I cried, as usual. I tried to be quiet, but the spouse came out and hugged me and we cried together while we sat in the living room. After that I had my shower and walked to a bakery to have breakfast with a friend. After I came back, the spouse and I walked to a bagel shop so he could have lunch. I was not hungry. The yellow dog was with us, and so we had to sit outside. From there we walked to the park, until the yellow dog was exhausted. We came back home, and had beers, almonds and olives in the garden, followed by a very long nap during which I dreamed of cute little girls.
Later we went to the library and a coffee shop, where I tried very hard to read a book I was not really interested in. I pulled out a magazine but that did not work either. That's when I noticed the bugs on the window. They were very tiny, and there were four or three. They kept butting against the glass, then falling to the window sill, then climbing the glass again or trying once more to fly through it.
There were a couple dead bugs on the window sill. Apparently, they just keep going until they die of exhaustion.
The sad part is, I felt a little like those bugs. I keep butting my head against the glass, though it's obvious by now that I cannot go through. And throughout the whole process I am accumulating as many bruises and getting as exasperated like those bugs.
Now that's where the analogy stops. I'm not going to be a dead bug on the windowsill. The problem is, what happens now? Where do I go from here?