I’m usually quite busy.  I like it that way.  But I’m starting to wonder if I’m masking some sort of lacking with what I fill my life with.  When I’m out with my friends/urban family I feel complete, happy; laughter bubbles up.  A lot. 

It’s when I find myself alone I can’t help but feel like something is missing.  When I wake up alone on weekends I start my day with a feeling of lacking, of incompleteness, of a twinge of sadness.  I pull myself out of bed, make some coffee and start my day.  I put these wheels in motion in an affect to push this unwelcome feeling away.

And so I keep busy, and in this busyness the harsh light of reality doesn’t seem to shine so brightly.

I don’t know what’s missing (although I do think of one particular thing straight away) and so I’m not sure how to make this nagging feeling abate.  It’s not overwhelming or claustrophobic, but I certainly don’t like it’s constant reminder.  

So, tonight – I’ll sleep with the hall light on.  I’ll leave the light on as a promise of hope that I’m not alone tonight.





(this is what comes out when i’m melancholic, I find it completely ironic in light of my last post.  my apologies.)