p00r timing

Every once in a while, I’ll have some crazy revelation about something that is too important to ignore.  Most of the time it has something to do with my career or my family or my friends; something of a relatively imperative nature.  Granted, I’ve rarely had instinctual revelations about my personal life, and people with direct influences on it.  That is until today.

In all fairness, I could and have been classified as a romantic.  At the same time, it’s usually rooted in more sensibility than idealism.  This time however, it’s not.  I can hardly believe it myself, as it’s just this feeling… this very strong feeling that I’ve finally come across someone that I’m meant to spend time with, see the world with, and just be with.  I can’t deny any of those things, because in truth, it’s mutually felt.  Supposing that the timing itself wasn’t as horrific as it is, then this would be a whole different story.  My stomach wouldn’t be in knots.  I wouldn’t worry myself with silly hopes; perhaps the worst of them being that I just hope they’re still around when I return next August.  In retrospect, a 40 week season is not a very long period of time at all.  No, no, it’s just over 280 days.  But at the same time, a lot can happen in simply a week as we all know.  It’s only human for change to occur, and I understand that change will occur during the next 40 weeks.  But this is what I can only hope for.  That this connection doesn’t fade.  If I were to speak bluntly, I could say that there’s this part of me that knows it won’t fade.  There’s nothing but this feeling to support why I know this, but I do.  The realist/cynic in me is the part that is making me hope, instead of just being confident that it won’t disappear.  But I know myself.  I know that when I have this sort of feeling… that it’s not fleeting.  That it actually means something.  It’s intuition you could say, but it’s more than that too.

I’m sorry for certain reasons to be leaving Maine in such a short time.  What I’ll miss, are things that I wouldn’t normally miss.  I’m going to miss wandering in the snow covered streets, the foggy mornings, my Sunday brunches, my cats, my friends, my dutch oven, my sad little bed, the shade that the elm trees make, the comfort of my home, my walk up Pine Street, conversations on the porch, my neighborhood dive, my support system, and honestly, I’ll miss this connection.  I don’t know what I can do while I’m away, besides work, and distract myself with my work and the beach, and the endless summer.  Give myself the prospect of a period of travel after the season.  And with reunions that I couldn’t be more happy to dream about.  I’m excited about my new home, my new job, and my friends to be made, but there’s this minute part of me that’s saying it’s just such poor timing.  And perhaps it is.  But if this is what I think it is– and I really, honestly, truly, feel that this is it, then it will be here when I return.  And maybe, just maybe, the timing will be better then.  If not, then what’s to say that waiting isn’t part of this process?


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