I love the phrase butthurt. It brings me joy. I, however, do not love it when my actual butt hurts. Which it does. Ow. Given that once upon a time I documented gross levels of details about my poop here I feel like this is not a TMI level of disclosure in this space. It hurts having hemorrhoids cut off.

My kids are the light of my life. They are who I have to look to as I move forward. I’m getting awesome help from friends in taking care of them (I feel very lucky). I keep wondering how I am going to be able to pay forward this help in the future. Luckily more stuff will keep on happening whether I like it or not.

I am doing both a good job on resting and also feeling like I could stand to do a bit more. So there is that. I’m trying. I have not had the brain to go through email in over a week. This is suboptimal because I have stuff that needs done. I have tax paperwork to manage and legal stuff and travel stuff that needs sorted. Thinking coherently is beyond me.

I miss Noah all day and all night long. I reach for him over and over. I burst into tears several times a day every day. This is terribly painful.

I’m finding dating complicated as a widow. I don’t have the ‘my ex sucks’ attitude that most people have. I don’t have the life experience that there is no point to giving your all to a relationship. I don’t have the view that I should refrain from commitment because no one will stay. I mean, he didn’t stay but he didn’t want to leave. I have a different kind of terror. Mine is rooted in the weakness of the flesh.

As a hypersexual person I’ve had nightmares about someone dying during sex for most of my life. Noah and I weren’t having sex but we were lying together intimately. I was mostly asleep cuddled on his chest. I am freaked out by cuddling. I want comfort but I’m also afraid of more death. I’m afraid of being close to another person and failing to save their life. This haunts me wildly.

I go back and forth between being upset with myself for dating someone semi-seriously so soon and hoping that Noah wouldn’t be upset with me. I hadn’t intended to find someone as nice as I have.

Phew. Is it time to be more honest with y’all? It’s a scary thought. I’ve been pretty closeted since I moved here. I’ve met 13 men this year. I didn’t sleep with all of them. Most of them have been fine but not partners I will keep. That was what I expected. I expected the quickly coming and going and not being compatible with folks. I expected to be told that I am too much trouble and no one will bother for me. Instead he is pretty nice about the ways I’m weird and he listens and asks questions and remembers the answers. Sometimes he is confused about why I am telling him things.

Because I am a difficult person to be with. You have to accept an unusual amount of unpredictability and wildness. Because if I don’t tell you early on I feel like a liar and a deceiver and someone who should be abandoned when you find out the truth.

I should try to sleep again. Sleeping is hard.