Being the emotionally balanced, strong minded person I have always envisioned myself to be, I am blatantly going to deny any familiarity with separation anxiety.
Ivory, possibly planning a work trip without me after spending most of our time together for six months, will hold no bearing on this subject whatsoever and me bringing up the eerie resurgence of Coronavirus infections over and over again in the past days is just a corollary of my cautious stance on the matter, certainly no attempt to postpone or even reject the idea of leaving. Or is it?
Leading up to the tragic loss of my precious dog Baldr, dying of a nasty cancer when he was only eight years old, I had been just as unyielding about a possible replacement. Never, or if eventually, no more Golden retrievers, because they all look alike and there could only be one. Two days later, my draconian powers forced a friend to lend me the money for the Golden puppy whose online pictures I’d been engorging continuously. But that’s just fickleness, right?
My track record in this regard will improve significantly by pointing to the boy whose name will never be mentioned again because of his lack of noteworthiness. I knew our relationship was restricted and finite during all of the fourteen years it withstood, allowing him to quite literally bleed me dry well after my dare-devilish and feasibly overdue “Enough, already!”, strengthened by me reconstructing us a new house, bigger and better than any one before that, solidly too big for our then budget. But that’s just commitment, right?
So, I might be man enough to concur there’s a tiny issue here, but it is solely linked to my past behavior and holds no attribute to my current character, imbued as I nowadays am with the given that the forces of nature are eternally brought together into union by love but separated through strife.
The spirit of the pear tree traditionally invites us to see that true unity is a continual process of joining and separating. Clearly this is why I started preserving its fruit yesterday, some in dark red wine, some in rosé with homegrown saffron and hoping a stocked up storage might lure Ivory into staying is simply an afterthought.
