Sunday. It's overcast. Yesterday storms rolled through Indiana and it rained here briefly, a little lightning, but the red and yellow light bath as the sun was setting made up for any discomfort caused. Today I have to do some lesson planning for the oral English tutoring, type up some documents to make them official, and try and finish the reading for writing assessment. All so I can be in a good position tomorrow to dive head long into the reading for modern rhetoric, which approaches two hundred pages (at least) of not so easy to read writers like Bacon and Locke. I wish I could say that I was looking forward to it, or that I could feel anything other than dread while thinking about the rest of my labor day weekend / week. It's times like these that make we want to run away screaming from academia (of course this kind of workload and high standards is what makes the program such an excellent education). Plus my cat is getting sicker, starting to pee in inappropriate places, and I haven't fully recovered from my illnesses of the last three weeks. The beatings will continue until morale improves. The good news is that the plant that hangs in the window is doing well, the neighbors that live below seem to be moving out (along with their stereo), and none of my light bulbs have burnt out since July. May September go well.

But what I really wanted to write about today, other than making a list of my worries, is what I haven't been discussing, or until recently, admitting to myself; that despite everything that happened in the last six months, there is still a sizable space reserved for N (whoever that is) somewhere in my body. The question for me at the moment is if I can embrace some form of longing, or acknowledgment, while at the same time move forward. Or if the only way to quit is to go cold turkey. Which I've been trying to do: to repress/ignore the fact that I feel a severe shortage of "juju" / feel empty and sad, and that I should stoically "deal with it." Generally, this is the advice that I have received: it's time to move on, and I am in complete agreement. However in practice, I am not fully present here in the new semester, particularly when it comes to teaching. And when I sit in the mornings, or wander into my thoughts at the end of a day, all roads still lead to N. I think part of what I have been holding at bay is the fact that I still miss her, which stands in contrast next to the roller coaster of the last six months. The former I can make sense of, but the latter is still an open wound, and thus I  am in disagreement with myself about how I actually feel, which in turn, is a disagreement about what I actually want: to be angry, or to move forward.

Of course the right answer is to move forward, but I don't think that's entirely possible without more clarity. As a wise friend put it, "you don't need to forget about her, but it might be best to forget about the situation around her." Maybe so. The upshot of admitting failure, or that I am affected and uncertain, or that I was wrong, is that at least I don't have to pretend to be happy, or that I am the same person as I was six months ago. Thus, stretching toward one, non-political, version of freedom.