a few troubles

First Off, a few words concerning the title: kids are born not knowing that things continue to exist when they leave the field of the senses. Once they can no longer see, hear, smell, touch or taste you, you cease to exist. Eyeblink erasure. The idea that we are not born with this, that we learn it over time -that centuries of reproduction and evolution has not ingrained this in our universal unconscious- is a pretty strong argument for it being untrue. Maybe we really do disappear every time we exit someone's sphere of experience. Okay. Weird metaphysical shit complete. Time for Whinging.

If you're reading this, I assume we probably know each other. So I'm not going to catch you up and I'm not going to try to explain anything that already happened. My versions of events are all kinds of unreliable, anyway. On account of being the pictoscope recordings of my 12-year-old boy-brain processor.

So I'm having some trouble adjusting to a non-Liz world. (Oh, right into the moping, there). Like. I'm not technicolor distraught or wildly unfunctioning. Every here and there the loss part of it grips me and I reel about in it for a minute or two before recovering my composure and footing. But the hardest stuff is in the minutiae. I've not yet even begun to process how to rewrite my life plan now that it won't be intertwined with hers. I'm not even seeing the big-picture stuff yet. Just little things involving her in all my automatic processes. Or thoughts of her. Out shopping: "Oh, I wonder if Liz has this album?" Out to eat: "I bet Liz would like/hate this place." Seeing an interesting thing on the internet: "I have to tell Liz about that next time I talk to her." It's everywhere. In the way that your relationship colours everything that you do. Always on the lookout for cute things she would like. Presents to squirrel away for someday. Stuff like that. Thinking like a couple all the time. So I've been biting the tongue of my internal monologue for the last two days, trying not to make everything relatable to Liz. Which, of course, contradicts what I've been telling my brain for the last year and a half. It's rough. It's not shattering me the way I expected it to. I'm even feeling a little guilty about how functional I am, all-told. And of course an obscene splurge on comics and records in Philly yesterday didn't hurt either.

So I'm probably going to keep this blog and write in it until I feel well enough about all of this to become a sub-sane human being again, at which point this, like all my previous online writing forays, falls by the wayside and ebbs away into obscurity. But for now I need to be writing into the great beyond of the inter-nets again. God knows what compels me to do such a thing, especially airing all my personal business. What a nutter.