Feeling invisible has its perks when writing nonsense. No one will see it.
This is the Friday of Labor Day weekend, the last weekend of summer, the prelude to the new fall school semester, classes, season changing, it all begins with Labor Day. But to me it is just a reminder of summer times as a child, perhaps as imagined as anything else. I imagine that it was wonderful to be at the beach house, to be able to walk around the island in the early evening with parents and Grandma Lou, sometimes with friends like the Swavelys or Kreimendahls, a feeling of belonging, safety, adventure, pure bliss.
Now I am 67, single almost my entire life, alone, overweight, sugar addict, not completely able to trust my healthy body after a bout with breast cancer, Mom not even recognizing us anymore, forgetting she had children, living in a world we can’t touch. And Leslie died at 60 just a few months ago. She left without even saying goodbye. There was time to pick up the phone or send a final email. It feels as if what I felt was a lifelong deep friendship was just an illusion.
Like life itself. I have waited a lifetime to feel useful, to understand some valuable reason about why I should be alone, childless, seemingly wandering, wandering aimlessly. Today a friend even joined me for lunch on a pier out over the ocean, but I felt even more hopeless. She has done what is necessary to stay healthy, to become fit and attractive even at 71, giving up her beloved wine, keeping her sights on the positive, the possible.
I did not want to continue to yammer on negatively. And yet, I feel defeated. Maybe there will be more hope tomorrow?