Just as we have experienced our long drought this past summer, and are still feeling the effects, my life seems to have become a drought of feeling, creativity, color. Words do not come to me any longer and my eyes don’t want to look. I am entering a season, I know. It is a season that I have weathered before. There are more lows than highs and it feels monochromatic. I am tired. I ache. If I cared enough, I would be heartsick. My marriage is all but finished for me and I don’t care to work on the dead hulk of it any longer. I am frustrated and tethered to a man who ignores the fact that I am ignoring him, who acts as though nothing is wrong and who refused to get help. I don’t want help any longer. I just want out, away, far away.
The only colors in my life are Michael and Samantha. And for now, they are color enough.