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Saturday, June 18, 2011

I want to go home.

My best friend has invited me to her birthday party tonight and I will be going. I have no reason not to, and I want to go, but it is strange to not be thinking of Arthur and of how long I can be away, to be arranging respite or just saying no to my friend's invitation. I have no reason not to go and no reason to rush back. I will not be ringing to make contact with Arthur and let him know I will be late or when he will see me coming in the door.

The guilt, the trade-off of the pleasure of an outing and knowing Arthur wants me with him all the time, the loneliness that I know he will feel until I get back, is gone. I have no reason not to go out and now I do not want to. I want to be home with Arthur, I want to go out and come back to him. I do not want to come back to emptiness.

Today I called in to collect a bottle of wine from the house, to take to the party. As usual, as soon as I went in I started talking to Arthur. I broke down in tears, the first real deep weeping. I told him I just wanted to come home. Please let me come home. I just want to come home to Arthur. Please let me come home to Arthur, I want to take care of him, to keep him warm in the cold winter, to make him soup, change his pads, make him comfortable on his pillows, to buy seafood for him; to be his wife.

I just want to go home.  

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