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velocity and refraction
all the many facets of the same sinner lead to just one core
interfaces and adaptations
the spaces between truth and perception sustain his entropy
awareness and self-reflection
darkness, pain, pause, humility
the passage of time is the only certainty that remains

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It felt good to be home. It didn't feel bad to be away, but the two are not on a measurable parallel. My big 'ole list of things I need to do was refreshed as I walked through my dark, quiet house last night for the first time in 4 days. I sorted the stack of bills and unnecessary junk mail from the mailbox and contemplated pouring myself a drink or making dinner. I could say I was too tired for both, but for the first time recently, that wouldn't not be accurate. I just didn't care. I've learned that I have to keep breathing despite it's apparent pointlessness. I find moments of happiness mostly in others, but ever so rarely alone. Hope. Time provides perspective that can't be obtained when so close to the wound. I have to focus just before me, never too far ahead, else I'm overwhelmed with confusion about everything and how it all fits. Events in the past and potential in the future... what could have been, what may be... it all is too much for me to handle. I never had this problem before and I suppose it's like professional driver that takes one into the wall or a gymnast that takes a bad fall with anxiety for getting back into their profession with the same drive and confidence. Fear. My anxiety is life. It doesn't so much effect me physically as it does emotionally. I have a great emptiness within me that was once brimmed and overflowing. I get lost in that space if left to my own devices. I cried myself to sleep last night with little Henry all curled up next to me... trying his best spoon. I slept well with the exception of awakening to a playtime request around 1:30. I simply whispered, "Not right now Henry. Daddy is trying to sleep." He sighed and crawled under the covers again. I think he was back asleep before me. The next stop was daylight through my window. If it were not for the low hum of my new dehumidifier trickling in from the other room, you could hear a pin drop in my house. A perfect morning would have been fresh ground coffee to sip, a tender kiss and loving touch, the caress of a cool breeze on the patio while watching the family of woodpeckers pass through for breakfast as daylight stretched across the top of the piney forest and covered the sky with nothing ahead but good things in life. My morning was a rushed shower, uncomfortable clothes, sad eyes that would rather plea for my attention than eat the breakfast poured into their bowls on the cold tile floor, and Monday morning conference calls in an unattractive and dank office where the only spot of humanity to be found is in the few small remnants of her touch. It is almost too much to bear even now. Wednesday is our anniversary.