking before I think about him. A few months ago, it was one and a half seconds. As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, that crushing weight came down on me and stabbed me in the chest. To mix my painful metaphors.
Now, I go about 45 minutes. I get up, feed the dog and cats, let them out, make coffee, check email, go get the paper... oh. There's his house. Wonder what he's doing.
Yes, living three doors away would not be my recommended strategy for getting over someone. But no one is moving, so you deal with it. I always knew this part would be hard. When I lie on my son's bed at night singing a lullabye, I can see his doorbell light through the darkness. Out my window when I shower, when I'm in the garden. Seeing the blue light from the TV. It's hard to avoid his house and therefore his presence, which stirs up my my memories and regrets.
I'm feeling happy and positive these days. Enjoying the simplicity of my life and the peace I've found. And I sing along with that Lucinda Williams song playing in my head:
"I guess one afternoon
You won't cross my mind
And I'll get over you
Over time."
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