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Heidi Julavitis begins each entry in her memoir The Folded Clock with the word “Today” placing each entry directly into the present despite reflecting on the past from time to time. I have contemplated doing that with this blog IF I had the ability to update this in some sort of real-time.

Today I find myself sitting alone again at a coffee shop, this time in Lansing MI, rather than Grand Rapids (as I was yesterday). I am tired, I have to work tonight so I’m intending to make the most of my day today before going home and going to bed.

I used to spend all of my free time reading – I never allowed my self time for coffee shops and writing blogs, then December 2015 happened. I collapsed at work due to anemia and spent 3 days in the hospital receiving 4 blood transfusions and 1 iron transfusion. When I got home, my interest in reading just wasn’t there. I thought it was due to falling into a reading slump, but maybe it’s just the restlessness of having a broken heart.

There was a realization I had when I was in the hospital those few days – that I had absolutely no one in my life outside of my family that cared about me. That changed however when a new friend of mine – one that soon would become my best friend – stopped in at the hospital to see how I was doing and was there on the most critical day of my stay at the hospital, the day when I’d have to go through dozens of tests.

Somewhere along him and I declared our friendship would be ‘forever’ and somewhere along I began to question if I was capable of holding onto someone for that amount of time. The fates have their own prerogative and I am unsure if I’m capable of defying such a force.

Signs from above

There is a song playing, “just take my hand, hold on forever,” [Rob Thomas; Hold On Forever] – could that be one of those ‘signs’ presented to me by the cosmos? I mean, if I were to believe in signs like that, that is.

My love of reading has been supplanted by a desire to write, my contentedness for being alone – for loneliness has been supplanted by an idea that I need someone. Both of these supplantions (is that a word? It is now) I do not have the strength to fight, I know – I’ve tried and I’ve failed miserably.

What changed? I originally developed a strange theory about all of this. I thought that my interests had changed due to  the blood transfusions – that somehow the interests (and disinterests) of the donors had changed me. An idea that probably comes straight out of the 1800’s – if not earlier. The other idea was that perhaps the very real ‘near death experience’ I had is what influenced the abrupt change

Where ever my old passions went – I’d be happy to regain them, because it would be great to be happy again. I can’t find hope, I see reading as a waste of important time – time I could be using to find that special someone. Do they exist?

More later … probably.