My world still feels very, very small

It shrank to the size of a marble between March 2003 and August 2004, and the only thing in it that mattered was making the March 9, 2003 version of the Toxic Jock reappear -- the one who was so charming and charismatic and attentive and told me through his every word and his every action that I was the most incredible woman he had ever met. How the fuck do feelings that strong just evaporate overnight? That's why it took me a year and a half to get over it, because that is beyond my realm of comprehension.

And I AM over it, have been for almost a year now, but the aftereffects remain. I no longer shy away from the people and things I lost interest in during that time, but it still takes effort to get out there. And the financial hole I dug myself into by neglecting those obligations? Six words: Would you like an extra scoop?

Physically I have reconnected with the world, but emotionally and intellectually, I still feel disconnected to some degree. It's like smoking at AA meetings; recovering drunks smoke like chimneys because they're replacing one addiction with another. My mission in life (pathetic though it was) is gone, and I have yet to totally re-embrace many of my old passions, which brought me so much joy before this all started.

I have a block of time all to myself this weekend (8 p.m. Friday to 4 p.m. Sunday) and am wondering if I can do something with it to recharge those dead batteries. Drive to the shore and play in the waves? Buy a big stack of newspapers and get back in touch with what's going on in the world? Or just sit out on the deck with a pencil and paper journal, stare at the river and write my ass off?

If my next entry is dated Monday, the answer will be one of the above. If it's dated any earlier, it will probably be NOTA.