I would like to feel something else, please.
It is astonishing about now, in the midst of a frantically busy month, at the end of a fabulous and busy weekend, at the end of a day that had4 different events involving more than a dozen different people, days before John arrives for a vacation, that i can be just so SWAMPED by the Sunday weepies, even still.
I stay so busy that I can't function. Fucking vacuuming - I've stalled for like, 6 months and really should before John gets home Wednesday. I have plans and activities, I keep busy. And yet, I'm sitting here, listening to Matt Good sing to me of sorrow and rage, weeping. Again.
I'm out 4-5 nights a week, these days. I barely come home to check the mail, it seems. I stay so busy, and let I'm still here on Sunday night, weeping. I can't stay busy enough - no matter what I try, I still end up here almost every Sunday, waiting for the hours to slip by, waiting for the bright respite of a new week. Someone asked me at the bachelorette on Saturday how I've been coping, seeing it's been 8 months already - they remarked at how well I was doing. At least 3 martinis in, I told the truth, and they seemed shocked. I guess I seem to keep it together. (Then again, this same woman thought that I was Erin's sweet and nice friend - which set of hysterical laughter from those who know me well. I'm not that girl, but I guess you can fool some of the people all the time.) But I'm not fine. I stay busy - so busy. Even in some ways busy in what probably are bad. But I'm out and I'm moving and I can't slow down unti lSunday evening, and here I am. Again and again.
One weekend, after having a panic attack in slow motion for the entire day (I went to the mall for shampoo because you can't lose it in public), I came home and drank an entire bottle of wine with dinner. Sliding myself out of my skull into a puddle on the carpet was the only way I could think of to stop it - it was not in any way healthy but it worked.
Every other day is fine. Every other day is full. Yet, today, as I got in the car after event 4 and pulled on to the highway, I could feel it start.
No matter how much time I spend with people I love, I am so lonely. It's been 8 months, you guys. 6 months to go. When does his absence stop feeling like I've been kicked in the chest?
He's home in 3 sleeps, you guys. 3 sleeps and I still miss him so much it hurts.
That's what it is, in part. (I'm thinking through my fingers here.) It's one thing to have foreign vacations in far away lands - it's another thing to have him home in OUR BED for just two weeks. I've partially got so used to his absence that it's only a phantom limb, most of the time. But this? The sheets will still smell like him - I'll have laundry of his to do when he's gone. I've been doing pretty good at building a pseudo single life here for the last 240ish days. And then he's going to he back, to be here, and then he will leave again, and that's, I guess, the part of this that's killing me. It won't be enough - of course it won't. He'll leave, and there will still be 185 days more to go.
Enough, Morgan. This is not helping. Go do the fucking vacuuming. Enough. enough.
Labels: life, solo year, the boy, twisty, vacation
At least it's covered by work
So I'm in therapy tonight, talking to a woman only a few years older than me. I'm talking about the anxiety, and my hands are fluttering around like birds. About 35 minutes in to the session, she says that while normally she's not a fan of medication, but have I considered it?
Yeah, I told her that I'd pass, of course. Nice to know that the it's always an option, I guess. I don't know.
I just wish I knew what the root of this was. Because it makes me so very, very tired.
Labels: twisty
Change
I'm really bad at change, like a lot of people. I'm bad with life change, with change of plans, with uncertainty. I don't like doing new things, meeting new people, having to call strangers. These are not thing I am good at. Or enjoy.
I mean, it's so bad. I had to call the pharmacy to see if my prescription had come in, and that made the breath freeze in my chest. It's like that for everything I do. (Yes, I do have an anxiety problem, what's your point?)
So what do I do about it? (Other than take deep breaths and get stuff over with as fast as I can, once I FINALLY stop stalling?) I just... do it. I force myself to walk across the street and introduce my self to the new neighbours (which shouldn’t cause anxiety but does). I call the pharmacy and ask my question. I sign up for weekend long yoga workshops on my own. (I hate doing yoga with friends - that's a far too ME space.) I eat the occasional dinner by myself in a restaurant (though that one only because John's away - normally we eat together). I would go to a movie by myself if there was something I actually wanted to see and no one was available (I've done it before). I did a glass blowing weekend workshop a few weekends ago and it was AWESOME. (I made 5 paperweights, a glass, and a black Christmas ornament.) I am a solitary person by nature - I need a lot of alone time, a lot of book time.
I am fine with all this stuff, but it makes me so dam anxious. I have no idea why - it's not like I expected that, oh, I don't know, the pharmacist is going to yell at me, or everyone in the glass class hate me. Nothing like that. I just... you know... get anxious. Really anxious. About doing new things, about things out of the ordinary. So i keep doing it. I mean, I'm obstinate that way. But... will it ever get easier?
Labels: grown ups, identity, solo year, twisty
It's like the space between my ears is humming
At least with age comes (a little) wisdom. After the way I feel today, and the way I slept last night, and the fact that I crawled in to my bed in the middle of the day yesterday trying to stave off a full blown panic attack... I booked a massage, and contacted my free through work therapist people. So, there's that. I'm much smarter than I used to be. Sigh. I just hope that it's enough, you know?
It's been 2 fucking weeks since I got home, people. Two. We have roughly TWENTY MONTHS to go. Give me a fucking break. I do NOT want to go look at venues. I do NOT want to go try on wedding gowns, no matter how good the sale. I would like to finished putting away the things I bought on vacation, and the laundry from that trip. I would like to admire the pretty, pretty ring, and have mushy webchats with the boy. I would like to giggle to myself, and read bridal etiquette books. I do not fucking want to have to make plans already, you know?
And if this is how it begins? I think I am going to need some help for dealing with that lot without loosing my mind.
Labels: family, twisty, wedding
2007 in Review
I did this last year too. I like these - it makes for interesting perspective.
1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?
Supported my partner fleeing the country for a year. Got mildly addicted to exercise. Figured out that exercise makes my depression lift more easily. Joined a gym. Took part in a psych study. Took a university night class. Booked my first flight out of this hemisphere. Paid off all our debts (excepting of course the mortgage, but making huge headways on that as well).2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I didn’t make New Year’s resolutions last year, I made a 25 in 25 list, and did very well on it. I plan to (belatedly) do a 26 in 26 list. 3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Darren’s sister did – he’s an adorable baby. The soft spot on his head freaked John out a lot.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Thankfully, no.
5. What countries did you visit?
The States (Idaho, Utah, Wyoming and Montana) and the Dominican Republic.
6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?
Less grief. No stupid drama. No family vacations. *grin* No fucking mice in the house.
7. What date(s) from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
October 13th – the day John left.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Coping with the above with far more composure than anyone expected – myself included.
9. What was your biggest failure?
You know, that’s a tough one. I don’t think I really failed at anything this year. I mean, I haven’t been a total success or anything, but to me, to have failed carries a tone of not doing my best. I mean, I failed to learn to do an upside down flip called the helicopter at my pole dancing class, but I tried really hard. I bruised ribs, feet, ass, hip bone, and tail bone. Eventually I quit trying to do it, but I don’t really care. I tried my best, and it didn’t work. *shrug* I don’t feel bad about it. It just is – I can’t do that move – my weight distribution in my body is wrong for it, and I don’t care. I could do other stuff.
I failed at all sorts of things this year, like keep the house clean like a good little Martha would. But I don’t feel that I particularly failed at anything. On the whole, I gave things my best shot. And that’s good enough.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
We discovered that the constant colds and infections and feeling like crap was all based on a cat allergy gone out of control. No more visits to the in-laws, where the cat lives, no more being sick. (Okay, I’ve had a cold or two, but NOTHING like before.) I think I may have given myself another mild concussion. I have got to stop doing that.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
(I’m hoping) my flight to see John in the January. Otherwise, probably all the yoga 20 class passes.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Mine, dammit. My boyfriend of six years goes to the Middle East, and on the whole, I keep my shit together and don’t get depressed. I’m proud of myself, even if no one else is.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Okay, listen, I just got back from a seven day vacation with my parents and adult sister. That’s a hell of a loaded question.
Also, ***** for being an absolutely insane jerk about something so pathetically trivial – a reaction that will essentially taint our relationship for the rest of our lives.
14. Where did most of your money go?
The mortgage. Followed by vacations. Followed by groceries. Followed by a lovely piece of art.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
All the travel I’m getting to do.
Also, paying off all the money we owed John’s parents.
16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2007?
Jeremy Fisher – High School. Heard him at the Folk Fest this summer. I can listen to it over and over and over.
Wolf Parade – I’ll Believe Anything. Bought the album before the road trip this summer. Blasted the thing at loud volume while driving through America with a window open (because our little old car has a non functioning air conditioning system, and it was 100oF outside) and just feeling it.
Raine Maida – Yellow Brick Road. I like the version that’s on the radio, but we say him perform it in February, and it just blew both of us away.
Snow Patrol – pretty much the entire Eyes Open album. Love.
The Killers – Sam’s Town album. Awesome road trip music, blasting away, sometimes rolling up a window so that we can sing along with the lyrics.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. Happier or sadder? This time last year I was depressed. So I’m happier than that, but I’m also really lonely. It’s a draw, I think.
ii. Thinner or fatter? About the same weight – but far more ripped muscles.
iii. Richer or poorer? Richer. That is, when they actually remember to pay John.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Laugh. Go to live theatre. Stood up for myself.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Complain. Cry. Whine. Feel sad. Feel self loathing.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
In the Dominican Republic, without the love of my life, with my parents and sister. Drinking pina coladas, relaxing around the pool and getting a tan. Very relaxing.
21. Did you fall in love in 2007?
I am in love.
22. How many one-night stands?
None. But I am about to fly 11,268km for a booty call, so that’s got to earn me some trashy points.
23. What was your favorite TV program?
Heroes. Doctor Who. House. Grey’s Anatomy. Corner Gas. Little Mosque on the Prairies.
24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No, I try not to hate anyone. I may loathe certain people extra much though.
25. What was the best book you read?
I’ve read around 183 books this year. Many were very good.
26. What were your greatest musical discoveries?
Wolf Parade. Jeremy Fisher. Final Fantasy. Silver Sun Pickups. Feist. Plain White Ts. I bought more cds this year at full price than I have in pretty much the rest of my life put together. Yay having a job.
27. What did you want and get?
Vacations. Love. Solid friendship. The confidence to strut my overweight ass around in short shorts and hooker heels and feel sexy doing it.
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
I really enjoyed Enchanted, The Bourne Identity, My Little Sunshine, and a few others.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 26. My parents took me out for Indian food at the Taj Mahal restaurant. A few days early I invited friends over and roasted my first turkey, and made them bring me food, potluck style.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Having John here for all of it. Also, not having the stupid drama with his father. Though if John had stayed, that never would have happened…
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?
Jeans are good. And I have enormous breasts that make shopping for clothes hard and really frustrating. I did start layering t-shirts…
32. What kept you sane?
John. Books. Strongbow. Gin. The promise of vacations.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Oh, let’s go with the perennial favorite Colin Firth.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Not much this year. Pretty quiet on the Canadian front. Our civic election didn’t result in many surprises.
35. Who did you miss?
John. God, am I repetitive enough yet?
36. Who was the best new person you met?
Trisha, though work. Look, I’m making a new friend! How unlike me.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007:
You are stronger than you think.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
If I knew now what I knew then, I’d
Back up do it all again, I’d
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Raine Maida - Yellow Brick Road
Also:
Give me your eyes
I need sunshine
Give me your eyes
I need sunshine
Your blood
Your bones
Your voice
and your ghost
We've both been very brave
Walk around with both legs
Fight the scary day
We both pull the tricks out of our sleeves
Wolf Parade – I’ll Believe Anything
Labels: 25 in 25, body, boredom, family, holidailies, identity, meme, solo year, the boy, twisty, vacation, writing
The MSN conversation snipit that sums up what's going on
John says:you were saying you couldn't read the money thing... what's wrong?Wench says:eh - just totally, completely overwhelmedJohn says:by what? - and don't say "everything"Wench says:christmas. the house. cleaning. planning our trip. planning the trip this week. gifts. realizing the mouse had gotten in to the drawer under the sink and realizing I have to wash all of it in the hottest water I can stand. cleaning the house. buying you presents. figuring out what the appropriate level of gifts for people at work.Wench says:tidying the house. cleaning the house. remembering to pay the bills. figuring out what happened to the present from you. doctor's appointment. finishing the perishables. getting something in the mail for you, to test out the address. watering the plants. putting away the laundry. doing the christmas cards.Wench says:everything.Yeah, I'm feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Which explains, I guess, the sobby little freak out I had when I got home from work today. A Strongbow and a half later, and multiple hours of cleaning, tiding, present finishing, and bill paying later, I feel much calmer. Still, you know, freaking out a little. But calmer. I'll pay the extra library fines for the dvd I'm not going to get back today. I did book the doctor's appointment, and the presents for work are enough - have to be enough. I've run out of time and, clearly, energy. (Home made marshmallows in two flavours, plus made-by-me hot chocolate mix, plus chocolate dipped candycanes to stir. Good enough, I hope. Too late if it's not, I guess.)
And still, I want to crawl in to my bed, pull the covers over my head, cry a little more, and slip off to sleep wrapped in the gentle haze of good cider.
4 sleeps until the beach...Labels: consumerism, holidailies, solo year, twisty, vacation
Twitch
Every once and a while I get jumpy, alone in this house.
Today was one of those days. As I check the mail box, I found a cigarette stub, on the corner of the deck and the two stairs. Long extinguished, but, you know, there. Unexplained. (Probably the mailman, but still.) So that made me a little jumpy anyway.
Then, 15 minutes later, I've unpacked my bag, dealt with some stuff. It's late - I didn't get home until after 8, and really dark out. I've made a pot of jasmine tea, wrapped the presents for my mom's birthday tomorrow, and am about to settle down to watch
About a Boy and work on my obscene cross stitch.
Suddenly, a slam comes from the room behind me - for all the world like a door slamming shut. I freeze, feeling my blood turn to ice. I creep back in to the kitchen, already prepared to lose my mind.
My backpack had slipped off the counter, and, still having contained a journal, 2 books and some tupperware, slammed in to the floor with the crash.
My face was tingly numbed and I was shaking so hard I couldn't cross stitch for a good fifteen minutes more.
Oh yeah, I'm coping with this
just fine.Labels: holidailies, house, solo year, twisty
More than one holiday was spent there
I didn't get on the holidailies charity bandwagon for a few reasons, one of them being that I like my charities local, and another being that I have already done my donations for the year. I donate through work as they have a 100% matching program that makes my dollar go twice as far, so that's nice. My charities of choice are small ones that I fully believe in. I don't donate to the United Way, for example, because 10% of the money they raise goes to their overhead, and then they pass money on to other, smaller groups, each who have overhead too. Also, they spend a lot on advertising; I have never seen any advertising from at least one of the groups I support.
At any rate, one of the people I have sent money to every single year since I graduated university and started having money is the
Agape Hospice, the place where two of my grandparents spent their final days. It was far lovelier a place than you would expect, even if it was the scene of what hopefully goes down as the single worst Christmas meal of my life. My grandmother was maybe three days from death, and no longer was the woman I knew, she was just a... shell, I guess. The whole thing was horrifying, and I can't think back on without crying. But the staff made such an effort. We had a large private dining room and I'm pretty such a whole turkey dinner meal that we must have eaten. Her room was lovely and bright, and the staff was so kind. And so every year I send them a bit of money.
If I ever have any doubt about where I should be sending my money, all I should ever have to do is read this article that was recently in the Calgary Herald's Swerve magazine.
Read it here and tell me if you can read it without crying. I certainly couldn't.
Labels: family, holidailies, twisty
I'm totally going to read this in the morning and erase it all
Man, I got an actual compliment from my mother second hand through a business acquaintance today. And a direct compliment from her last week.
I, to be totally honest, don't even know how to react it's so unusual.
Seriously, how fucking sad is that? The only time in my life that, if this business contact who had no real reason to butter me up isn't lying, my mother has called me pretty. (My brow is furling as I type, to be honest.) You see, I'm neither, generally speaking, the pretty one or the smart one - that's Courtney. I'm, um, the practical, bookish one, I guess. (My sister is at UBC doing a double major in food science and the science of nutrition, thus totally clinching the smart one title.) And so then, to get this random comment, "oh, it's so nice to meet you, your mother talks so much about you, you're the pretty one, the smart one, the one who's doing so well" or whatever just floored me. I mean, my sister worked for them last summer, so they know the difference between us - she wasn't getting us mistaken.
I don't know. I'm 26 years old. I am deeply surprised that my mother would ever make such comments, and that's pretty sad, I think. A million years ago, as an angry, angsty teen, I wrote a scrawling diary entry in response to a dove ad, that she's never called me pretty (or derivative) and that on the few rare chances someone else did, she immediately shot them down. Forcefully. In front of me.
Look, I'm not the prettiest girl in the room, and I'll never be considered beautiful. But I'm cute - I'm the girl next door, and I am learning what looks best for me. I'll never be a true stunner, but I can turn a few heads if I try, you know? If you're anyone but John, I'm the girl you take home to your parents, the one whose face is always alive and generally laughing. I know I'm not court beauty, but nor am I bag over my head territory. My mother is unlikely to be jealous of my looks, or trying to stop me from getting an inflated head.
See, my mother is a pretty good mother, but the flaws are pretty glaring. We'll ignore the Darryl issue, and I'll mention that my mother is one of the most critical people I've ever met. Towards me, especially. Not towards my sister, of course, but at me. At about EVERYTHING. Two days after John left, I'm still a wreck, and my mother? She's all, "why did you wear you hair in pigtails to the airport? It looked bad. and that outfit! I saw you a few days later and you looked far skinnier. You need to learn to dress better, you know." Some shit like that. I wore pigtails because they make me look cute, and John likes them. They make me feel cute, too. The shirt was new, and I will ashamedly admit I haven't worn it again, and that's sad, because i bought it because I thought it looked good.
Fuck, whatever. Let me just say that I got two compliments from my mother this week, one direct and one via someone else this week, and my world feels like it's spinning slightly askew.
Labels: body, family, holidailies, twisty
I am Female, Age 26.
I had an interesting experience tonight. I volunteered to be part of a psychology study about depression at the university. It took two hours, and was quiet interesting. More than an hour of questions, 10 minutes of experiment, some more questions, a
happifying period, and some more questions.
One of my coworkers treated me, when I told her about this, like I was going to do some fabulous altruistic thing, but that's not true at all. When ever I get depressed, I read about depression. (Actually, that carries through to every single thing in my entire life - I think about x, so I read about x. X, randomly over the years has been: suicide, depression, mental illness, motherhood, marriage, travel locations, sexuality, food, history. I am a book whore, and I'll read anything.) I know it's not that normal - most people, when depressed, don't seem prone to reading, especially about their condition. But that's me all over - always happy to hunt down information. Life without books, in
wenchland, would be not worth living. So I did this study, which I did for free except the $5 to cover transit expenses, I did for the greater knowledge good. I mean, other people have volunteered for the studies that made their way into the books I have that (may have) helped me in the past. The least I could do is return the karmic favour.
Plus! An hour to get to talk about my problems for free! Still trying very hard to keep busy so the time without him is less lonely! Bus fare!
Okay, kidding about that last one. Mostly.
Labels: boredom, holidailies, identity, life, twisty
SO SAD!
It was 21 degrees out today. 21! Warm! Then a cold front blew in and now there is more than a centimetre of snow on the ground, and it's accumulating.
Shit - I'm going to have to shovel snow soon. And I haven't even raked the leaves yet.
This responsible homeowner shit is harder than I thought.
Also hard? The first solo wedding. This past Sunday - John was to have been the best man. First of 3 this next year, I think.
Last week I was fine. Everything was fine. I was fine. I was doing fine. Just fine. Fine, you know? Fine.
This week I am not doing fine. The wedding, some self esteem problems related to any of this, some stupid fucking drama with his family (my stupidity two years ago coming to light, followed by Vince's true feelings about me coming out, with much drama all around), some work stress and did I mention? That the boy's been gone a now a week and counting? And I am not doing fine.
But I am busy. Busy makes it easier. For now? For the whole year? If I am never have a evening free, that will make it easier, right? The fact that I constant calculate the time difference (9 hours difference, so subtract 3 from my time and flip am/pm) constantly will slide, right? I will be able to function with a skin more than 1mm thick?
Labels: garden, house, solo year, the boy, twisty
Truely Retorical
Would I have said yes to this, let alone so easily and without thought, if I had known it would hurt this bad?
Labels: solo year, the boy, twisty
Finally gone...
On Wednesday we found out that the visa has FINALLY been approved and that he would finally be leaving, after a month of delays. Everyone kept asking if I was okay.
Everyone. My boss, my friends, my parents, his coworkers, his HR person during his exit interview. Everyone. And I was fine. (Perhaps Grey's Anatomy style fine, but fine none to the less.) I mean, what was the point? When he went to Fort
McMurray that first summer we were dating (when he got to come home every second weekend, natch), I was a tad bit of a hysterical mess leading up to it. And it didn't help anything. It didn't help him, it didn't help me and it only made a hard situation harder. So this time I didn't. I just simply took a deep breath, started up a haphazard meditation practice and acted like a grown up. I did what needed to be done, I kept my shit together and started planning on where to go when I get to fly over there to see him. (Some combination of Bahrain, Qatar and Dubai, by the way.) So everything was fine.
I held it together until Friday night, a little bit. I mean, other than the constant endless nightmares we've both been having. Mine have nothing to do with this trip, but are pure anxiety dreams none the less. And even today, other than some random eye leaking, I've managed to pretty much hold it together, for his sake if for nothing else. I'm not the one who has pretty much had to leave everything for a year, to live in a strict Muslim theocracy in the middle of the desert - a life deeply unlike this one we have here in the Canadian foothills. I'm the one who stays. Whose life goes on, fairly normally.
I managed to keep it relatively together until today. And then more than slightly lost it as a watched him go through security. And then lost my shit on the way home. (Hey, it was only
Deerfoot...) And then more when I was at home. The depth of my grief came as a slight surprise even to me.
Raised in a good repressed WASP family, naked emotion was both frowned upon, and slightly feared. and this? They body wrenching sobs? I don't even have the vocabulary to speak of how this feels. I am sad. That doesn't even begin to get to what I feel.
This is John. This is the one who I've seen pretty much every day for the last SIX YEARS. This is the one I've lived with for more than 3 and a half years. Of those, there have been TWO NIGHTS where we've not shared a bed. And they were weird. How do I even go about this? This large, empty house? The cold bed? The silence? My personal high level of paranoia? The loneliness? The lack of sex? The sadness? This deep, deep sorrow? Mixed in with just a bit of jealousy? (A pool? A chance at something alien? Working somewhere that's not here? Living someone far away and foreign? That angle is practically a wet dream for me.)
He was going to propose, you know. Before this all happened, he was planning something for this December - our 6 year anniversary and all that. I don't know more than that, but that he was going to. And now? We're spending our 6
th year together - apart.
This grief is shocking and raw and loud. I'm shocked, honestly. This much raw emotion is not something I really know how to deal with. I mean, other than with the large gin gimlet I'm drinking, of course. (That WASP thing again.) A couple of friends came to the airport to see John off, and then offered to take me out for an evening of dinner and drinking, and I had to turn them down. It was such a kind offer, but the only way I am able to grieve is alone, and I still have to go to work on Monday and function like a semi there employee, so must at least work thought this violent first phase of grief. I have decided I get to grieve loudly, with the occasional surprise wild keening for this weekend, and then I have to be able to at least function. I've managed to make my life busy - 8.5 hours at work, plus a university night class, the pole dancing class, my
Iyengar yoga class. And a gym membership, and friends, and probably many many house parties. Dinners with my parents. TV. Dinners with friends.
This is not the end of the world. This is only for a year, at most. I'll be flying out to see him in two months for a week. And then again in 5 months. And then again at 8 months. And then, if we can swing it, 3-4 weeks in Europe when he's done. (A year of massively more exotic vacations than the one this year in Utah and Idaho!) It's not the end of the world. We live in an age of
internet, email,
webcams and jet travel. This is neither the end of the world nor then end of us. It's just... it's hard, and will continue to be hard, and I have to figure out how to deal with out slipping too far down, and focusing on the fact that one year is not forever. And, you know, probably drinking a lot to make up for the fact that he can't.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
~ Mary Oliver
Labels: solo year, the boy, twisty
The end may be nigh
Tuesday, September 18
th, at 5:55pm.
Labels: solo year, the boy, twisty
Sure, I've always been a little dark and twisty
This has been a hard year, emotionally. I spend most of the winter moored down in a nasty bout of depression, made worse by the fact I was sick pretty much every single week, always with something new. I know depression and illness go hand in hand, and in my case the season hurts too - going through old records makes a clear case for my depression being worse in the winter than in the summer.
But things were better. Winter ended and the sunlight returned. I started to feel more like a human. After a half dozen doctors appointment and hours of online hypochondriac
ing, I was sent to an allergist, who very quickly diagnosed that I had outgrown almost all of my multitude of childhood allergies - all but one: cats. And it was a
doozie. My
inlaw's cat was more or less destroying my health - it had got so bad my heart had started to have this scary irregularity. Not to mention the infections, the illnesses, the missed work, the inability to get my heart rate up while exercising, the lung
xrays and the bottom tiredness that goes with an endless illness. I last went to their house a few days before the allergist day, and I haven't been back since - 2 months and counting, and I haven't felt this physically healthy in years. It's glorious. (I am very allergic - from the single pin prick, I had a
loonie sized swell in 15 minutes. It was the size of my palm by the end of the hour. My entire arm was red and puffy by that afternoon. And I spent the next three days with a violent allergy attack, complete with watery eyes, sneezes and sinus issues. From a single drop in my blood stream!)
So things have been better, and I am going to have to stay conscious and be diligent that they don't get worse. I am not trying to tell myself that I'm not allowed to be sad or anything stupid like that. I've just got to be careful I don't slide too far down that slope...
Labels: life, solo year, twisty
