Escape

I am getting so tired, and it certainly is not because I have been barely sleeping. Somehow, I seem like I am frail, weak. Tired is certainly not the worst part, then. I am sick of this. All the arguing, suffering, demand. I truly hate the way my family always seems to be arguing... maybe it's something in the atmosphere? My house, I suppose, always had this gloom about it. It is hard to feel at home here. Very hard. Perhaps it is the very reason I fall asleep better at the gym, on it's cold, hard, stone floors. The cold there seems warmer than most nights in my bed. 

I hear the arguments building up right now. Right next door to my room. I want to mute it, make it go away, but I can't. It seems that I don't really care anymore. It doesn't touch me as it should, as it did the beginning. All the pressure, to be a family. To be close. It is probably the reason why it fails. Instead of waiting for us to be genuine about it, closeness is forced upon us, and it takes the opposite direction. At least I know that I long for my own time, my space.

I didn't sleep yesterday. I couldn't. I was reading. The story seemed more interesting than my life at the moment, a life I would like to live, someday. I have always been a dreamer. I looked up at the alarm clock on the nightstand, counting as the hours passed, wondering when it'd be okay to wake up. I did not feel tired. Not tonight. I furiously flipped through the pages, wanting to know more, and yet afraid of the end. I knew it was approaching with every chapter that I eagerly read through, but I didn't stop myself. I couldn't. Then it was the end. 

It was now nine in the morning, and I still was not tired. I got up, stretched a little. My bed usually makes my back hurt. Headed to the kitchen, then mum and dad where there. I tried to sound gleeful. I thought I'd failed, but they bought it. I was eager to talk to someone about the book, and I took the misstep of telling them what I'd been up to. Bad move. The scolding came, from dad, obviously, as always. He glared and said I was obsessed with that book. That is not true at all. Im obsessed with escaping the boring reality that surrounds me when Tim is away. 

Tim, I knew all to well, would probably laugh it off, but feel kind of like that. Like he did yesterday when he came back from his run, and found I was still awake when I answered his lovely little note in skype with a call. He always worried about me too much. Maybe I gave him reason to. When we are away, I am often not my cheerful, silly, bubbly self. I tend to be glum and depressed, crying easily. Crying a lot. Easy. 

It is amazing to think that only a few days ago, I was sobbing against his chest, shaking and scared. Another departure. Why did I always have to be the one that left, the one that had to get on that stupid plane? I decided, I hate airports. Unless I am on my way to seeing him again. Then they're my favourite place in the world. 

But it is impossible to stalk from memory that before I was sobbing helplessly, trying to get a last glimpse at his lovely face waving me farewell, I was genuinely happy. All those days I've recently spent in Dekalb could not have gone by faster, but it seemes like longer than it actually had been, we were getting so much stuff done. 

Unlike the other times we were together, this time I did not cry everyday weeks before I left with anticipation of the pain that would certainly be in my heart. "I may be getting used at leaving" I told him, one day, my face dry, still. "It's because you know this is the last time you have to leave" he replied to me, tentatively. I gave in to his sweet little smile and pecked him on the lips, as we lay on the couch in my hotel room. It was a moment I did not want to let go of.

Now, I am waiting. Waiting for my real life to begin again. Sure, I love training. More than most things I have ever done, but I don't love it more than I love him. So, seventy three days doesn't seem like long, to most, but it feels like an eternity to me right now. All that I really have to look forward to these couple of months before he gets here is training, training and training. The gym always seems to numb any pain I feel - is it because it saved my live, or because of the people there that know me better than most, I don't know - but I can only stay there so long, and surely enough, as I hear that song, that I stubbornly keep in my ipod  - maybe I am masochistic? - the tears will stream down my face.

But I know, I hope, that when we are finally truly together, forever, things will fall into place. I will feel better, whole. I will fulfill my purpose. In 73 days?