One of the few unpleasant parts about this corner of the desert, is the Windy Season. So much wind. Trash cans tipped over, dust in your eyes, a haze throughout the city. And the worst part -- the migraine that precedes the wind: a "what did I DO to cause this!?" sort of headache, a low-grade nausea and dizziness, a deep rooted bodily unease that indicates, something is wrong. It waxes and wanes, for days. It's beastly, honestly.
One of the perils of the ongoing migraine state, is the fact that Feelings are so much closer to the surface. (So much harder to rationalize and to self-contain and to move Vulcan-like through the world with migraine.) It's important for me to be aware that I might be accosted somewhat unexpectedly by Large Feelings at any given moment. It's been happening. And it's been difficult.
Yesterday, while distracting myself by scrolling through my phone in order to power through a migraine surge, the Google timeline reminded me that six years ago, I'd made a trip to a northern part of the desert. The timeline showed the hotel I'd stayed at, the nature park where I'd taken a walk, the restaurants I'd visited, even the rest areas where I'd momentarily stopped along the way between here and there. It was immediately clear what I was doing that weekend: I had been visiting Cherished Friend.
It was hard, in that moment, to stifle the Feelings.
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I so miss proximity to my Cherished Friend.
I would give my eye teeth right now to be closer: to be able to go for a walk, to run errands, to play Scrabble; to do the small things; to find relief in just being in his presence, which is always a comfort to me. And the fact that I cannot do so is a miniature grief which piggybacks on the larger griefs that walk with me every day, and its little voice joins the chorus of sadness that fills my ears when the headache fills my brain.
I hope every day, that Oceanside is treating him well, and that he has people there with whom he can spend time enjoyably. I am just sad for myself, that I cannot be one of those people on a regular basis.
Most of all, I hope that he is finding contentment and the path to his own peace. I wish for that, always.
Every now and then, the thought crosses through my brain that I should worry he will one day forget about me or he will no longer be interested in maintaining a friendship over the miles and the years. Why imagine such terrible things, though? If a day comes when he no longer has time or brain space for me, I would hope it is because he has found his happiness -- and how delighted would I be for him, to have that?
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