And so I am back.

Back to writing here and my brain can focus on nothing else. Technically, I am to be with my Max right now. Instead, I have slept twelve hours. I know I need to get back on a decent medication schedule. I keep skipping my evening dose because I am so involved in my work. When I work, I am a machine. I tell myself I will take a break and yet I never do. This is my approach to things that require my devotion…a constant melody played over and over and written and rewritten like a palimpsest on the parchment of my mind. I am tired.

It has been some time since I talked here. Some time since it seemed like there needed to be a blog. Now…I realize it's been over a month and while I am not vain enough to believe the daily goings on in my life are of interest to all, I know a few friends wonder what I have been up to.

July went out like a candle. I made the decision, tenatively, to return to school. It's a matter of choosing where and what program best suits me. Like shopping, only without the instant gratification of seeing what something looks like on you. I am not interested in July. This is about August.

On the first, my dearest friend,A,arrived for a week long visit. Ahead of time, I had asked N, my fiance, for something of a hall pass with A, because I did not want to find myself in a situation where I might well consider being unfaithful because on some level…I feel that N and I do not work…at least not in the long-term. He granted it without much thought. Responsibility becomes less of a factor in my life that week. We talk…about all sorts of things, but a great deal about my OCD. We visit the art museum, the holocaust museum, another museum, a cemetery, bookstores…we watch films. We go out to dinner. We shop, because it's what I do and I take great pleasure in dressing A and doing his hair. We fall into a sort of domestic routine–I fold his clothes. I cannot stand the way he does it. I organize his room. He finds my girlish behavior rather amusing. And do I take advantage of my hall pass? Yes…to a certain extent…I do. I also decide to live OCD-free and I make a vow. A vow I know A will hold me to. It begins with a tension in my heart and uncertainty that I can carry it out. He sits with me through some of those moments–holding my hand. I have a plaque from one museum trip that resounds with me. "Whether you think you can or think you can't…you are right." It sits beside my bed now. I am now locked into this vow until October 1st, and it is freeing. I am confronted with triggers left and right and do not give in because to give in means losing A for a very long time. I am not naive enough to believe he will keep his side of it -forever-, but I know how stubborn he is and that he would uphold his bargain for perhaps six months…perhaps a year…perhaps longer. Too long. Toward the end of the week I talk with N. He has heard some vague rumblings of thunder and is not pleased. I leave him for the millionth time in five years. He does not give chase as he usually does, though we trade awkward texts. This suits me for I am too busy looking to when A leaves. The parting is unhappy. My life is made better, and yet…every hour I miss him. I attend a concert and leave early.

The aftermath of his visit is peaceful and chaotic all at once. I throw myself into projects for school that I know are necessary and I begin to skew my schedule. I am sad that he is not here. N keeps his distance and I focus on myself. B. I miss B. That is difficult to articulate because B is very dear to me and his life has taken a detour. He is on my mind often. It is strange…not talking to him. We talked briefly and I was aware at howimmense the absence of him is. That is for another day, though.

Like the machine that I can be–I work myself until I can work no more. It is ridiculous and I -do- compromise to slow things down some, but I have too much to do in too little time and I cannot detract from the immediate goals that must be met. I would say I feel fairly confident in my projects. A and I talk daily, though we are both experiencing…a sort of exhaustion, I suppose. I miss him and he misses me. Life is complicated. Last night we spoke of the hall pass as I picked his brain about what to do with N. He says if I had asked -him- for a hall pass he would have been insulted, though he has given them in his marriage. I ask why I am different from his spouse? I just am, he answers. I am his. I understand this logic, because I feel the same way. I love his spouse as a dear friend, but there are times when I have such anger there over lack of appreciation that I have to bite my tongue. A does not like N. And whenever I speak of N, I feel as though I am cheating. N and I had, until last night, continued on in awkward halting speech. Last night, though…he called me.

He is depressed. I know it. I know it because I know him. Before he says it…I know. Do I miss him? Yes. Not the way I miss A or B. N was there for me when Teddy died. He has tried to be a better fiance. I cannot ignore that. He gets home from work and we talk. He wants to know if I cheated…and I am surprised to hear that word from his mouth. I have to consider it carefully, because he and I have very flexible definitions of that. I remind him of the hall pass. He knows it. I say I do not know. He asks what I did. I tell him unabashedly every detail because I do not consider it cheating for a multitude of reasons. He agrees with me that it was not cheating, though turns tables on me and asks if -he- had done the same if I would be jealous or upset. -I- would not have given the hall pass, I think, in the first place. I respond, though. Yes. I would be jealous. I would leave him. It makes no sense because for him to do what -I- did sounds…almost silly. I am far more possessive, though, when I care. Part of me thinks I should not care–I was not at all surprised or bothered by his indiscretion with a female friend of his before we got back together last time. Rather, I was a bit intrigued. Angry? Maybe a little. Because he doesn't think of the consequences…not because of the act itself.The consequences to his life. Not mine. We talk about our relationship. A and I are almost always candid with one another–to the point where he knows my emotions and can discern when I have lied about feeling happy instead of content. This bothers him and though it usually occurs by accident, I am quick to correct myself. N and I are candid to a point. I have told him before I have feelings for A. For others. I told him last night I did not think we would make it in the long run. He said every time we come together we make progress. This is undeniable. I ask him if we are okay…as friends. I do not want to lose him from my life. He assures me we are and tells me the only reason he didn't chase me was because he was depressed. That he should have. I did not think so, because I did not leave him simply because I was mad at him. He usually doesn't accept my break-ups. Sometimes it is endearing…sometimes very frustrating. I know he wants me back. These are things I discussed with A. And I know A wants me happy, however…I also know what A does not say. The jealousy. The same jealousy I feel. N and I share laughter. Closeness. Other things that are not cheating because I am technically a free woman. On some level, I feel we have restored our friendship. The future? I do not know. I ask him why we always connect so well sexually and so poorly in other areas. He does not know. A and I connect in those other areas to the point I feel like a wife, though I know it is not so. The month is exhausting.

I see my shrink. My other doctor. I am told I'm doing wonderfully. I suppose I am. I go on with my life without ritualizing over my OCD. Today, though, I am so tired. I realize my skew in my medicine schedule may be responsible. I have to fix it because I know I am not taking care of myself and A would not be pleased with that. By not taking off my make-up last night before bed, I get the distinct sense that A would suggest I am not doing an adequate job looking after myself. He is right. He encouraged me to buy Fifty Shades of Grey…a book I promised myself I would not purchase because I loathe reading what everyone else is reading and because…I have been there. I thought I was over that phase, even though I know it isn't a phase. I'm very comfortable discussing what I like. Fifty Shades of Grey now sits on my bedstand and I suppose…it is still something I love to an extent. It is what it is. I blush, though, that I actually bought it when I had dabbled half a lifetime ago in such concepts. It's an interesting diversion from my work, though.

Max starts classes again soon. I progress from one text to another in preparation of test after test. I prepare a manuscript for publication–something I take surprisingly little delight in. Today, I'm…pensive. I have no desire to engage in anything complex. Talk? Yes. Sleep? Yes. Television? Perhaps. Work? No. I got no work done last night, either. Of course, my plan to not work tonight may well derail. It usually does. I want quiet. I want peace. I want to shake the sensation in my head that signifies that I am slightly deficient in my medication and at risk of hitting a speedbump. I cannot afford one. I have to adjust that. Take care of myself. I have to drink some liquids and stay hydrated. I have to eat more than ninety calories. Today is a turn it around day. I lack the motivation, though. Or the drive. Whatever it is that sets me relentlessly to work on other things. My book would disagree that it's motivation…because technically, I've a million motivations…intrinsic and extrinsic. I suppose I'm lacking a word to describe why I do not feel like working on myself beyond keeping my vow. At any rate, I have to try. A will know if I don't and then I am bound to get a lecture. I'm trying to figure out how I went from a high of singing yesterday to so serious today. I don't suppose it matters. It's just about walking back. And walking more when I feel exhausted. I think that iseverything. Ciao for now.