It might be a temporary break. It might be permanent.

This probably won’t come as any surprise to you, considering, um, the trials (I just wrote “trails,” but yes, those, too) we’ve been through up until this point.

I need to be careful about what I say here. Not only do I fear hurting his feelings — but his friends and house mate read this blog, too.

He has asked me not to write about some of the deep, emotional conflicts. So, I won’t. Or, I’ll try not to anyway.

The biggest reason we’re not working (for me) is: the distance. I’ve always known that I’m not very good at long distance relationships. In fact, I’m horrible at them. He’s lives an hour and a half away. No biggie, if I were single. But you add the “mom” part, and you get the picture. I’ve never been to his home, I’ve never met his friends. I’ve never seen where he sleeps.

As I lay there last week, feeling the depths of the UTI — followed by the kidney infection — it only proved how far away he lives. I was quite vulnerable — okay, I was downright distressed — and he wasn’t here. He was working, he was busy. My life stared me straight in the face again: you can put this whole thing behind you and get on with your life, your little girl needs you, YOU need you. May this be a lesson in taking care of yourself when the storm hits and takes down all the trees.

I got attached. The deal about attachment is that when you detach, you need to deal with the sadness and disappointment that comes along with it. Know what I mean?

I told one of my girlfriends I’m afraid to try again with the Biologist. I’m not blaming him, but wouldn’t you feel a little scared to go back?

“He already led you into poison oak,” my girlfriend joked. “And now your urinary tract, followed by your kidneys. What’s next? Gangrene in your legs?”