I would say I’m starting my day in a fog, but that’s not quite the word. We can feel the Autumn early in the morning. There’s no color change yet with the trees. There is a bit of a draft at my ankles as I sit and write.
I feel an overwhelming loneliness almost every waking minute and I think everything I do during my waking hours is done with the intention of keeping that loneliness at bay.
I feel shame for my sexual desires, yet those desires are for nothing more than a sexual dimension to my marriage.
As I write, my wife sleeps. She sleeps a lot.
Another day in this Hell.