Move to submodule

content/limerent-object/001.md

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 ![Dee Kimana](/raw-full.jpg)

content/limerent-object/002.md

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 I was struck by a sudden memory today, during my final session of the day.

content/limerent-object/003.md

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 I have noticed over the years that we tend to put benches in the strangest of places. I noticed this at Saint John's, those years ago back in Minnesota. The placement of benches ought to be deliberate. There ought to be some sort of goal in putting them where we do. A bench placed in a park with a careful view across the grass, through the trees, down the street would be ideal. You could look at the kits playing in the grass, the trees moving in the breeze, down the bustling street. Instead, we place them facing buildings along sidewalks.

content/limerent-object/004.md

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 It is a Saturday today and I have no clients, so I am attempting to write at home rather than on a bench somewhere or slouched in my office chair, and am actually using my computer for it this time rather than scribbling on a steno pad. I have to admit that I feel very strange writing like this. It feels almost like a violation of a habit, despite having only been at this for a few days.

content/limerent-object/005.md

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 I took Sunday off to focus on church, but I have two things of note today:

content/limerent-object/006.md

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 It's been a few days, and while the dream has not come back, it still clings to me like scent. When laying in bed, drowsy and sleepless I will find myself exploring that space over and over again. Did I touch her? Did I smell her? I know that I was attuned to her presence, but did I even get a good look at her?

content/limerent-object/007.md

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 I was not able to do it.

content/limerent-object/008.md

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 If I assume that there is some subconscious root of my rising feelings toward Kay, and if I am to continue working backwards from a known starting point, then let me step back from that first recognition of those feelings.

content/limerent-object/009.md

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 Kay and I's lunch dates continued throughout that semester. First, it was a simple agreement to meet "sometime next week" for more soup and salad, and from there, it turned into a staple. I would meet her at the library at the tail end of her morning shifts a few days a week and walk with her from the library to our chosen spot of the day. We found out all of the delightful little hidden tables in the student union, away from the noise and commotion surrounding the restaurants themselves.

content/limerent-object/010.md

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 Our last lunch together took place the week after Kay's senior recital, and after we greeted each other, we spoke little, as though all the clamorous notes and weighty silences from her performance still hung beneath us. We ordered our food separately and it wasn't until partway through the meal that we realized we had ordered the same thing, which drew a laugh from both of us before we focused back out on the lawn behind the student center.

content/limerent-object/011.md

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 There is a strangely comforting humiliation to the act of confession, to admitting to the one on the other side of that screen just how long it has been since you engaged with your sins so directly, so honestly. You kneel on that delightfully familiar kneeler, the same you knelt on in high school, the same you knelt on when you got home from your failed venture in Minnesota. You fold your hands, you nearly rest your nose against them, doing your best to smell only your scent and that of the cedar before you, not the priest, not the feline who was in there before you. You admit your deeds and the words roll off your tongue with the aspartame tang of your shortcomings.

content/limerent-object/012.md

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 I see a client with obsessive compulsive disorder. She has a tendency to pick at her fur and skin, some troubles with physical affection that make her feel 'gross', a fear of driving that leads her to worry that someone has been struck by the car, and a sort of external claustrophobia that leads her to struggle with the idea of closed-in spaces such as cabinets and cupboards, which we suspect stems from some early childhood abuse.

content/limerent-object/013.md

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 Often times, when I work with a therapist (from either direction), we converse quite freely and with essentially no friction. I do not know whether that's a thing that therapist-clients engender, necessarily. I've had my fair share of clients who were incredibly easy to talk with. Not that they're likeable, or at least not only because of that, but that our sessions --- me and those clients, and me and my therapists --- tend to move forward with a sense of purpose.

content/limerent-object/014.md

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 I feel compelled to state that I do know the *reason* that I left a path to pastoral. That was something that I talked through with my advisor at St John's, and something that I had been struggling with for a while. I can point to it and name it as the mechanical reason. What I don't know, necessarily, is the reason why I left there in the way that I did.

content/limerent-object/015.md

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 I have volunteered for the first of these 'brown-bag lunch presentations' and am not shy to admit (at least, to myself and Jeremy) that I did so simply to get it out of the way. I have little desire to participate in team-building exercises in the context of an organization that exists solely to facilitate one-on-one interactions in a professional context.

content/limerent-object/016.md

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 The presentation went over quite well, I think. There were a few questions after. Jeremy said it sounded good and my boss thanked me in a way that was more than just a *pro forma* thank you. Some part of me wishes that I had offered something less personal, but the rest of me is just glad it's over and that I don't have to care about it too much going further.

content/limerent-object/017.md

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 It is Pentecost Sunday. It's still a Solemnity, but after Holy Week and Lent, it lacks anywhere near to the same level of impact, so although the mass differs from a mass during Ordinary Time, it lacks the social impact of the other holidays.

content/limerent-object/018a.md

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 I will not deny my excitement for this upcoming visit.

content/limerent-object/018b.md

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 It's been a few hours, and I have decided that that dream was simply the process of anxiety over the trip combined with a spike in libido. In the other, yes, I could see the layers of meaning going on there, with the ideas of possession and being shut out, but when it comes to what amounted to a sex dream with little in the way of plot or inherent meaning, I don't think there's much one can draw from it.

content/limerent-object/018c.md

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 I have packed all I think I will need. Laptop in case of emergency appointments, books, steno pads, toiletries. I have clothes enough for a week, including my blazer and slacks for when nicer clothing is required. Kay did not specify the dress code for the concerts, but better safe than sorry. Also, perhaps we can head out to a nicer place to eat one night.

content/limerent-object/019.md

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 Boise is much as I remember it. Sprawling, flat. The trip up I-84 is familiar enough to tug loose memories from when my parents would take me up every few months to see a specialist,[^specialist] only now there are far more billboards and what used to be strip malls have turned into tumbled collections of big-box stories, imposing, half-rendered amongst the landscape of scrub and crumbling roads.

content/limerent-object/020.md

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 I met up with Kay an hour or so after I checked in to my room --- enough time for me to shower and change clothes. The sent of the bus still lingered in my nose, but that may have just been my imagination.

content/limerent-object/021.md

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 Kay has taken a few days off of work while I am out here, but we wound up intentionally leaving plans fairly loose.

content/limerent-object/022.md

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 I am struggling to internalize just what went wrong tonight.

content/limerent-object/023.md

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 I am up early again, and while I do feel better, I am also still feeling tender, and feeling cautious of that tenderness. I want to poke and prod at it. I want to explore its boundaries as one might find the limits of a bruise.

content/limerent-object/024.md

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 When I was in school back at Saint John's, I was met with a sudden cessation of chores. I had things to do, to be sure. Things that were repetitive and at times menial, but when you grow up on a farm, the concept of 'chore' goes well beyond simple repetitive, menial task. My callouses have long faded, but during my first months there in Minnesota, they still scraped against my notes and the pages of books every time I interacted with them.

content/limerent-object/025.md

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 I had to stop, yesterday. I had to stop writing.

content/limerent-object/026.md

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 It turns out that the house I'm staying in isn't far from a patch of wilderness. I do not know why it is called the Military Reserve, but I am not going to turn down the chance at walking away from the city. Boise is so much taller, so much louder than Sawtooth, I feel hemmed in here.

content/limerent-object/027.md

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 I know that I stopped writing of a sudden yesterday. I ran out of words, and didn't know what it was that I needed to say that I needed. I just sat for a while, closed my notebook, grabbed another ride back to town, and sat at that coffee shop I visited a few days ago, drinking an ice tea and looking at nothing, and then I went back to my room and sat on my bed and read for a bit. I'll meet up with Kay tonight, I'm sure.

content/limerent-object/028.md

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 It would be incorrect to say that the hike I took yesterday in some way "solved" the anxiety that I felt after the concert. There were, as I constantly tell myself, explain and explain and explain, no words from God. How would there be? How would it be the case that He would step in and say, "No, Dee, don't worry"?

content/limerent-object/029.md

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 All these little memories, all of them are coming back to me, and I'm not sure why. Nothing about this visit in particular ought to dredge them up, right? I mean, Kay and I have only talked passingly about faith, and sure, I didn't attend mass this weekend and am missing it, but there is little to suggest that this have anything to do with the flood of the small things from the past. Is it the lingering sensation of discernment?

content/limerent-object/030.md

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 It had been a long trip home, from St John's back to Sawtooth.

content/limerent-object/031.md

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 Relatively little happened for the rest of our visit, but we did rather front-load our plans. There was the movie, the concert, then I did my hike, and after that, we spent the rest of the visit just kind of...hanging out.

content/limerent-object/032.md

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 I miss my friend.

content/limerent-object/033.md

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 When I look back at some of the entries from during and immediately after my trip, they all sound so bleak. They make it sound like I did not enjoy it, when I clearly did. I focus a lot on my time spent away from Kay. I focus a lot on memories. I focus a lot on that yearning tugging at my chest whenever I was around her.

content/limerent-object/034.md

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 Over the last few days, I have been sending Kay a few emails. I am ashamed to admit that this is an intentional aspect of some grander plan. One could say that it is to get her re-accustomed to getting emails from me, though this is a somewhat less than charitable way of looking at it.

content/limerent-object/035.md

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 As promised, I spent this morning thinking and praying on the letter, and in true Dee form, this involved getting a ride to a trail head up by the foothills and going for a walk.

content/limerent-object/036.md

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 > *7:24 PM Dee>* Been thinking.

content/limerent-object/037.md

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 All of my work on emotional literacy is failing me now. It was largely failing me then, as well. I am doing my best to process the conversation that we had here, but I am in a state of, I suppose, numbness, and that numbness is taking up the same amount of space that the limerence did before. It is overwhelming in its nullity, and there is nothing, it seems, that I can do to shake it. I cannot transmute it into something more positive.

content/limerent-object/038.md

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 I closed my steno pad after the most recent entry, fully intending that that would be the last entry that I would write. The discernment, after all, was complete, even if only for a little while, and I no longer needed to puzzle it out on paper.

content/limerent-object/_index.md

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 title: Limerent Object
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