At the risk of obsessive blogging...

I just wanted to mention that I was a sobby weepy mess all morning. The kind of sobby weepy mess that collapses into tears (again!) when her boss asks the simple question, "how are you?"

Because Michael is a Knight in Shining Armor, he very lovingly took me out to lunch at the James Joyce Irish Pub where I enjoyed an opulent lunch of Guinness Beef Stew and had a Guinness on tap to go with it. The beer shrouded me with a kind of warmth. The conversation and Michael's compassion for me helped get me through the balance of my afternoon. The mildly flirtatious ministrations of our Irish waiter also helped.

The fog of my temporary shock did lift at about midnight last night. I slept little, badly. Pang after pang of the implications of the new developments in my life occurred to me every 5 minutes. I tossed and I turned with every new consideration.
I thought about wanting to lose myself in something or someone or some idea. I wished for that kind of consumption.

And I thought about poor Emily Dickinson and her unrequited love for Wadsworth, her mostly unpublished body of work. Emily, Girl. I feel you. I feel you.