Am I Crazy?

It's been nearly a year since I last saw my ex-boyfriend Todd; nearly six months since I last spoke to him (and he pissed me off). But I still think of him everyday, which does two things for me: #1, certifies to me that I really did love him or at least the idea of him and #2: makes me feel lonely or crazy.

So am I lonely? Sure, I haven't met anyone I've connected with in a while, and I haven't had a second date situation since Berger. That's a long time for me. But my life is filled with work and new friends, so I can't complain too much.

But am I crazy? Not coping, not normal? That's what I can't decide. Did I just love Todd that much, or am I just holding on to a memory because I've got nothing else to replace it?

I always sympathized with the characters in novels that had to step back for days, months, years before getting back into life. But this is the first time I've ever sporadically cried about someone for just LOSING someone (with my other two major exes, there was other things: I just didn't love them as much as they loved me, and they were staying in the Midwest). But now that I AM one of those characters, I have to wonder how long this will last.

My good date from last week never called to schedule another one; I was a little surprised, but not truly upset. Am I damaged goods now, or just not capable of starting something with a little emotion and stability?

Since I moved to NYC, I've gained a lot of experience, friends, and although this is totally cliche-personal growth. But I've lost so many things - a ton of friends, a connection to the physicalness of my family and a certain level of confidence that no matter what, everything will be alright. Don't get me wrong---I still, and always will, have faith---but it's a lot more faith-based than evidenciary right now. And I think that's affecting me and how people see me.

So as usual, I'll be contemplating my life as I board the plane to Wisconsin and when I stare into the fire at night camping. How much easier this would all be if Todd was beside me again, giving me a plan and faith in love. It's so much heavier of a burden to carry yourself. But I must keep my perspective: he wasn't ready to love me, so even if he tried his best (something I have to believe) our relationship would have failed anyway.

And, also as usual, I'll take comfort in my Ipod and my mom's breakfast bar with coffee and cigarettes and the routine of her life. Get up around 6 or 7, work until 11, watch Y & R, eat toast, go back to work. Maybe when I partake in my aunt Wendy's sweat lodge I'll have a magical vision that will show me what to do. Maybe I'll meet the love of my life.

Maybe I'll come back just as confused, but having spent a week in love with my home, my past and my friends. (And getting drunk).

I really shouldn't get this melancholy in the morning.