No Balance. No Flow

Day 405.

Unable to sleep still.

Exhausting myself till Friday brings me to my knees in exhausted sleep deprivation, to sleep for 15 hours and restart the cycle. 

The late night smoking is less comfortable once more as winter arrives. 

Inevitable season changes, but still I grieve.

George’s birthday, as last year, brought me to my feet in increased accomplishment from last year. 140 homemade Profiteroles delivered to set and 22 eclairs for his friends, dinner and late night bar-drinking.

Similar to last year, but progress in my ability to perform.

Each day is an essay that does not join to the next.

Staccato, with no common thread, no real flow to my life.

The torment of how to proceed. Stuck in the loop of PTSD - the shock.

- The news that Luke is dead. The disbelief. The confirmation that he is.

Boston is a surreal dream of unreliable memory.

The journeys, the hordes of people, now all gone. Round and round.

My love of George & my love of Luke, used to be one entity.

The loss of one and the overconcentration, the over-needing of George in Luke’s absence is disturbing. The balance is broken.

As if I love them both in one great act, unable to fathom or balance the new order. 

I did not love one more than the other.

I still don’t. 

But the grieving is so heavy that it tips the balance. 

A balance I must master.