It is a quiet Tuesday night, and I am grateful for the calm.
I am actually contemplating getting to bed early--imagine that.
I am hoping for dream:  this is one of the days, still recurring now and then, that I miss Zalman so intensely it hurts.  It has something to do with the whiff of Spring in the air, with counting the Omer, with planting the nasturtium and the pansies in the pots on the front porch. (Hoping it doesn't snow again; here in Boulder, you never know.)
Memories are coming in waves.
I did so much in my life too early, often alone, intermitently adventurous---I may have actually convinced myself that I was capable of what I was doing, was mature, was independent.  
I was toughing it out because I had to.  
Now, I periodically feel that all the scaffolding is crumbling, that I am collapsing inward.  

I had grown accustomed to living my life in the same house with someone I loved deeply and intensely, accustomed to my antennae naturally checking the state of things around me, accustomed to dancing with what was needed.  I also retreated to this wonderful back room to read, to learn songs, to write; after my mother died, to paint.  
Now, I can (theoretically) do as much of that as I like.  But it is not balanced nor fueled by sharing everyday life with the man I love, which was such a great gift in my life.  
It is not as if I have nothing to do---there is still much to do.
But there is a geat hollow space in my heart.

Good night.