It is six o’clock in the morning, and I’m listening to classical music on WFMT. I am alone. She is gone. Gone to Ohio for the most Christian of Christian holidays; Christmas.

There is no tree with lights on it nor silver balls, or hardened cookies from the fatherland. A lone Christmas cactus sits in the window with pink blooms on it. This is my symbol of hope. My symbol of renewal. I pray to Christ almighty it does not die.

I water it just enough every other week. Just enough for a drink to a plant that needs so little. Sometimes, I wish I was a Christmas cactus, blooming only twice a year. Requiring  no attention as I sit in the sun and grow. But, alas, I need much attention.  Despite my survival techniques of when I first came to this city, I need care. In fact, I scream out for it. I yell at the top of my soul. Feed me, clothe me, take me in, love me. I am unable to make it in this world on my own. Is this true? Yes and no. 

Like everyone else, I only want the good parts in life and partnership, while at the same time, I miss the suffering, which wasn’t really suffering at all.

And the question is, why wasn’t it really suffering? Answer, because I’m insane. A real loon. Even in my youth, I invited loneliness and melancholy. In and out of hospitals. Different medications. Lots of yelling out at society like a mad man.

Yes. Even back then, I wanted to be a cactus. Or dead. Something that didn’t feel. Does this make me unique? I hope not.

So I sit here at Christmas time alone. I am miserable but completely happy. Totally at peace. Disturbing thoughts enter my mind and fill my soul, yet I am pleased.

There is food in the refrigerator and drink to be had. Who needs Cleo’s love. She has left all and sundry for me while she is gone. I do not miss her.