Perhaps Claudia has stopped growing. Growth plateaus if people don't change how and what they learn. Maybe you get nothing from her because she has nothing to give.
                                        
I'm no longer Claudia. I've destroyed my life.
I've cleaned my plateau of demolished materials.
Now I'm building my high plain into a mountain once again.
                                        
I often feel very feminine.
I feel womanly,
That I am capable of creating life.
That I will degrade my body to birth something that may not want me around once it matures.
That I will have to watch from an imposed distance,
yearning to be close to whom once squirmed wormingly in my arms,
wiggling helplessly,
utterly unable to survive without my constant care,
but squirming nonetheless,
to be strong enough
to get out of my arms and into the world,
and see if they are strong enough,
womanly enough,
to create something or someone
able to survive longer than both of us,
to create someone who will carry our light once we can no longer seek;
To save us from the collapsing reality where we will one day no longer exist.
To placate the fear that our funeral will be the last time anyone speaks about us
for an extended period of time.
To create someone who will keep our life alive after we are gone.
This is an impossible task.
                                        
Our life is an airplane,
out of gas,
gliding as far as it can,
the pilot seeks up-drafts and trade winds
to keep it in the air
until they can find a nice place land                                
and have a drink on a poolside patio with the plane's black box in hand,
Desperately
seeking someone to study our flight's journey
and pass its wisdom on to someone who will create life with it.
                                        
But no one cares
and Claudia’s better as a stranger.



Erik Svarr
15:42 May 1, 2015
Somewhere in California,
living in my car
after intentionally destroying
my life in academic neuroscience