Times like these

I'm sitting in my apartment and I feel alone
It's times like these I wish you were here
I'm looking at my options and none look good
It's times like these I wish you were here

I'm walking home in the pouring rain with no one to talk to.
It's times like these I wish you were here
My hand is empty, the ghost of a feeling is there.
It's times like these I wish it was yours

I'm writing a paper for my Spanish Literature class about Jorge Luis Borges. I was flickering through the different Spanish American authors and trying to find something I connect with. As I was reading through authors, I chose to focus on an Argentine (shocking, right?). As I read a summary of the works that Borges wrote, the first line of The Aleph stuck out to me. It started out with the narrator, Borges, trying to reconcile with the loss of his loved one, Beatriz. Immediately, I chose this story even though it primarily focuses on the scientific fiction aspect of the Aleph of all space being in one space.

Anyways, today I was reading some psychology books about mourning, the loss of a spouse, the difference between widows and widowers and the process of their mourning. Yesterday when I was reading similar things it didn't really have an effect. Today it did. Some days are good. Some, not so much. But what really got to me was the in-depth analysis that famous psychologists have done on the mourning process. Freud was just way too focused on... well, you know. But some others picked up and filled in the holes, like Bowlby. Anyways, as I was reading, I began to identify with random things that I was reading. I began to wonder where I was at in the mourning process. Was I in the process of a healthy mourning? No answers, but I did begin to feel the emptiness. The vacuum. The black hole. A part of me missing. That won't come back.

A pesar de todo, I'm not bad. I'm moving along. Work is fine. School is fine. I'm doing what I need to do. It's just hard trying to deal with everything at once. Anyways, the rant for today.