the night is alive

I am at home alone for the second night in a row and I don't like it. I don't want to be at home alone. Instead of being in the place I'd rather be, I'm sitting at my desk with the computer in my lap and my front door open. It's warm enough out, which is a surprise, really, because it hasn't seemed like a warm day, even though it was. And it's raining. Which I imagined would cool the air down dramatically. Instead, it just feels humid and the humidity feels familiar, which is comforting.

It's also busy out. A busy Saturday night. Cars are back and forth and I can hear loud voices on the block, now people somewhere nearby are singing happy-birthday. It's sweet. It makes me forget, for the moment, that things with SK aren't going well, that I'm sad, that I hope each passing car might be her and that I know it won't be her. The sound of other people's happiness lifts me up a little.

Tomorrow I will try and go to Shambhala. I haven't been in weeks. Hopefully my Times will come. I will piece together some happiness for myself out of little things. Meditation, the Sunday paper, coffee, a good book, my journal. One foot in front of the other until something feels natural again.