This morning I slept in. It was lovely and restful. I mostly slept through the night, which is rare. My dreams, though, were vivid and sometimes disturbing. I woke in pain, and as soon as I sat up tears began to fall. I was still too disoriented from deep sleep to be certain of any sort of cause, maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe pain is enough reason to weep, sometimes. The gulls call to each other outside the window as they fly by. Yesterday’s storms have passed. It’s a new day – another stormy looking day with heavy gray clouds on the horizon.

This whole trip to the coast has been a strange one. I’ve spent it in tremendous pain, which I mostly ignore, once I’ve done what I can. I came for solitude, and creative work, and emotional rest, and I guess it’s mostly met most of my needs, most of the time, sort of, but in a limited, inefficient, and dissatisfying way. My Traveling Partner reaches out to me regularly, once he’s up for the day. He’s bored and lonely without me. It’s a limited sort of solitude I’m finding here, spent in the text-based company of my partner on the other end of my 21st century digital leash. I love him, and don’t want him to feel alone or abandonned, so I answer every ping I hear, often so quickly it could be called “real-time communication”. I cherish his words, and I’m frustrated by my feeling of being… whatever the opposite of “lonely” is. Crowded? Is there is a word for this feeling the lovers of solitude feel when they can’t escape the consciousnesses and communications of others? I don’t think I know the word for it. “Impinged upon” seems needlessly cumbersome. Surely there is some more elegant beautifully precise term?

Why is it so difficult for me to keep some of my time for myself, to use as I wish, without interruption or the involvement of others? Is it an unreasonable desire? Why does it so often seem that whatever I plan, try as I might, the world behaves as though my consciousness, my attention, and my availability for this or that task simply doesn’t belong to me at all? I’ve said it out loud in therapy a hundred times, “it feels like everyone wants a piece of me, and there’s nothing left over for me”. I ache with the frustration, the struggle to find some real peace, alone with my thoughts. I struggle to set clear reasonable boundaries, and reinforce and respect them, without being a jerk about it. I remind myself that I am loved. Valued. Appreciated. That my effort and presence matter that much, that I’m hard to be without. All pretty good stuff as far as it goes…but sometimes I just want to be alone for awhile. Alone with my pain. Alone with my tears. Alone with my time. Alone with myself. Present for and with myself, only. It’s fucking hard to find or make that time.

This break isn’t “a vacation”. It’s intended to be a short period of recovery from the ceaseless demands on my time, my presence, and my effort. It’s intended to be a short time spent on my own needs, caring for myself, before I work myself into the ground caring for others. Caregiving is fucking hard. This particular break hasn’t been as helpful or as restful as I had hoped it would be, and at least right now, as I sit with my coffee, it feels a bit like wasted time. Perhaps drinking coffee through tears is not the best moment to assign value to an experience, though? I hear a grim bitter chuckle – my own voice – break the stillness of morning. I’m not in a very good mood right now, although there’s nothing actually “wrong”, besides just being in pain and being cranky over how hard it is to get some needs met in life. These aren’t even new challenges. Perhaps that’s why I’m so cross? I suppose I expect that after all these years of being who I am, I’d have figured this shit out more skillfully by now? Will there come a day when I find myself alone and regretting my solitary ways? (It seems possible, but not at all likely.)

Between headaches, and arthritis pain, pings from my partner and my awareness of his loneliness in my absence, this particular coastal adventure hasn’t been much “fun” – for any values of fun. It’s barely been restful, and even that only in a physical way. Fucking hell, I’ve got to figure this shit out. I feel like my sanity depends on it…

…I miss my Dear Friend. I’d share my vexation with her, and she’d share her perspective with me. She’d maybe make me laugh, or point back to something I said, myself, some time ago that still rings true even now. She’d share a cat story, or a recipe she remembers but can’t have anymore. She’d be there. I’d be here – and I’d feel heard and understood. She did as much to “raise me” as my Granny or my Mother, actually. Our friendship of almost 30 years is woven into the fabric of the woman I have become. In a sense, she’ll always be with me. I still manage to miss her. I miss her perspective and wisdom. I miss her understanding. Of all the human beings I’ve ever known, she seemed to understand my love of solitude more than any other. I miss that.

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts. The journey is the destination. The way out is through. Like a painting that hasn’t quite turned out, this particular weekend has been unsatisfying and feels incomplete. It has its own sort of beauty and worthiness, I suppose, but it feels unfinished and not quite right. Aphorisms and metaphors; I’m doing my best to care for the woman in the mirror. I feel like I’m letting her down. I sigh and watch the gulls beyond the window. I’ll finish this coffee, I guess, and begin again.