So this is a new one. Usually exercise makes me feel good, and I’ve been getting on the treadmill several times a week. I’ve worked my way up to doing close to three miles in about 45 or 50 minutes, and it helps.
Today, though, I was on the treadmill and I looked up at the timer and it said 20:12. And then it said 20:13, and then 20:14; and suddenly those weren’t seconds being counted. They were years. Years Tony and I were supposed to spend together. Years he promised to spend with me, in sickness and in health. I was walking and panting and sobbing and I had to stop.
There are days I can wax philosophical about what I’m going through. This isn’t one of them. I had another blog post ready to go, but it will keep until tomorrow. Today I miss him too much to post about other things.
I wish he hadn’t done what he did. If only wishes could do the trick, he’d be here with me. He’d be in treatment and we’d be figuring things out together. But wishes are fairy tales, and reality, right now, is no fun at all.