I only slept a couple of hours last night.  The amount of work I have to do is overwhelming.   I welcome the challenge of doing it, but one pays a price for working this hard.  I think I have a problem with work.  Some people turn to drugs or alcohol to smooth out life’s rough edges.  I turn to work.  I work far too much for my own good, and far too hard.  It is my bottle.  It is my needle, and after a couple of weeks of working at this pace, the wear and tear begins to show on my body and mind.   I need to slow down, but feel compelled to press forward.  When John is gone, I stumble out of bed and go straight to work.  Yesterday, I put in 14 hours.  It is typical that I work from 14-16 hours a day.

I did take a break yesterday to ride my bike downtown to meet an old friend I had not seen in many, years…decades, actually.  We were once very passionate about one another.  I recall feeling overwhelmed by it all and splitting, breaking his heart and making a real mess of things.  But that is what I do when I feel overwhelmed.  I bolt.  It is a real shortcoming with me, one that I need to work on.  I was pretty ruthless about it in my youth, but of late, I have learned to exercise temperance.

Anyway….as I was getting ready to go out yesterday, I found myself feeling…I don’t know…guilty?  I took a little too long, I think, to pick out my clothes….to do my hair and to think of things to say.  I wanted to be witty and clever.  I wanted to make an impression…but why?!  I am married…AND I love my husband!  Is this inappropriate?  No…’cause I called John up and had a long talk with him about it.  He assured me that it was a normal way to feel.  Ya gotta love that guy. ….  And when I got there, those feelings were all for naught.  It was downright silly of me.  I walked up behind him, spoke his name and he turned around.  Just one look was all it took.  We were both in laughter and tears as he picked me up in his big bear arms and twirled me around right there on the sidewalk, just as he used to do decades ago.  Nothing had changed other than our being older and wiser, I guess.  Everything fell right into place, as though the decades that had passed were only a day’s time.  We had the best visit, the best talk.  He and I used to sing together at small venues in the city, and we broke into our old routine spontaneously as we strolled through downtown Portland.

He is staying at my favorite hotel, one that John and I stayed in when we would come to Portland to visit.  I have so many good memories of this hotel.  The best one, I think, is when Fred and Delaine brought Itchybon and stayed just down the hallway from us.  They were so happy to be in Portland, and we had such fun showing them around.  We stood on the corner outside of the hotel and watched the Rose Parade.  Delaine almost cried when she saw the beautiful horses bedecked in fresh roses….and the llamas.  I remember she really loved those as well.  Anyway….

So he is staying there.  We went into the bar together.  I had a lemonade.  He had a beer.  Then I had half a beer…and we talked and talked and laughed, and then I went home and began work again.  I worked until very late, and did a little web surfing…reading…and found some info about Emily Dickinson that kept me up all night. She was such a mouse.

Ramble…ramble…ramble…I can’t even think straight, I’m so tired.