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I came back to the apartment on Sunday. I was relieved to find everything OK. A neighbor took the task upon herself to oversee Christine, today is still two days later and I still don't know how much she did for her, but I'm glad things turned out alright.

As for myself, I am glad to report that I have no lasting damage from this ordeal. I was afraid that I'd be too depressed to do anything, and instead I'd sleep off the entire weekend. I did sleep with much delight, but I also walked liked mad, 60 Km during the weekend, and was able to put the repetitive thoughts about Christine at rest.

On Sunday I walked over Jaques Cartier Bridge to reach Buckminster Fuller's Biodome in a grisly day. Then I walked over Habitat 67. In all honesty I could not connect with what these things meant to me in my twenties. These visions of utopia seem completely disconnected from my current reality. I simply enjoyed walking, feeling the cold air in my face, even if it was a grisly windy day. I was free for two days, and that was utopia for me.

When I came back I expected Christine to be recriminatory, or aloof and distant as she does when she gets mad at me. Instead she was warm and kind. This is counterintuitive to my expectations, but as I see in my former relationships where I gave myself until exhaustion and then decided it was better to leave, this causes a shift in the relationship, and by your absence the other person is capable of perceiving their loss.

The lesson here is not "make yourself absent" but "give space for the other person to notice your absence". In white canvas, a spec of black will draw all the attention.

I'm ready to carry on my task.

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