Nothing to do but write, with an injured knee

I was going to work out this evening after a 2-week sedentary carbohydrate bender. Unfortunately, I went to a foot doctor this morning, who helped me stretch my calf muscles and by the end of today, my knee was in so much pain that I couldn’t work out. I went and tried to jump rope, despite the pain and the fact that I had to sit on the platform at Davis Square Station because I actually could not walk at all for a few minutes. Damn titlted patella. It’s an old football injury, figuratively speaking.

When jumping rope proved impossible, I moved over to the weights thinking I could at least get in some strength training, but alas, even pushups engage the knee to some extent. Sigh. I came home. And I ate stuff. There’s always tomorrow.

I haven’t written in so long. I stopped taking Zoloft about a month ago because I am currently involved in a psychological study in which a different anti-depressant is being tested. I had to get the Z out of my system before beginning the study (which is fascinating, by the way). After getting through the withdrawals, I made a slow decline into depression. I would wake up and cry and I would cry before bed.

I’m going to cry about losing Chris for the rest of my life. It’s okay. He deserves my love. I’m beginning to worry that I’ll never open up my doors to another man, again. I want to. I suppose that man will have to be special enough to allow me fall apart until I settle in with him.

My Chris. Sometimes the grief just isn’t better or easier or lighter or anything. Sometimes my grief seems as though it’s in the past. I don’t control it, though. I just roll with it.

In my mind, Chris was so perfect for me in every way that I can’t imagine somebody else could also be perfect for me in other every ways.

I miss him.

I got angry last night and threw away my road atlases from the trunk of my car. They were Chris’. He insisted on having them. He loved maps and swore by them. He got me to a place where I actually used them from time to time instead of pulling into a gas station to ask for directions. Last night, I was mad at him for leaving and I threw them away...I suppose I threw him away. I’m still angry and I’m glad I did it.