Last night I was reading an old novella by Theodore Sturgeon. In it, one of the characters realizes that he is faced with two imperatives which are mutually exclusive. It immediately occurred to me that I'm in a similar situation. Two wholly self-made imperatives control my life: the requirement I feel to stay with my wife until she no longer knows who I am, my name, or anything about the life we had together, and the basic built-in desire to self-actuaize--to create a new life with real meaning that inspires and excites me during the last years of my life. I do not view this issue as a problem, because it has no solution. I feel compelled to do both things. If I do one but not the other, I will feel unfathomable remorse (that, I can guarantee)--so it must perforce be a tension, which implies not a solution, but a constant battle and balancing act. I feel the manifestation of this battle daily, and it is, most likely, the root cause of my current dis-ease and anxiety. There is no winning, here. There is only choice, and the choice is only mine. A classic approach/approach conflict.

A few others with whom I've discussed the matter see the choice as clear. I have done all that I can do here, now, and should (and in fact MUST) move on. But I see not so clearly, and therefore refuse to make the choice, which depresses me even to the point of leading me back to the edge of the abyss. No. It's not the shadow of the black dog. It is a consuming disappointment in myself and my inability to make this choice.

I see people daily living their lives without such emotionally laden contests, and I marvel at their luck or their ignorance. Perhaps I even envy them.

Mary has needed my help three times today, and I am glad that I was here to help. But I'm still a little afraid of asking her what my name is. I think she remembers. I do think she remembers. She MUST remember.