For the past two weeks, I’ve been lonely. Jeremy and I formulated our new plans, and changed our landscape, and all of it is for the best. Each of us will have new opportunities to do the things that we want to do, and yearn to do.

But I’m lonely. I’m used to having him around a lot of the time, and me being the one out of the house and on the go. I keep telling myself that all I need to do is allow myself to get used to this, that this is what I asked for.

But then, I find myself shambling aimlessly from room to room. Nothing getting done. No propulsion.

I find myself counting the hours until he’ll be home – where before, I found myself counting the minutes until I’d have a little alone time.

I know that this is just me, going through a transition. I know that we’ve assembled all the ingredients to give what we hope to achieve the best shot. And I’m grateful to have this opportunity.

The driven part of me is hollering there, in the back of my head, drill-instructor-style: “Make some lists! Get your butt in front of that computer! Put the pen in your hand, girl! You’re floundering – knock it off! Stop wandering around, moping. What the hell are you even doing?” I even listen to that voice, trying to motivate myself out of this funk.

I listen to that voice and sit on the couch and stare at the wall. Then I get up, put my butt in front of the computer, reach for the keys, and find – I’ve got no juice. Grrr.

I’m often really impatient with myself – at least three times more impatient than I am with anyone else. I normally don’t abide this kind of twaddling around from myself. I’m full of ideas, inspiration, and creativity – but where’s the follow through?

I’ve just gotta get used to being here by myself. It’s so strange, because of all the things I thought I’d have trouble with, this was not one of them.

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