A morose morning

It is currently 3:33 AM on 9/9/2015. I wanted to do some writing about my friend’s wedding, which I officiated on Monday. However, every time I get started typing, it seems as though the words are coming from someone who is depressed and disillusioned with life.

That’s not how I want to write about my friend’s happiness. It makes me seem bitter, and I don’t feel that I am.

Jealous, however? Absolutely. I normally eschew the societal norms in regards to relationships. I don’t need another person to make me happy. I’m responsible for that myself. If I cannot be happy alone, I cannot be happy with someone else. This is the cornerstone of my view on relationships, and I feel it has served me well in life.

I flew in to Missouri so that I could perform my friend’s wedding, and that was spectacular. I took an extra four days so that I could see friends and family that I missed. People I love and adore, who I have felt apart from, even though we talk regularly. I was very excited about this.

I passed out after writing that sentence. It is now 8:51 AM and I am sitting here, feeling significantly less morose about my life. There was a palpable sense of loss around me last night as I realized I would be going back to Long Island soon. The entire month I spent there feels like a dream, and I am pretty torn up over having to go back. It feels almost as though this trip has been picking at a fresh wound that I thought was healed, but had really only scabbed over. (And not even a thick scab.)

But maybe I was just fragile from having not slept. Now that I’m awake, and the mist is surrounding the house, I feel like I can reasonably take on the day. And maybe I can write about the wedding without feeling sad.

Maybe.

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