It has been nearly three months since Joanne and her brood up and left for New Zealand. Youngest pines for Joanne at various times, particularly when he fears he will be left with someone while his mother goes to the doctor or into the city for a meeting or to the nearest Rubio's to meet a former colleague (AKA friend) for lunch. Daughter pines for her BFF at the drop of a hat. When there is exciting news. When there is sad news. When there is no news. She often complains of the unfairness of it all.
I do not publicly declare my pining for Joanne, although her absence is acutely felt at various times. We keep "in touch" by reading each other's blog and emailing back and forth. I have not yet forgotten her cell phone or home number. I will even admit to having actually dialed her cell phone once, hearing her snarky admission that she never listens to her messages so don't bother leaving one.
I am not alone in this life. I have Pete. I have the kids. I have far-flung correspondents around the U.S. There are even two or three people whom I am still call "friends" who continue to work at the hellhole known as The San Francisco Chronicle. There are more with that nomenclature who have fled the paper.
I am a solitary soul by nature. I have always been content to be alone. I've never really experienced that thing called "loneliness." [I discount, of course, those times following a break-up of the heart, when it it painful to be alone.]
I am lonely now, though. I miss Joanne specifically. It is not that there are not other people out there with whom I can share my time. This is not a relationships ad seeking friendship. This is a post about a former solitary soul pining after the bitch that got away. And this post ends now.