Moments of fierce jealousy. I will admit as much. Missing things here and there.
A long walk in the hills, a couple of hours on a Sunday, the autumn colours and a scenic spot for a packed lunch and a flask of tea to share.
Cycling along a river, from the source to the mouth, watching it swell and expand for days, a week, as long as it takes.
Crowded rooms, noisy laughter, live music, dancing, all that careless high jinx.
And food. Recipes have become texts in foreign languages too complicated to digest.
But basically, I can hold it together and get over it. Still, sentences form that begin with "I'll never again will..." while the small voice inside my head is whimpering "oh please, do shut up" and then the overbearing voice of reason sniggers "you call that a problem?"