We joke about people being married to their jobs, but the numbers in my own life tell quite a tale. A typical workday sees me awake for 17 hours. I spend nine of those with co-workers. Since Jeff and I keep slightly different work schedules, I only see him for about five hours per weekday.

The jokes become less comfortable when you realize that you're spending more hours per day with your co-workers than you do with the person you married. Co-workers don't have the same commitment to permanence that spouses do; they are people you spend time with, but not people you share everything with. I marvel at how few people find this strange or unusual.

How to put this. How to say it in words. How to damp down thought, impression, compulsion into mere vocabulary, and leave it out for the world to see.

I hugged Brad, and I made a squeaky noise. When I had awakened earlier that morning and realized that I would see him and Alice that day, I realized it had been too long since I had seen them. Years too long.

Through rain and hellish traffic, the 4-hour drive to Brian and Suzan's took just over 5.5 hours. We were grateful to have arrived there safe and sound, regardless of the hour. I love Thanksgivings with them, because it's a Thanksgiving of introversion; you don't have to sneak off to take time for yourself or make phone calls or just be alone. It's understood and encouraged, and I took advantage of it.

"So how did it go," you ask?

I type this, looking down at the clock on the right-hand side of my computer's display. 6:38. I have a little bit of time, but not much. Today I really need to get out of here as early as possible, because I'm taking a long (paid) break in the middle of the day. My houseguest flies home today, and I'm not going to pass up the chance to have one last, lazy, caffeinated lunch with him before taking him to the airport and getting that quiet little lump in my throat I get every time I put someone I care about on a plane.

No pain, no gain -- something like that.

On Wednesday, one of the last remaining friends from column 'n' ('netfriend') arrives in Huntsville. If you'd asked me this a couple of years ago, I'd have been unsurprised by these plans, but life does funny things and gets in the way while it's doing so, and as a result, we lost touch for about a year and a half.

How to say? How to acknowledge? Privacy means privacy, and thankfully I'm notable for being able to state the obvious in words that make things not so, so perhaps this is the best way to break through a multiple-month logjam of silence and say what needs saying.(Inscrutable? Sorry; this is a private message posted semi-publicly.)

There is no 'me and you,' and never has been; this funny friendship has meant many things over the years, most unspoken and unacknowledged, but there for both of us. Easter brought you back to me, reminded me of why I have Life A here in Huntsville and Life B in Atlanta, reminded me of why I think the drive is worth it and why I'm unlikely ever to have a life, singular, in one place or the other.