Planting or re-potting existing greenery: something close to an obsession at the moment. A need to see living things thrive.
In younger years, doing without a good sexual partnership is tough. I’m close to seventy now. The toughest is doing without close physical contact of the affectionate kind with another human. Not constant closeness. Not clinging closeness. Just the simple, physical reassurance two humans exchange as the need shows up. You can pet a dog. You can caress a cat. Well and good, except I’m not a dog nor a cat. Eh. (A goldfish? Eh, squared.)
So. The dog. If your vet suggests you squirt activated charcoal diluted in water into your dog’s mouth, a word to the wise: make the attempt outside. For the why? For the because clean-up of ink-black liquid is easier on flagstones. (Part of what ails the animal should be known by late afternoon. Apart from keeping her as comfortable as possible, not much else I can do for her in the meantime.)
Plus: loneliness by any other name still boils down to loneliness. Nothing much to do about it, except to acknowledge, weather and do your damnedest to avoid the deeper sloughs of despond. Of course there are things to do, people to see, projects to carry forth, revisions to complete etc etc etc
Money. Obligations. Etc.
Most of all: this too shall pass, this too shall pass. And so, forth.