At lot has happened in the intervening months.
I fell in love with Siya, found her an apartment in my building, cooked her many meals and made love with her perhaps more often than she would have liked (if less often than I would have); worried about her eating habits, tried my best to encourage her in the face of bleak job-prospects and (sometimes) worried about the 15-year age-gap between us.
Our 6-month anniversary would have fallen last Wednesday - that is to say, 9 days ago. Instead, the Wednesday before that - October 23, 2002 - is that date Siya declared our relationship over.
She still loves me, she says; she says she misses me; she says she still wants to spend the rest of her life with me (but not yet). Meanwhile, she has taken up with a very nice young man (yes, I've met him, enjoyed his company), with whom she is, I suppose, feeding her wild oat. I can't say,
dear diary, that I look forward to the day I run into the two of them in the lobby.
Well dear diary, it's been a rough couple of weeks since then - about a week into the mourning period, I decided that 1 more week of drinking and smoking myself into at least a semblance of oblivion was all I would permit myself.
Life, after all, goes on and I don't intend to let the fact that 6 wonderful months are over destroy it. The fact that Siya was brave and honourable, that she never lied to me and that she ended things to my face, make it easier as well. There is sadness and disappointment to deal with, but very little in the way of anger or bitterness. After (I keep reminding myself, when self-pity *does* try to give way to something darker), I knew damned well when we first got involved, that there are a lot of dangerous differences between 37 year-old men and 22 year-old women - that she
might night to escape the confines of a Serious Relationship was certainly one of those risks.
To make my life even easier - ah ha ha ha - I decided that I would not only stop wallowing like some over-weight hippo in my own self-pity, but that I would also quit smoking after that first two weeks was up.
I smoked my last cigarette sometime around 1:00 in the morning of Thursday, November 7, 2002. In other words, I am now in my second day of quitting.
My eyes are constantly near tears, and my emotions are up-and-down with frightening frequency. I feel like one of those women who might legitimately plead temporary insanity if she comitted murder during PMS.
But, so far so good, I guess. I have used an herbal substitute (which has the happy side-effect of making music sound very good and making food taste even better) to help numb me at night, but during the day I have yet to scream at a customer or break into tears. I have yet to have a cigarette *and* I have definitely been thinking less about S and more about the cigarettes - which is probably a good thing.
Anyway dear diary, I will close my re-opened journal here with cautious optimism - I know from experience that, physically, I will be over the worst of the withdrawal within 3 or 4 days. If I can make it until my hockey game on Monday morning I have a really good shot at staying clean. I also know that there are other fish in the sea and that an awful lot of them are non-smokers.
The sun will indeed keep rising in the morning.