I spent a couple of weeks in New York last October. I stayed with my best friend and her husband - they had moved there a few months before. The last couple of weeks in September had been particularly harrowing for me. In the midst of writing a very-big-deal paper, an old flatmate of mine, a fiery, spirited, brave, funny, intelligent, driven, beautiful girl whom I have an enormous amount of respect and love for, died. I received the news whilst at my dad's house, some five hours drive from my home. I had basically run away from my home with my children for a few days, in a desperate attempt to gain some clarity on an intensely emotional situation between my now ex-husband and myself. We were separated, but... ah - I'll save it for another blog. It will be too long-winded, when I simply want to serve it as an introduction to this: The first day I was in New York I bought a moleskin notebook from a fantastic bookshop in Nolita (or was it Soho?). This was my first entry.

"Monday 12th October 2009

I am sitting in Central Park. The leaves are beginning to change colour and fall. I have only walked in the entrance and sat down, am waiting for Mae, so have no sense yet of the park. This is my first full day in New York. I arrived about 4pm yesterday - it is such a long flight. Shower, champagne, dinner and pinot noir at Mae and David's, more pinot noir at union square, then bed. Woke up about 4am feeling alive after deep, deep, deep sleep. Went to use the gym at 5am, woke whole unit doing so, only to discover gym not available til 7am. I sent a few emails, then climbed back into bed. Such a soft, white, snuggle-down bed, I just lay there, lights off, doing nothing but thinking and crying. Crying for so much. crying for what I miss. Missing him being next to me at that moment, missing his skin, missing his smell, missing his touch, missing that place on his arm where I laid my head, missing his arms around me. Crying because I feel invisible, because I largely like being invisible, and feeling like I woke the house, I am a pain, an inconvenience to have in the house, I should have stayed in bed, I am such a no-hoper for not just staying in my own apartment, wishing I could have my own place so I wouldn't be such an inconvenience. I could be invisible. I felt like staying in that bed for the whole two weeks, I wondered how I would ever get out, how I was in New York and would not be able to get out of bed. I forced myself out at 7am to go to the gym, which was a great decision. I need to do that everyday, I think I will use the gym at 7am every day I am here. I need to grieve, i need to be sad,"

It is very strange re-reading it - I do clearly remember the motions and emotions, but, in the retelling, it is as if I am watching from the doorway, and am not the person lying on that bed, experiencing such raw, almost primitive or base, pain, sadness. As I keep blogging, no doubt bits and pieces of happenings between then and now will come out, and it will become apparent that he has made it much easier for me to reconcile myself with the end of our relationship than the above excerpt suggests!