Full Moon Fever?

I’m back and I don’t really have much to say. Spain is fun and I behaved myself like a nun. No really, I did. I managed to leave the country without contracting any diseases or even trading American germs. How about that for self-control? I’m the master of the loveless night. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Since my return I’ve been trying to get my life back into some routine that doesn’t include pretending I’m a rock star. Slowly but surely it’s coming together. I’ve been a bit blue, but maybe that’s just because I’m back and there’s nothing too impressive on the horizon of fun. Either way, it’s not like me and I miss my happy self.

All weekend I couldn’t shake it. Was it the run-in I had with a friend? Was it realizing how different my life is from a year or two ago? I miss my dog. Some days I miss my old life. I forget the complacency that went with it, and so I continue to daydream about the past when things were simple. I forget the lonely nights sleeping next to someone who I dreaded would graze past me when he rolled over. I forget the tailgate parties I felt forced to go to. I even forget the feelings of having to beg for his forgiveness to people in public when he had completely embarrassed me.

My life is simple and relatively stable. There’s nothing I really want or need that I don’t have, except for getting over this feeling of loss. It haunted me all weekend. The thoughts of growing up with people who tried to keep me down flooded my mind. Saturday at the lake all I could think about was the family I started to create and then dissembled.

I know it will pass. I know it takes time. Why can’t you order that from Amazon?