Kiss Me And Smile For Me

I have fond memories of traveling with Jenny. The fondest memories, as I have written about before, involve traveling together.  Sitting at the airport this morning, her absence is acutely felt. I hate the enormity of the space that can't be filled. I am still in this place where I'd rather be alone for 10000 years than risk my heart.  I am alone. I miss her. I am lonely. But I am so damaged, I can't be anything but a burden to anyone. This is normal, I think, given the depth of loss. 

I am not wailing into the digital void, at least that truly isn't my intention. I am not crying out for solace or sympathy. However, no matter how much I lie to myself, it's more than a clinical observation. 

I miss the touch of a hand, the slight annoyance when we are seated at the gate and I am grumpy without enough coffee on board. I miss people watching, engaging in meaningless chit chat while we stare at the person pacing with the alligator skin neck pillow fully deployed.

I miss that feeling of comfort, when we sat side by side in the plastic chairs waiting to board, a metal arm dividing our bodies, our heads resting on each other's shoulders, our eyes half closed. The comfort of her presence relaxing me, pushing my always attendant anxiety down. I can almost feel the softness of her breathing on my chest as I write this, the soft brush of her hair against my cheek.

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Entry 2

Downtown Portland seems a lot more like the set for Van Helsing than the Rose City I remember. If you go into any coffee shop, of which they have many, they are filled with people whose pallor makes me wonder how long its been since they've seen the sun or if, perhaps, I've stumbled into a vampire den. The streets are largely devoid of people, except for the ever present yellow vested construction workers (whose constant standing around makes me want to make up a different name for them; construction shirkers?) and the stray homeless dude here and there riding a bike ( almost consistently white dudes with natty dreadlocks). I like it here. It feels like old Seattle with a sunlamp tan. 

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Entry 3. 3:32 p.m.

I am tired. I am at the airport, hours early. I thought I would change my flight time, which is 740 or so, but am not going to pay the change fee. Instead, I will charge my phone and shoot the shit with friends on the phone. I am exhausted. Dead tired. I feel like I just ran a marathon.

Holy shit, it's snowing in Reno. The alternate airport is Sacramento. Seriously. The only place shittier than Reno? Sacramento. There, I said it.

How did it go? Meh.  It was corporate. I had a nice lunch at Q. I got the Prix fixe lunch. A lovely salad, a tiny seafood fettuccine and a lime sorbet.

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