Journal: 05/21/06

Today is the last working day before my day off and it is a warm, wet day as well. A spring storm moved in last night and everything is humid and uncomfortable. It is a slow day though and there is something to be said about low traffic coming through the door. At least I have plenty of time to myself to write these pages. I have worked seven days straight this week in order to realign my off days to Monday again. I like having my off time on a weekday as potentially I could use it to get things done when businesses are actually functioning, though I usually just hide out. Still, seven straight days is a bit overtaxing and I’m looking forward to sitting around doing not much tomorrow.

Talking To Joann

I’ve been talking to Joann again, not just in my mind, but aloud too. I noticed this behavior over the last couple of days and I’ve probably been doing this unconsciously for some time. What is different now, is that I’m doing it enough that I notice it. Luckily, I’m only discussing things with Joann at home, not in public where it might earn me a net and straightjacket.

I’m reasonably sure that I’ve been saying things to Joann all along, especially since her urn came home to lend her a presence. A couple of nights ago though I actually sat on the edge of her side of the bed and started talking to her urn. Just so my Constant Readers won’t become alarmed, it was a one-sided monologue and yes, I knew I was doing it. No need to speed-dial the loony bin.

I still miss her so much that the occasional informal tête-à-tête doesn’t seem out of line, at least not to me, though others may disagree. I’ve talked to myself most of my life, not because it’s a source of intelligent conversation, but because I solve problems by externalizing. Hearing myself analyze problems provides a certain amount of feedback for me. Talking to Joann is just another was of externalizing, an attempt to fill some small part of the giant hole that now exists within me. I don’t expect that to change any time soon.

I suppose that I try to recapture a bit of closeness to Joann that I miss. The act of talking to her seems to let me bring her into my life a little more. I’ve been in the habit of turning on her bedside lamp over her urn when I get home at night and haven’t thought anything of it. So long as I don’t hear her answering me, I’m not thinking of this as dangerous or risky behavior, merely extreme Maudlinism. After all, Bill talks to his car!