One day in December 2016

I am listening to Frank Sinatra's Christmas carol. It is an afternoon of one day in December. I am still alive. It is more than 4 years now since my wife died. I still come to work everyday. My life is on a standstill. It does not get better, nor getting worse. Or maybe it is getting worse because I am getting older and weaker every single day. Or it is getting better because the day I will meet my wife again is getting closer.

I rarely meet people. I still long for a touch of a woman. A woman who loves me and whom I love. A woman I can touch. My typical life style tells me that a chance to meet a woman like that is zero. Or what I have is just skin hunger. Anyway, I am easily tired and lose the will to try something different. I stay more and more time alone at home.

Compared to a couple of years ago, I got better at living alone. But this chornically drepressed feelings do not go away. There is still a flickering desire for having a normal life in which I can come home after a day's work and hug and kiss my wife. Things that will not come back to me as long as I am in this world.

Maybe the trick is to desensitize my heart. To forget about my situation and focussing on things that are not related to me. I don't know what kind of person I would become if I make it. At least, the most important thing is to forget, not to think, to sleep, not to come out of my den.

If only I could succeed in astral projection and see my wife again.