Thanks

I've been trying to approach life with a spirit of gratitude this evening, not loss or lack. It's another weekend and I don't have any plans to meet with anybody, and I still don't know anybody in this whole town apart from people at work which doesn't count (this is in large part my own responsibility, I could have made some arrangements if I wanted to but I didn't want to). But instead of feeling abandoned and sorry for myself, I'm trying to open my eyes and appreciate the things that are here in my present.

Thank you for letting me get acquainted with the 25 year old in Sydney. Those were wonderful times and a great way to spend that limbo period between job interview and acceptance. It's okay that he's gone now. Thank you, whatever goddesses control these things, for bringing him to me for a while.

Thank you for introducing me to the guy at work. I know he won't stay here, I realize he probably has a new girlfriend already, or lots of them, and if not it won't be long until he does. He won't stay here, he's drawn to and bound for other things, but it's been nice to cross paths with him for this brief time.

I get the phrase "I'm empty" in my head, and it inspired a memory of the song "I'm Empty" by Rebecca's Empire, one of my favorite albums and in high rotation on my iPod always, but very few other people know it. Even Aussie people don't, the album came out a long time ago and isn't part of the ongoing musical vernacular. That realization inspired sadness that the song and album are in my past and I may never know anyone again who knows that song. But I try to adopt a spirit of gratitude - thank you for letting me know that song so well I can play it in my head. I'm grateful I have the song in my head, from my past.
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This inspires the musing of a last-woman-on-earth story. I am walking across a wet parking lot under grey skies, past the hulking mass of Macy's viewed across an empty-ish parking lot, while I muse on it. Last woman on earth. All the things you were going to do, all the songs in your head that only you remember and no one will hear again. Standing on a sandy shore with the empty skyscrapers behind you, all the remnants and evidence and structures of your past human community, but you're the only one now. But the grief never overtakes her (me) (you). It's the basement of the soul, a dark and empty space that is the foundation for everything else, but it stays down there.
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The 40's are about recognizing mortality and decline, and loss and regret, nostalgia and memory.