Friday, December 5, 2008


I've tried to get you out of my head but I can't seem to get you out of my flesh. I think about your body day and night. When I try to read it's you I'm reading. When I sit down to eat it's you I'm eating. When he touches me I think about you. I'm a middle-aged happily married woman and all I can see is your face. What have you done to me?
-Jeanette Winterson,Written on the Body

I've quoted this bit of Jeanette Winterson here before, I'm sure. A friend of mine sent it to me at the time when I was between marriages, running amok between and among possible lives. I identified with that single-minded obsession she describes, and I'd forgotten how it felt until lately.

I am thoroughly besotted with my husband. I'm exhausted in this lackadaisical, satiated way. All I want to do is be near him.

He's a mess, but he's a self-aware, present, loving mess, and he's doing the best he can, which is more than I ever expected. I've missed him. We were separated for almost a month before his hospitalization, and before the separation, he'd not been present in this way for a long time. I think it's been since August, really, that I've seen this side of him. That's a lot of months.

I'm going on with my life against my will. I want to stop everything and pay attention to my husband only. I want to stay home in bed with him and rub his back and kiss his face and tell him he's going to be ok.

I want to enjoy him, while he's here, without letting down my guard too much, without worrying about the future. I'm having a hard time letting myself fully wake up to these pleasant, present moments because the past and the future are so scary.

He's been to three meetings in three days. It's a big deal. He's sometimes crazy, but when he says things that are hurtful or when he's hyper-sensitive in that maddening addict way, he calls himself on it. He's trying to take clean up the messes he's made, slowly but surely. It's all good stuff, and it scares me, and it fills me with hope.

Best of all, though, is he is mine. He's a mess and he's my mess. We sleep all wrapped together like vines. I wish there was nothing else to do in the world. I wish that vines would come up out of the ground and grow over us, fold us into the ground.