In the now-empty space that used to be filled with calm companionship and occasional passion, I am rewriting my life. It has not been very long, but I have little interest in, nor energy for, languishing. I have passed my doubts, if not my regrets; it is not moving on, per se. Just moving.


A morning run, now, two miles or so thus far in the park by my house (to replace, I suppose, the shot of endorphins previously supplied by the morning fuck.) Meditation. A lot of sitting on my front porch in the sun (for what good is Arizona if you can't sit on your front porch in the sun (in sandals and shirtsleeves, no less) in February?). Sitting on my front porch with coffee and eggs in the morning, then again with cheese and crackers and El Alquimista at lunchtime, then as I procrastinate on my paper right now. The porch faces south and it gets sun all day. A thorough housecleaning and lots of laundry on the line. Knitting. More art than I've done in months.


There is a grey-and-white cat who I think lives next door, and who likes to come poke her head through my doorway. She will take a few hesitant steps inside before spooking, usually, though sometimes I find her in the kitchen, mewling. I see myself now kind of like that cat. Exploring - a bit timid, perhaps, but exploring nonetheless. In some ways, it feels like a whole new life.