So many things need to be decided. I wish you were here to help me.

I need answers to questions I never dreamed I’d ask. You’d figure it all out if you were here. You’d make the calls if you were here. 

If you were here…

I’m not sure if it’s the global pandemic causing the headache, or maybe this is just what I’d deal with on a regular Thursday after my world collapsed, but it’s near impossible to get anyone to answer my calls. If someone does answer, as soon as I begin explaining my reason for calling and my situation, my throat closes up and I start to cry. This is not conducive to being clearly understood and getting my questions answered. I’ve made so many calls and I still don’t have the answers I need. It’s only 9:00 a.m., and I’ve already cried twice. This is my new reality.

The pity from the faceless, anonymous voice is crushing. And yet, if the voice doesn’t acknowledge the horribleness of it all, that’s crushing, too. Simply making phone calls is crushing. This is my new reality.

I’m not very good at navigating this foreign landscape. I just want to run home to you! The terrain here is strange; the language here is alien. It’s all wrong without you. I have no idea what I’m doing here or how I got here.

Frustration. Defeat. Repeat.

Oh God, I hate this new reality.

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