We speed forward into the dark, none (but one?) knowing where we're going.  On our left are sharp whites and soft oranges; on the right just the whites.  I don't know what time it is but I'm tired.  I could let myself drift off to sleep but I know it won't be deep enough to satisfy.  Instead I stay awake staring into the dark.  Left and right, each side has its appeal.  The frequent anxiety is absent for now.  Maybe it's gone to sleep without me.  I feel unusually at ease.  I suppose it's because I can't be working even if I wanted to be.  The anxiety might only strike when I can work and choose not to.  My mother often says she feels relief when she has boarded an aeroplane - if you've forgotten to pack something it's too late so there's no point worrying.  I think I know that feeling now.  Of course it isn't as good as when I didn't have any worries.

I didn't appreciate that then.

Now this feeling is probably the closest I'll ever get to that again.  

I'm being morbid.  Of course I've felt carefree more recently.  That trip to Amsterdam, for example. I don't think the anxiety got through customs.  But it was waiting to greet me on my return.  Maybe that's why so many in my family have emigrated.  That's one thing the anxiety strikes for: I'm the only one left here.  I was too young to leave before the others did and now, sometimes, I feel I can't leave because I'm the only one.  Although, I'm not even sure if I'll be any use here when I'm really needed.  Will the others come back then?

I think I spend too much time looking left and right.  Maybe that's why the anxiety likes me.  I think too much.  I didn't always, even relatively recently.  There we were speeding forward.  It wasn't even dark so I could see where we were going.  Then, I don't know what happened.  The lights went out.  I don't know what I did.  At first I thought there was a crash but the car is still going.  

I'm just not in it.  

What did I do?  I need to know so that I don't do it again the next time I can see where I'm going.  I'm not even sure that'll happen.  Shit!  I've woken it up again just by thinking too much about it.  Must be a sign of madness that: worrying about worry.  It reminds me of that cliche: 'In love with the idea of being in love.'  Pretentious rubbish.  But maybe I don't really feel like this; rather, I feel like this about the idea of feeling like this.  And that's really something to feel like this about!

***

I don't want to be the kind of person who thinks this up!

***

To You (you know who you are),

I often wonder where I'd be now if we hadn't met.  I certainly don't think I'd still be here.  I expect I would have moved on, as planned, a year ago.  That year I wasted (happily) on you might have progressed, as expected, unobstructed.

Okay - so I wouldn't be here.  Would I be where I'm headed now?  Maybe not.  Maybe whole new opportunities would have been offered to me.  Well, I doubt it.  I won't hold it against you anyway.  You'd probably enjoy it if I did and you don't deserve that.  

It's not all bad.  What I ended up with.  We had fun of course but I'm not talking about that now.  I'm talking about now now.  Despite how it may seem from the above life is pretty good.  I certainly wouldn't have met the people now closest to me if it wasn't for you.  Actually I can't be sure.  I certainly have more in common with them than you do (now - I could say that about anyone with a conscience now!)  So it's possible we might have met without you.  [stop]  It's all speculation to stop me putting it simply -

I hate you!  but I don't anymore.   Now that I've put it down in writing I don't have to feel it anymore.  I don't have to think about us anymore.  

A friend told me that the opposite of love is not hate it's indifference.  
Now.  I don't care about you.