Here's My Best Shot Monday shot: Youngest Nephew tries on his dad's 1st Communion suit... it's a tad bit small. But I couldn't resist taking the shot anyways... he's too cute!
Now I'm off to check out all the other Shots... Happy week, everybody.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Monkeys? Hop on! Ducks? Screw that!
Some stuff came up this week, and the niece of transparency (thank you all for the shutter speed explanations, that's what I was guessing it was too!) wound up having to spend all the days (and a few of the nights) with us.
And, as I am still (41 days later!) hiding out on the couch in my living room, the pain, it is not so much the manageable all the time.
Needless to say, this has cut into my blogging time. But now I am recuperating a bit, and I thought I'd share this IM between me and Sister K, who stopped over to play for an hour or so on Wednesday, during her spring break.
Sister K [10:48 PM]: is tonight the night Lil Girl is sleeping over?
NTE [10:49 PM]: yesh. she is asleep, who knows how long it'll last, but right this second, she's asleep
Sister K [10:50 PM]: :)
SisterK [10:50 PM]: was she good today like yesterday?
NTE [10:51 PM]: she's such a good girl - like 98% of the time. No meltdowns today, just a couple of whininess-ish times
SisterK [10:52 PM]: :) i told everyone who would listen to me about playing play-do and carebears
NTE [10:52 PM]: yeah, we do a lot of that. Every single day.
Sister K [10:53 PM]: i like how she all of a sudden goes, 'WOWWWWWWWW'
NTE [10:54 PM]: today, on the way home, we sang the wheels on the bus. FOREVER. there were dogs, cats, monkeys... all on the bus
NTE [10:54 PM]: trying to keep her awake long enough to drive home was a bit of a challenge
Sister K [10:54 PM]: hahaha
Sister K[10:55 PM]: monkeys on the busss nice
NTE [10:56 PM]: hey: we do what we have to. i was trying to put ducks on the bus and she goes "noooooooooooo" Like "what are you thinking woman?? Ducks? On a bus?? You are crazy!" But monkeys? Sure... hop on!
Sister K[10:56 PM]: hahaha <3
So, just in case you were wondering: No ducks on the bus. Happy Friday, everybody. Thank God it's here.
And, as I am still (41 days later!) hiding out on the couch in my living room, the pain, it is not so much the manageable all the time.
Needless to say, this has cut into my blogging time. But now I am recuperating a bit, and I thought I'd share this IM between me and Sister K, who stopped over to play for an hour or so on Wednesday, during her spring break.
Sister K [10:48 PM]: is tonight the night Lil Girl is sleeping over?
NTE [10:49 PM]: yesh. she is asleep, who knows how long it'll last, but right this second, she's asleep
Sister K [10:50 PM]: :)
SisterK [10:50 PM]: was she good today like yesterday?
NTE [10:51 PM]: she's such a good girl - like 98% of the time. No meltdowns today, just a couple of whininess-ish times
SisterK [10:52 PM]: :) i told everyone who would listen to me about playing play-do and carebears
NTE [10:52 PM]: yeah, we do a lot of that. Every single day.
Sister K [10:53 PM]: i like how she all of a sudden goes, 'WOWWWWWWWW'
NTE [10:54 PM]: today, on the way home, we sang the wheels on the bus. FOREVER. there were dogs, cats, monkeys... all on the bus
NTE [10:54 PM]: trying to keep her awake long enough to drive home was a bit of a challenge
Sister K [10:54 PM]: hahaha
Sister K[10:55 PM]: monkeys on the busss nice
NTE [10:56 PM]: hey: we do what we have to. i was trying to put ducks on the bus and she goes "noooooooooooo" Like "what are you thinking woman?? Ducks? On a bus?? You are crazy!" But monkeys? Sure... hop on!
Sister K[10:56 PM]: hahaha <3
So, just in case you were wondering: No ducks on the bus. Happy Friday, everybody. Thank God it's here.
Monday, March 24, 2008
My Transparent Niece
I know everybody's going to have their Easter pix up today, but my camera is in another room, and the card with the pictures on it is in it. (Imagine that!) I'll try to get a few of those up later in the week. I hope everybody had a wonderful weekend, no matter how they spent it.
In the meantime, take a gander at this one:
I promise you that this is straight out of the camera. I have no idea how it happened: I was playing with F-stops and exposures and .. well, everything, but I was quite surprised to see the resulting photo. Any of you photographically inclined people got any ideas on how this happened? Anyways, it's My Best Shot Monday!
In the meantime, take a gander at this one:
I promise you that this is straight out of the camera. I have no idea how it happened: I was playing with F-stops and exposures and .. well, everything, but I was quite surprised to see the resulting photo. Any of you photographically inclined people got any ideas on how this happened? Anyways, it's My Best Shot Monday!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Everyworry
I nearly just put down the computer and headed towards the kitchen for unnecessary food... (When you have no appetite, you often have to remind yourself to eat at all, but when I'm stressed, I eat no matter that I'm not hungry.) But I've been talking to myself for the past hour about facing my fears instead of distracting myself from them. And so, here I am.
This is one of those times that I'm going to write this whole long (or short) post, get finished, and then have to make the decision whether or not it just goes in the draft folder. Or if I am brave enough to push the post button.
I want you to know that I've appreciated your kindness, your generosity, the fact that you keep coming back to read, to say 'hey,' to check in when most of what you're getting is maudlin and dreary. And most of us are feeling enough of the maudlin and dreary on our own lately, and don't especially need extra. I know that feeling: I've been guilty of clicking on a blog I love, seeing how sad the post is and moving on, because I just... can't. Not on that day. So I understand if you just can't, too. That's ok. I hope you'll keep in touch, keep checking in, stop by when there's something more pleasant on our plate.
But here's the thing: that plate? Is overflowing. With everything and everybody. And everyworry.
At least that's what it feels like a lot of the time. I know I can handle it: I actually feel like I am handling it all pretty well, but I'm just saying: it's a lot.
None of the other problems I/we have been having disappeared when Nana died. Life doesn't work that way. My illness is not on hold because I don't have the energy to deal with it. My brother's relationship to his fiance didn't become all patched up, and his preferred form of dealing with stress (by not dealing with it) hasn't magically transformed either. The premature twins aren't uncolicky, and their mother is still a tad bit overwhelmed and depressed. The housing market isn't exactly friendly, and neither are the PUS. Things that were little got magnified, and things that were eventuallys became nows. It's unfortunate, but it's true.
And there's the grief. The little moments when you pick up the phone to call her for dinner, when you burst into tears because her favorite thing to teach was always the American Revolution, and she's missing a most awesome show? (Seriously, are you watching this show? It's on the HBO... and now I think Abigail Adams is a rockstar!)
I always feel compelled to put all the good things in, when I start a post like this, in the hopes of saying: 'I know it's a lot, but I've also got all of this!' I'm tempted to do that now, but that isn't what I wanted to write about. Check out my other posts from this week, if you're looking for the happiness.
And the happiness, it's here too. It's the complexity of things that's got me all churned up tonight. A night where my brother takes an Ambien and says it's for stress. Where Youngest Sister fills her plate with Harvard-y things, and becomes blind to everything else. Where Grandmother takes longer to recover from a cold than me (heretofore unheard of, I assure you). Where my doctor's appointment gets rescheduled, but I'm out of meds. Where my checking account starts to resemble Al Capone's Vault. Where my laptop's fan insists on making an extra hissing noise for no good reason. Where the Easter Bunny bought double the amount of candy, used to making twice as many baskets (one from us, one from Nana.)
It's a night for feeling overwhelmed, and I'm not going to apologize for it. I apologize too much: two people told me that recently, and I'm afraid they're right, so I'm cutting back.
Feeling everworry is a heavy thing, and sometimes you just need to set the load down for a few minutes. Thanks for letting me.
This is one of those times that I'm going to write this whole long (or short) post, get finished, and then have to make the decision whether or not it just goes in the draft folder. Or if I am brave enough to push the post button.
I want you to know that I've appreciated your kindness, your generosity, the fact that you keep coming back to read, to say 'hey,' to check in when most of what you're getting is maudlin and dreary. And most of us are feeling enough of the maudlin and dreary on our own lately, and don't especially need extra. I know that feeling: I've been guilty of clicking on a blog I love, seeing how sad the post is and moving on, because I just... can't. Not on that day. So I understand if you just can't, too. That's ok. I hope you'll keep in touch, keep checking in, stop by when there's something more pleasant on our plate.
But here's the thing: that plate? Is overflowing. With everything and everybody. And everyworry.
At least that's what it feels like a lot of the time. I know I can handle it: I actually feel like I am handling it all pretty well, but I'm just saying: it's a lot.
None of the other problems I/we have been having disappeared when Nana died. Life doesn't work that way. My illness is not on hold because I don't have the energy to deal with it. My brother's relationship to his fiance didn't become all patched up, and his preferred form of dealing with stress (by not dealing with it) hasn't magically transformed either. The premature twins aren't uncolicky, and their mother is still a tad bit overwhelmed and depressed. The housing market isn't exactly friendly, and neither are the PUS. Things that were little got magnified, and things that were eventuallys became nows. It's unfortunate, but it's true.
And there's the grief. The little moments when you pick up the phone to call her for dinner, when you burst into tears because her favorite thing to teach was always the American Revolution, and she's missing a most awesome show? (Seriously, are you watching this show? It's on the HBO... and now I think Abigail Adams is a rockstar!)
I always feel compelled to put all the good things in, when I start a post like this, in the hopes of saying: 'I know it's a lot, but I've also got all of this!' I'm tempted to do that now, but that isn't what I wanted to write about. Check out my other posts from this week, if you're looking for the happiness.
And the happiness, it's here too. It's the complexity of things that's got me all churned up tonight. A night where my brother takes an Ambien and says it's for stress. Where Youngest Sister fills her plate with Harvard-y things, and becomes blind to everything else. Where Grandmother takes longer to recover from a cold than me (heretofore unheard of, I assure you). Where my doctor's appointment gets rescheduled, but I'm out of meds. Where my checking account starts to resemble Al Capone's Vault. Where my laptop's fan insists on making an extra hissing noise for no good reason. Where the Easter Bunny bought double the amount of candy, used to making twice as many baskets (one from us, one from Nana.)
It's a night for feeling overwhelmed, and I'm not going to apologize for it. I apologize too much: two people told me that recently, and I'm afraid they're right, so I'm cutting back.
Feeling everworry is a heavy thing, and sometimes you just need to set the load down for a few minutes. Thanks for letting me.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Ah, the details...
of being Maid of Honor are many.
But, they're also giving me some place to focus frustratingly unshut-up-able brain cells, so that's a plus.
I thought you might to hear some of the stuff that's buzzing around in my head re: the shower. If only because it's not entirely sad and depressing, which is a change of pace from our recent fare.
First off, here's a (slightly edited) version of our invitation -
Our theme is "a Perfect Pear," but only because I couldn't find any penguins that we could use as favors/centerpieces. (Penguins mate for life, apparently. Or, if they do not, my sister believes that they do, and she and her fiance call each other "Pengy" sometimes. They'd really be quite sickening if I weren't over the moon happy for them.)
Sister Ch scoped out some fabulous (rather large) glass pears at the Christmas Tree Shoppe (nice and cheap), and we're putting in pear jelly beans and a pair of pears, along with a little tag that says "J & K: A perfect pear." (I told you about the sickening sweet, didn't I?)
Things are moving along: the bill & final count is due next week, at the country club we're having the party at. The other bridesmaids voted against me (and SisterCh) and decided that having at a fancier place, but paying for set up and clean up would be better than having it at a less fancy place but having to do more of the work ourselves. Honestly? I didn't really care one way or the other. I just want the day to go well, and feel like if it doesn't, I will feel horrible for having ruined the whole thing. (I'm kinda sad like that: if things go well, I do not exactly rush to take credit, but when they fall apart, I'm right there with my hand held high. What's with that? IDK, but it's probably not for this post, since I promised not to be depressing.
In an effort to fight against that urge, though, I will tell you that I designed the invitation on my own. It's actually pretty easy, since I'm in love with Photoshop, but I still think it came out rather good.)
We're going to have games (although we're not 100% set on which ones yet), and cake smooshing, which I think is rather sensible, since Sister J is dead set against it at the wedding (what with the money she'll have spent on her hair and makeup), and Fiance is very much for it. I figure giving him his shot at smooshing cake in her face is a fabulous way to make sure he has a good time, anyways. And she won't care, because she's not like that, ordinarily.
Here's some of the info I just sent out to the other girls, to give 'em a nudge.
Hi! I just looked at the calendar just now, and noticed that the shower is.. you know two weeks from Saturday. Hello: time is moving too quickly!
I am going to order the favors this weekend, but we're up to 40 something right now, and there's only a few question marks, so we'll definitely come in under 60 people, so that's good.
We have to order the food next week (once we have the final count), as well as a cake (for smooshing & eating purposes), and then the total bill will be due right before the party.
Then I talked a lot of "show me the money," which I expect to be an issue. Because it always is. And these are my sisters I am talking about.
These are the favors we decided on for the wedding, though: how cute are they? And also? Because they're usable (everybody uses magnets!) they're much less likely to wind up in the trash or in the back of someone's closet. Mum has started packing up some of the stuff we almost never use, even though we aren't moving anytime soon, and unearthed a rather large collection of shower/party related ephemera that made me realize that a lot of this stuff is just more junk. People don't want more junk, but they do want something, so I thought this would be good.
So that's the latest from shower central: What's news or exciting where y'all are?
But, they're also giving me some place to focus frustratingly unshut-up-able brain cells, so that's a plus.
I thought you might to hear some of the stuff that's buzzing around in my head re: the shower. If only because it's not entirely sad and depressing, which is a change of pace from our recent fare.
First off, here's a (slightly edited) version of our invitation -
Our theme is "a Perfect Pear," but only because I couldn't find any penguins that we could use as favors/centerpieces. (Penguins mate for life, apparently. Or, if they do not, my sister believes that they do, and she and her fiance call each other "Pengy" sometimes. They'd really be quite sickening if I weren't over the moon happy for them.)
Sister Ch scoped out some fabulous (rather large) glass pears at the Christmas Tree Shoppe (nice and cheap), and we're putting in pear jelly beans and a pair of pears, along with a little tag that says "J & K: A perfect pear." (I told you about the sickening sweet, didn't I?)
Things are moving along: the bill & final count is due next week, at the country club we're having the party at. The other bridesmaids voted against me (and SisterCh) and decided that having at a fancier place, but paying for set up and clean up would be better than having it at a less fancy place but having to do more of the work ourselves. Honestly? I didn't really care one way or the other. I just want the day to go well, and feel like if it doesn't, I will feel horrible for having ruined the whole thing. (I'm kinda sad like that: if things go well, I do not exactly rush to take credit, but when they fall apart, I'm right there with my hand held high. What's with that? IDK, but it's probably not for this post, since I promised not to be depressing.
In an effort to fight against that urge, though, I will tell you that I designed the invitation on my own. It's actually pretty easy, since I'm in love with Photoshop, but I still think it came out rather good.)
We're going to have games (although we're not 100% set on which ones yet), and cake smooshing, which I think is rather sensible, since Sister J is dead set against it at the wedding (what with the money she'll have spent on her hair and makeup), and Fiance is very much for it. I figure giving him his shot at smooshing cake in her face is a fabulous way to make sure he has a good time, anyways. And she won't care, because she's not like that, ordinarily.
Here's some of the info I just sent out to the other girls, to give 'em a nudge.
Hi! I just looked at the calendar just now, and noticed that the shower is.. you know two weeks from Saturday. Hello: time is moving too quickly!
I am going to order the favors this weekend, but we're up to 40 something right now, and there's only a few question marks, so we'll definitely come in under 60 people, so that's good.
We have to order the food next week (once we have the final count), as well as a cake (for smooshing & eating purposes), and then the total bill will be due right before the party.
Then I talked a lot of "show me the money," which I expect to be an issue. Because it always is. And these are my sisters I am talking about.
These are the favors we decided on for the wedding, though: how cute are they? And also? Because they're usable (everybody uses magnets!) they're much less likely to wind up in the trash or in the back of someone's closet. Mum has started packing up some of the stuff we almost never use, even though we aren't moving anytime soon, and unearthed a rather large collection of shower/party related ephemera that made me realize that a lot of this stuff is just more junk. People don't want more junk, but they do want something, so I thought this would be good.
So that's the latest from shower central: What's news or exciting where y'all are?
Monday, March 17, 2008
Tatooed Bride
I'm finally feeling up to a little My Best Shot Monday, and, since I spent hours and hours yesterday printing and then assembling wedding invitations (which I will hopefully post later this week), I thought I'd give you all a little gilmpse of Sister J - the Bride.
Two months from today, my sister will be a Mrs. It's pretty astounding, and I just couldn't be happier for her. (For all the drama and the craziness and all that... to have her be happy? Especially after our past 6 months or so? Too, too amazing.)
So: Here's My Best Shot Monday picture. You can head on over to Mother May I to catch some more glimpses.
Two months from today, my sister will be a Mrs. It's pretty astounding, and I just couldn't be happier for her. (For all the drama and the craziness and all that... to have her be happy? Especially after our past 6 months or so? Too, too amazing.)
So: Here's My Best Shot Monday picture. You can head on over to Mother May I to catch some more glimpses.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Messin with your math since 2005!
Sometimes I wonder what people think I must when they check their feedreaders, and I've been on their site.
Because, if I find something I want to comment on, but can't immediately think of what I want to say (like on this post), then I shrink it down, and let it simmer for a while in my brain.
And, by a while, I mean... sometimes three days. I think that's the record, anyways.
There are lots of reasons I do this: If a post is out of control funny, or too emotional to read in one sitting. Or if it's so powerful that I want to sip it rather than gulp, I just keep maximizing and minimizing it until I'm ready to move on.
It happens a lot: The talent out there in the world o' blogs is immense, people. I'm very often humbled by the words I see on my screen.
But still... I must really screw up people's statistics. So I thought I'd just offer this explanation: I'm not exactly a stalker. Really. I just... need to process a bit.
Sorry about your graphs, but I think you'll understand.
Because, if I find something I want to comment on, but can't immediately think of what I want to say (like on this post), then I shrink it down, and let it simmer for a while in my brain.
And, by a while, I mean... sometimes three days. I think that's the record, anyways.
There are lots of reasons I do this: If a post is out of control funny, or too emotional to read in one sitting. Or if it's so powerful that I want to sip it rather than gulp, I just keep maximizing and minimizing it until I'm ready to move on.
It happens a lot: The talent out there in the world o' blogs is immense, people. I'm very often humbled by the words I see on my screen.
But still... I must really screw up people's statistics. So I thought I'd just offer this explanation: I'm not exactly a stalker. Really. I just... need to process a bit.
Sorry about your graphs, but I think you'll understand.
Friday, March 14, 2008
How to feel semi-human
Take a shower. Seriously, if I told you how long it had been since I had a real shower, you would stop hanging out with me. I got washed and everything, but the grease in my hair could probably have been mined. (I might've been rich! What was I thinking, getting rid of it? Also, is it mining when it's oil? It's something... crap, not as human as I'd like to be apparently.)
And then I had a nice shower coma, even if it was in the parlor.
And now I'm going to eat food, take pills, and attack a list. It better beware! LISTS: BE WARNED!
And then I had a nice shower coma, even if it was in the parlor.
And now I'm going to eat food, take pills, and attack a list. It better beware! LISTS: BE WARNED!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
I know there are times that I have felt less like posting, but I must be blocking them out, because they were so horrid.
In point of fact, I have missed you all, but when you have the walking pneumonia, the tonsils the size of baby turtles, the sinus infection that will. not. die. And you add all of those things onto the fact that I was in exile because of the PUS and therefore not at least miserable and at home, well, you might say that I just didn't quite get around to saying all the things I've had to say.
Or, that I said them, but because they were covered in mucus, I thought it best not to share them with all of you.
You're welcome.
I am much improved (well, much improved for me anyways), and my nearly three weeks of exile has come to a semi-end. I am home again, just stuck in our own parlor, as the painting that was supposed to take place on the porch (above and behind my bedroom) actually wound up taking place in the hallway (directly above my bedroom) and my room still smells like paint.
You can just imagine, I am sure, the cheery, happy, mucus-covered thoughts I have been directing towards the PUS. Ahhh... if only thoughts could kill. Or maim. I'd settle for maiming.
Our couch, at the very least, is in closer proximity to my millions of lists of things that still need to get done. Not that I am really accomplishing any of them (certain blog friends who have birthdays this week may want to wait awhile before checking the mail for their cards, for example), but I'm physically closer to them, and that's a start.
Isn't it?
Meanwhile, I have been catching up with all of you... and if any of you are catching up here: Hallo! It is the middle of March! Already! And there's a wedding shower I'm supposed to throw in three weeks! Would you kindly tell me why nobody knows what RSVP means anymore????
Wasn't that a nice welcome back?
:)
In point of fact, I have missed you all, but when you have the walking pneumonia, the tonsils the size of baby turtles, the sinus infection that will. not. die. And you add all of those things onto the fact that I was in exile because of the PUS and therefore not at least miserable and at home, well, you might say that I just didn't quite get around to saying all the things I've had to say.
Or, that I said them, but because they were covered in mucus, I thought it best not to share them with all of you.
You're welcome.
I am much improved (well, much improved for me anyways), and my nearly three weeks of exile has come to a semi-end. I am home again, just stuck in our own parlor, as the painting that was supposed to take place on the porch (above and behind my bedroom) actually wound up taking place in the hallway (directly above my bedroom) and my room still smells like paint.
You can just imagine, I am sure, the cheery, happy, mucus-covered thoughts I have been directing towards the PUS. Ahhh... if only thoughts could kill. Or maim. I'd settle for maiming.
Our couch, at the very least, is in closer proximity to my millions of lists of things that still need to get done. Not that I am really accomplishing any of them (certain blog friends who have birthdays this week may want to wait awhile before checking the mail for their cards, for example), but I'm physically closer to them, and that's a start.
Isn't it?
Meanwhile, I have been catching up with all of you... and if any of you are catching up here: Hallo! It is the middle of March! Already! And there's a wedding shower I'm supposed to throw in three weeks! Would you kindly tell me why nobody knows what RSVP means anymore????
Wasn't that a nice welcome back?
:)
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
I am so over it
What, exactly?
Everything.
Mhmm. The dramas, the sickness, the sadness, the PUS poisoning me; thank you cards, invitations, and RSVPs; food that I'm not hungry for, naps I want to take but can't,coughing; sick grandmothers and missing nanas; political 'news,' cold sores, lawyers. I'm sick of it all.
And so, today? I'm just going to forget about as much as I can. Lose myself in some rereads, and float far far away. (or, long, long ago, as the case may be: I'm off to England with the Bridgertons. Their drama I can handle.)
Everything.
Mhmm. The dramas, the sickness, the sadness, the PUS poisoning me; thank you cards, invitations, and RSVPs; food that I'm not hungry for, naps I want to take but can't,coughing; sick grandmothers and missing nanas; political 'news,' cold sores, lawyers. I'm sick of it all.
And so, today? I'm just going to forget about as much as I can. Lose myself in some rereads, and float far far away. (or, long, long ago, as the case may be: I'm off to England with the Bridgertons. Their drama I can handle.)
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Thanks for stopping by
According to my sitemeter, the two most popular search queries that lead people to this here blog are "easiest ways to kill yourself" and "L is for the way you look at me."
If you got here through that first search, I just want to say this:
I know.
You're sure that I don't, but I do. I know the fear that this is all there will ever be, this pain, this mess, this struggle. And the way your tired brain makes you feel like this is the only option left to you.
It's not.
I promise.
And getting help, from places like this or this or this, will wind up being less scary than you thought.
Although it's grim, and most likely not what I should be saying, here's a thought that helped me through: I could always do it tomorrow. When I was at my lowest low, and the only things that really stopped me were the idea of someone in my family having to find my body or how Youngest Nephew wouldn't even remember me, the thought that helped me the most was 'if not today, then tomorrow.' And I kept saying that to myself, along with a running list of the things I would miss out on if I weren't here. Until there came a day, just a random day, when the list of things I would miss started to weigh more, to mean more, than the idea that I could end this whole thing anytime I wanted.
My circumstances have seemingly changed very little between my time in the pit and now - in a lot of ways I'm worse off: I'm sicker now than I was then. And I've got all the years between of being not just sick but disabled, not just being unable to work, but being unemployed and having to move home, not just single, but single while all of my friends - even my family - are married and having babies. I've lost a lot of close family members between then and now. Those are all tough things, all really hard things. Sometimes they seem impossible to live with. But I do, I can.
Because I'm not stuck in a depression, not mired in the middle of a molasses-y black hole, where all I am able to do is think about how I'm stuck and the impossibility of ever becoming unstuck.
I don't know how, exactly, I climbed out of it. I was so afraid to say I was depressed because for years, doctors had been telling me that I wasn't sick, I was really depressed, and I should just take an antidepressant and get on with it already. But depression, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't cause 104 degree fevers, doesn't weaken your muscle tone and decimate your immune system. It can't make your tonsils swell up to the size of those baby turtles you used to see in cartoons, can't give you bronchitis, pneumonia, or asthma. I knew that I wasn't depressed when I first got sick - if anything I was on a high - and I knew that the three psych drs I'd seen since then had not only ruled out depression as the cause of my ailments, but one had gone so far as to call my doc at the time 'a stunning fool' for having even suggested it.
So while I knew that my depression wasn't the cause of my illness, having it as a symptom was just as troubling. I was about 6 years into being sick; I had developed asthma that spring, spent the summer roasting and the fall struggling to make it through a very tough internship with a supervisor who told me I would "never become a teacher." I got sick again and again as the kids so kindly shared their every germ with me. My beloved uncle died, and I was to sick to drive down for his funeral. Things kept piling up, heavier and heavier.
It was like being in a snowstorm, and seeing all that snow coming down. You see the coating that comes and try to sweep it away, but it's too heavy for the broom you've brought. And while you were gone, looking for a shovel, the snow has gotten deeper and heavier. You try to shovel, but the snow is coming too quick. And by now you're very, very tired. So you walk away for a while, figuring to just let it sit, wait for the flurry to pass, and then you'll deal with it. But the flurry turns into a full blown storm, and the pile keeps mounting, it multiplies. You try to tackle at least one path, so you can get out, but every time you think it's clear, the storm starts up again. Exhausted, you retreat to watch the snow from the window, amazed at how quickly it piles up. You start thinking that the blizzard will never end, that you'll never be able to clear that much snow out of your way. You're stuck where you are - it might just as well have been an avalanche, for all that you don't have the strength to plow your way through what's there. And then it starts to seem reasonable that you would just go out there and lie down in it, let it cover you up, cold and numbing, until you didn't have to worry about it, suffer through it, anymore.
I wish I could say that the sun came out and melted all the snow away, but it's mostly still there. I've just managed to shovel out a lot of paths, to find safe places to hole up when the storms are strongest. For some people the path out is meds: I tried a few and found they were no real help to me (surprise, surprise: meds not working for NTE? Shocker.) Exercise helps, even the gentle stretching I'm sometimes capable of doing makes me feel peaceful.
For me, the best path was people: I'd been isolating myself, more and more, little by little. And the CFIDS/FM had already done a pretty good job of cutting me off from most people, so it was shockingly easy. I stopped calling home so often, I shared less with my Roommate/Best Friend. Kept things that were bothering me a secret, ashamed of what the people I had left - the people who were closest - would think.
It was dumb, and Roommate/Best Friend told me so, right to my face. She snuck her way back in, somehow, and wouldn't let me close the door. At home, Mum did the same. Wormed and wiggled their way back in until I could see that I didn't have to do this whole thing by myself. That there were people in my life who would be just as outraged as I was that a person who was supposed to help was so cruel to me (Roommate/Best Fried immediately began calling her Bitch Lady, as in "Bitch Lady left a message on the machine"), who would be just as scared as I was over the fact that my liver was malfunctioning, that it might, in fact be shutting down.
Once I realized that I didn't have to do it alone, I realized that I could do it. It was never easy - it still isn't easy. (An easy way to tell that would be to look at the name of this blog.)
But it's worth it - I may be sicker and older and sometimes feel more stuck than every, but I'm also so much better off in a lot of ways: I've watched Youngest Nephew grow from baby to boy, had a hand in his raising, and feel pride at how far he's come. Lil Girl wasn't even a vague idea at the time suicide was uppermost in my mind, and now she's what's uppermost in my mind a lot of the time. I've got a lot of honorary nephews and nieces to spoil, and can see that Oldest Nephew is going to be taller than his mother in a matter of months. I've spent time with the people who mean the most to me, shared moments of unspeakable sadness and unbearable joy. I've started this blog and 'met' some of the most thoughtful, caring, individual people I've ever known, all the while being able to work hard at writing true, to document some parts of my life and say: this is me, take it or leave it. To know that people get it. To have seen my illnesses go from fringe and crazy to less fringe and suddenly researchable. To be able to hope that someday they'll figure this shit out.
There's a lot of times, especially recent times, when I see the snow start to come down and I wonder, do I have the strength to shovel out this time? What if I don't, what if I get stuck again? And the best part is that now I know enough to think that if that happens, someone will come for me in their snowmobile, at break neck speeds if necessary. All I have to do is ask.
So, if the Google has brought you here in search of easiest ways to kill yourself, I hope instead that you'll consider this a shovel, a snow plow, hell, even one of those tiny gardening spades. There are people outside of the storm who can help you, you just have to let them know you need the help.
Oh, and if you want to see some of my shovels, click that second link up there: L. O. V. E.
If you got here through that first search, I just want to say this:
I know.
You're sure that I don't, but I do. I know the fear that this is all there will ever be, this pain, this mess, this struggle. And the way your tired brain makes you feel like this is the only option left to you.
It's not.
I promise.
And getting help, from places like this or this or this, will wind up being less scary than you thought.
Although it's grim, and most likely not what I should be saying, here's a thought that helped me through: I could always do it tomorrow. When I was at my lowest low, and the only things that really stopped me were the idea of someone in my family having to find my body or how Youngest Nephew wouldn't even remember me, the thought that helped me the most was 'if not today, then tomorrow.' And I kept saying that to myself, along with a running list of the things I would miss out on if I weren't here. Until there came a day, just a random day, when the list of things I would miss started to weigh more, to mean more, than the idea that I could end this whole thing anytime I wanted.
My circumstances have seemingly changed very little between my time in the pit and now - in a lot of ways I'm worse off: I'm sicker now than I was then. And I've got all the years between of being not just sick but disabled, not just being unable to work, but being unemployed and having to move home, not just single, but single while all of my friends - even my family - are married and having babies. I've lost a lot of close family members between then and now. Those are all tough things, all really hard things. Sometimes they seem impossible to live with. But I do, I can.
Because I'm not stuck in a depression, not mired in the middle of a molasses-y black hole, where all I am able to do is think about how I'm stuck and the impossibility of ever becoming unstuck.
I don't know how, exactly, I climbed out of it. I was so afraid to say I was depressed because for years, doctors had been telling me that I wasn't sick, I was really depressed, and I should just take an antidepressant and get on with it already. But depression, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't cause 104 degree fevers, doesn't weaken your muscle tone and decimate your immune system. It can't make your tonsils swell up to the size of those baby turtles you used to see in cartoons, can't give you bronchitis, pneumonia, or asthma. I knew that I wasn't depressed when I first got sick - if anything I was on a high - and I knew that the three psych drs I'd seen since then had not only ruled out depression as the cause of my ailments, but one had gone so far as to call my doc at the time 'a stunning fool' for having even suggested it.
So while I knew that my depression wasn't the cause of my illness, having it as a symptom was just as troubling. I was about 6 years into being sick; I had developed asthma that spring, spent the summer roasting and the fall struggling to make it through a very tough internship with a supervisor who told me I would "never become a teacher." I got sick again and again as the kids so kindly shared their every germ with me. My beloved uncle died, and I was to sick to drive down for his funeral. Things kept piling up, heavier and heavier.
It was like being in a snowstorm, and seeing all that snow coming down. You see the coating that comes and try to sweep it away, but it's too heavy for the broom you've brought. And while you were gone, looking for a shovel, the snow has gotten deeper and heavier. You try to shovel, but the snow is coming too quick. And by now you're very, very tired. So you walk away for a while, figuring to just let it sit, wait for the flurry to pass, and then you'll deal with it. But the flurry turns into a full blown storm, and the pile keeps mounting, it multiplies. You try to tackle at least one path, so you can get out, but every time you think it's clear, the storm starts up again. Exhausted, you retreat to watch the snow from the window, amazed at how quickly it piles up. You start thinking that the blizzard will never end, that you'll never be able to clear that much snow out of your way. You're stuck where you are - it might just as well have been an avalanche, for all that you don't have the strength to plow your way through what's there. And then it starts to seem reasonable that you would just go out there and lie down in it, let it cover you up, cold and numbing, until you didn't have to worry about it, suffer through it, anymore.
I wish I could say that the sun came out and melted all the snow away, but it's mostly still there. I've just managed to shovel out a lot of paths, to find safe places to hole up when the storms are strongest. For some people the path out is meds: I tried a few and found they were no real help to me (surprise, surprise: meds not working for NTE? Shocker.) Exercise helps, even the gentle stretching I'm sometimes capable of doing makes me feel peaceful.
For me, the best path was people: I'd been isolating myself, more and more, little by little. And the CFIDS/FM had already done a pretty good job of cutting me off from most people, so it was shockingly easy. I stopped calling home so often, I shared less with my Roommate/Best Friend. Kept things that were bothering me a secret, ashamed of what the people I had left - the people who were closest - would think.
It was dumb, and Roommate/Best Friend told me so, right to my face. She snuck her way back in, somehow, and wouldn't let me close the door. At home, Mum did the same. Wormed and wiggled their way back in until I could see that I didn't have to do this whole thing by myself. That there were people in my life who would be just as outraged as I was that a person who was supposed to help was so cruel to me (Roommate/Best Fried immediately began calling her Bitch Lady, as in "Bitch Lady left a message on the machine"), who would be just as scared as I was over the fact that my liver was malfunctioning, that it might, in fact be shutting down.
Once I realized that I didn't have to do it alone, I realized that I could do it. It was never easy - it still isn't easy. (An easy way to tell that would be to look at the name of this blog.)
But it's worth it - I may be sicker and older and sometimes feel more stuck than every, but I'm also so much better off in a lot of ways: I've watched Youngest Nephew grow from baby to boy, had a hand in his raising, and feel pride at how far he's come. Lil Girl wasn't even a vague idea at the time suicide was uppermost in my mind, and now she's what's uppermost in my mind a lot of the time. I've got a lot of honorary nephews and nieces to spoil, and can see that Oldest Nephew is going to be taller than his mother in a matter of months. I've spent time with the people who mean the most to me, shared moments of unspeakable sadness and unbearable joy. I've started this blog and 'met' some of the most thoughtful, caring, individual people I've ever known, all the while being able to work hard at writing true, to document some parts of my life and say: this is me, take it or leave it. To know that people get it. To have seen my illnesses go from fringe and crazy to less fringe and suddenly researchable. To be able to hope that someday they'll figure this shit out.
There's a lot of times, especially recent times, when I see the snow start to come down and I wonder, do I have the strength to shovel out this time? What if I don't, what if I get stuck again? And the best part is that now I know enough to think that if that happens, someone will come for me in their snowmobile, at break neck speeds if necessary. All I have to do is ask.
So, if the Google has brought you here in search of easiest ways to kill yourself, I hope instead that you'll consider this a shovel, a snow plow, hell, even one of those tiny gardening spades. There are people outside of the storm who can help you, you just have to let them know you need the help.
Oh, and if you want to see some of my shovels, click that second link up there: L. O. V. E.
Friday, February 29, 2008
At the restaurant after Nana's funeral, Big/Only Brother and I were left alone, waiting for Mum to bring the car around. It was just the two of us and a waitress, hustling through trying to clean up the debris us grieving people had left behind. (PS: Grieving people apparently eat a lot.) He sat the wrong way in one of those restaurant booths, I was in my chair across from him, making the wheelchair rock the way I do when I am upset.
I asked how he was doing, he asked how I was doing. It was one of those times when it just seems as if the whole thing is too much. I was in so much physical pain, from pushing to be able to do all the things that were required of me, and so much emotional pain, that I could feel only relief that it was over. That there were no more "have to-s" on my list, even if only for that day.
He looked much the same, exhausted, crushed and confused. There were other things that happened then that I am not ready to talk about, but there was a moment when we were sitting there by ourselves that stands out so clearly in my mind. He asked me what I thought: "Do you think she's gone, that this is the end?"
And I told him: "I don't know. I don't know for sure if there's anything that comes next, and that bothers me deep down in my analytical, must know all the ins-and-outs of everything soul. It's one of those things I've studied to death. Back and forth and forth and back: religiously, psychologically, intuitively, factually.
And I've still come up with no answers.
But I know that it makes me feel better to believe that she's someplace else, someplace better. Buying Papa that drink and taking Maryellen to task for leaving without her. Watching over us and crying with us because we're so sad. And I don't care if that is just my subconscious trying to deceive me. If it wants to help me feel better, even just a little better, then I'm going to let it. What does it matter if it's true or not, if it feels true?"
He looked surprised, then laughed and gave me a kiss. We moved towards the door & mum's car and I asked him what he believed. And he said: "Up till a few minutes ago I had no idea."
Inspired by this post by Sweet & Salty.
I asked how he was doing, he asked how I was doing. It was one of those times when it just seems as if the whole thing is too much. I was in so much physical pain, from pushing to be able to do all the things that were required of me, and so much emotional pain, that I could feel only relief that it was over. That there were no more "have to-s" on my list, even if only for that day.
He looked much the same, exhausted, crushed and confused. There were other things that happened then that I am not ready to talk about, but there was a moment when we were sitting there by ourselves that stands out so clearly in my mind. He asked me what I thought: "Do you think she's gone, that this is the end?"
And I told him: "I don't know. I don't know for sure if there's anything that comes next, and that bothers me deep down in my analytical, must know all the ins-and-outs of everything soul. It's one of those things I've studied to death. Back and forth and forth and back: religiously, psychologically, intuitively, factually.
And I've still come up with no answers.
But I know that it makes me feel better to believe that she's someplace else, someplace better. Buying Papa that drink and taking Maryellen to task for leaving without her. Watching over us and crying with us because we're so sad. And I don't care if that is just my subconscious trying to deceive me. If it wants to help me feel better, even just a little better, then I'm going to let it. What does it matter if it's true or not, if it feels true?"
He looked surprised, then laughed and gave me a kiss. We moved towards the door & mum's car and I asked him what he believed. And he said: "Up till a few minutes ago I had no idea."
Inspired by this post by Sweet & Salty.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Some laughing links to share:
If I have to explain to you why this is one of the funniest things ever, then I'm not really sure how you got here: God, how I hate that stupid Castle Toad! It's not just about the toad, though: Heather! Anne! nails all 5 as she reminds us all that sometimes being alone on a deserted island is preferable.
Also, you should head on over to Jennie's! place, and see how many times you can say "That's what she said" while you're reading.
Cuz anything that makes me laugh today, is worth it's weight in gold. Or finger sandwiches. Or meat. Either way.
Also, if you're into that kind of thing (which I usually am not), may I suggest you head on over to YouTube and see what Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, Matt Damon & Ben Affleck are up to? Crude, senseless, totally shouldn't be funny. But I laughed. A lot. Out loud at one point. If you want, go see if it makes you chuckle too.
Also, you should head on over to Jennie's! place, and see how many times you can say "That's what she said" while you're reading.
Cuz anything that makes me laugh today, is worth it's weight in gold. Or finger sandwiches. Or meat. Either way.
Also, if you're into that kind of thing (which I usually am not), may I suggest you head on over to YouTube and see what Jimmy Kimmel, Sarah Silverman, Matt Damon & Ben Affleck are up to? Crude, senseless, totally shouldn't be funny. But I laughed. A lot. Out loud at one point. If you want, go see if it makes you chuckle too.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Last week
I had to pick up some prescriptions, and went on the search for the least smelly dandruff shampoo I could find. (My scalp is out of control, people. But I can't use those tar things they used to tell me to use, because of the smells... it's a pickle.)
Anyways... I came across this:
Yes, that's right: anti-sponge shampoo. I honestly could not figure out what they heck they were talking about, and since the back of the bottle was in spanish, I was left totally confused.
The website says it's to combat hair that 'absorbs water and magnifies in size'... So... poofy? Poofy hair is what we're working against here? Except they also have an Anti Poof shampoo, so it must be different somehow. And they also have a volumizing shampoo. So there's sponges, bad poof and good poof.
No wonder I don't get this kind of stuff...
Anyways... I came across this:
Yes, that's right: anti-sponge shampoo. I honestly could not figure out what they heck they were talking about, and since the back of the bottle was in spanish, I was left totally confused.
The website says it's to combat hair that 'absorbs water and magnifies in size'... So... poofy? Poofy hair is what we're working against here? Except they also have an Anti Poof shampoo, so it must be different somehow. And they also have a volumizing shampoo. So there's sponges, bad poof and good poof.
No wonder I don't get this kind of stuff...
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I just want to say a couple of things
Most of those things sound an awful lot like this: Sorry I'm not here so much.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Because I miss it, the outlet, and all of you. And, even though I said it last time, I'm really hoping to be able to recommit to posting here.
I am at my Grandmother's house: enjoying long days of chit chatting & showing of baby pictures, of extra loud news programs & stories I've never heard. Although I am pissed at the PUS because they continue to be insensitive asses, before I left the house I made some decisions:
1) I knew I was going to have to leave (their reassurance that there would be no smells is about as worthwhile to me as something else that smells really bad), and I still don't know if it was for good. And that's sad. If I'm all done living there, I'm all done living there, but it's still sad. Right now, I doubt that it will be permanent, just because there's other things abrewing, but I'll deal if it is. I will.
2) I love my Grandmother: I love spending time with her, even if she repeats her stories or tries to make my uncle give me help that I don't need. I always learn something new about somebody in our family, some nugget of treasure she's forgotten to pass along to me. We look at old albums and point out the guy who came to the reunion that nobody knew, or great-grandfather Gerry and how he walked dink toed, just like me (you know, back when I used to walk). I often feel upset that so many of my Grandmother's children are so far away: for her, and for them. Look what they're missing out on. Every time we get into a discussion, I have to physically resist reaching into my bag and pulling out my camera, turning it to record, and hiding it between the pillows. And I only resist because last time I did that she caught me, and was not pleased. A displeased Grandmother is not a fun time for anyone. So, even though the reason behind my visit is aggravating and frustrating, I decided before I left that I would enjoy it. The additional pain (from laying on her old lumpy couches all day and night), the new smells to get used to, the rashes from her soaps... that's all bearable because I'm more aware than ever that someday, probably soon, she won't be here for me to listen to, won't be here to repeat to me something she heard on the news (even though I was in the room, watching the news with her, and it was just 15 minutes ago). So, today I'll hold our visit close, watch the way she laughs at Lil Girl, the way her eyes crinkle up when she talks about her mother's death (when she was almost 6, so 84 years ago now) and what she was wearing in her coffin. I'm trying to memorize every little thing, because I feel so lucky to still have her here.
3) When I left Thursday morning, it was after the movers came to take Nana's things to storage. That was very difficult, for me and for mum. Because it was like seeing pieces of your childhood, only in the entirely wrong context. Nana's dollhouse didn't belong in a truck, all emptied out and furniture free... It had a place of honor, and was impeccably decorated. The ceramic people (including an older woman in a maid's outfit that we called Nana) should be lined up and waiting: Mother, Father, twin boys dressed in knickers, twin girls in red dresses. Those weird post thingees that I couldn't place were the ends of the dining room table, all pulled apart. Looking at the holes we used to crawl through, endlessly aggravating whichever adults happened to be sitting there, it felt like I had fallen through a hole myself: I was Alice, but instead of a wonderland, I was stuck here.
In tears. I'd prefer the Cheshire cat, I think.
4) There are good things, good and strong and exciting things that are trying to happen in our lives, and I'm trying to be strong enough to let them happen, to make them happen. Wedding showers and christenings, Lil Girl learning to count, Youngest Nephew's first viewing of Indiana Jones. Simple things and extravagant things, and just... other things. And it's hard to be in a place where I can deal with those things, but I know it'll get easier everyday, even though it feels like it won't.
This blog is one of those things.
Getting back to reading and writing and scrapping and the merry go round of medicine: all of those things need to happen, and I'm trying. I really, really am. And other things need to be let go, and I'm trying there too. The PUS, someday soon, are going to drift out of my orbit (or, preferably, be exploded out of my orbit, like that rogue satellite), and they won't be influencing my days any more. I look forward to that eventuality. Sincerely. But, just like I can't sit and wait to get better and do nothing about helping to get there, I've gotta be open to the next steps for getting them gone. So that means I'll be here for now, and they'll be there, and if never the twain shall meet again, that'd be a-ok with me.
(PS - odor free? Means that it smells so badly they moved into a hotel room for the weekend, and Mum, Dad & SisterCh all have headaches from it downstairs. With doors and windows open, in the middle of a snowstorm. Good call. Again.)
So, I'll be spending my day tomorrow (wait, today, as it's 1:14 am), gabbing with Grandmother. Looking at the snow covered streets out the window. Wishing that things were different, but trying to appreciate what is. Thanks for sticking around.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Sometimes my life really sucks.
Now would be one of those times.
I've avoided talking about it here, but since my Nana's death, we're having some issues about housing.
As in: wouldn't it be nice to have some?
I know I've talked about our living arrangements before: we (my parents, one sister, and I) live on the first floor, my Nana lived on the second with The PUS: her son, his wife and their three kids (whose bedrooms were on the 3rd floor). Now that my Nana isn't here, there's really no way we can afford to keep the house - she owned it free and clear and left it to my mum, the PUS, and Auntie E in equal shares, but there's taxes (insane) and maintaining/fixing it (about triply insane), plus there's the fact that we don't want to live with the PUS now or ever again.
Now that Nana is not here, there will be no heartwarming reunion where they ask us all to forgive them for what they've done: At the hospital, the morning she died, Mr. PUS claimed one of Nana's hands, and I wanted to punch him in the face. Mrs. PUS walked around in tears and said things like "it's for the best" and "you should call your uncle, he really misses you guys." As if the reason we don't speak to our uncle is that we lost his phone number, not because he is a huge asshole. As if they didn't play a very large role in Nana's illness getting to the point it did as quickly it did. I could do a very large rant right now about their role in Nana's life, and how much they wanted her dead (and said to her face "I'll be happy when you're dead!") but that's not what I came here to rant about, and you know how I like to stay on track.
Anyways, there will be no forgive and forget moments between us - I think they are abominable people and I will not allow them to continue to have a role in my life, because I know them to be toxic. I'm through trying to see things from their perspective, giving them a fresh start/another chance, even listening to their excuses: the only reason I had to listen to them before was because of Nana. I know that they are the same people who called my grandmother a 'raving bitch,' who refused to stop painting the porch when I started having an asthma attack because they were 'halfway through a coat,' who threatened to 'punch (us) till we bleed, because (I) won't be able to stop myself.'
And I know that continuing to allow them access to my life, or my family... would be poisonous and crazy.
Except that we're still living in the same house. And, of course, the PUS are the most self-centered, careless people on the face of the planet.
Which brings us back to the whole 'where are we going to live' issue. Because the PUS, who weren't supposed to make any decisions regarding the house until the lawyer's papers all came through; who assured us that they weren't going to 'so much as dust' Nana's things (and yet threw some of them away); who were offended when Auntie E's husband asked them what they were planning to do about either buying the house or selling it (we haven't even thought that far ahead!") - yeah, that PUS?
Well, they're having the upstairs floors sanded and varnished.
Next week.
Oh, there'll be 'no smells - the guy promised!'
And the sanding won't be an issue either because it's upstairs.
Right.
I just did a ton of research, and none of it said anything about 'odor free'... as a matter of fact, most of them mentioned 'health concerns' and 'toxicity levels.' That sounds fine... that sounds like something I'll be react to perfectly well.
So, I may be on the move. I may be permanently on the move, as I doubt, once they start, that they're ever going to stop. There'll be varnish, and sanding, and painting, and gluing, and hammering, and all of those things that come along with fixing up a 125 year old house.
Meanwhile, we don't have enough money to just get our own place right now, so I'm going to, most likely, be imposing on the kindness of my relatives (SisterJ, who's got a couch: Yay, almost newlyweds! Have a sick sister living on your couch! or my Grandmother, who, you may remember, turned 90 last July. Not that she wouldn't love to have me, but still... It's hard enough having to move back in with your parents because your sick and can't do everything for yourself, but to have to move in with your 90 year old grandmother? Yeah, that's not exactly in my life plan either.) But we do what we have to do, and I may not have any choice.
However, Nana's lawyer (who hates the PUS because he's an 'arrogant asshole') says that he'll help us out, so we're going to try to get some sort of Temporary Restraining Order, so that he won't be able to do any improvements without the consent of the two other owners (Hi: we hate you, and no you can't fix anything because it will make me sick. The End!)
We'd still have to sell the house, relatively soon... but by then, hopefully, the money from Nana's trust will come through, so we can find someplace else to stash me. And it won't be two day notice that I have to leave behind everything and live on someone's couch for however long.
The funny part is that the lawyer doesn't really know if he'll be able to get the TRO on the grounds of my health concerns, but seems pretty confident that they'll be able to get it because of the money involved: PUS will no doubt be applying to Nana's accounts for the funding - he, however, gets no funds from her estate... which was as cold as she was willing to be to him, unfortunately.
Me? I've never met people more deserving of the "comes around" portion of the whole "What goes around comes around" maxim. I'd like to say that I'm done letting them have even the tiniest bit of say in my life, but I can't really afford to just move on my own (healthwise or financially).
So for now, let's all pray that the restraining order comes through.
If not, it's just something else I'll have to deal with. Which I will, because I can... I just don't want to have to.
So, I wouldn't mind a break right about now... maybe I'll see if we have any chocolate.
Now would be one of those times.
I've avoided talking about it here, but since my Nana's death, we're having some issues about housing.
As in: wouldn't it be nice to have some?
I know I've talked about our living arrangements before: we (my parents, one sister, and I) live on the first floor, my Nana lived on the second with The PUS: her son, his wife and their three kids (whose bedrooms were on the 3rd floor). Now that my Nana isn't here, there's really no way we can afford to keep the house - she owned it free and clear and left it to my mum, the PUS, and Auntie E in equal shares, but there's taxes (insane) and maintaining/fixing it (about triply insane), plus there's the fact that we don't want to live with the PUS now or ever again.
Now that Nana is not here, there will be no heartwarming reunion where they ask us all to forgive them for what they've done: At the hospital, the morning she died, Mr. PUS claimed one of Nana's hands, and I wanted to punch him in the face. Mrs. PUS walked around in tears and said things like "it's for the best" and "you should call your uncle, he really misses you guys." As if the reason we don't speak to our uncle is that we lost his phone number, not because he is a huge asshole. As if they didn't play a very large role in Nana's illness getting to the point it did as quickly it did. I could do a very large rant right now about their role in Nana's life, and how much they wanted her dead (and said to her face "I'll be happy when you're dead!") but that's not what I came here to rant about, and you know how I like to stay on track.
Anyways, there will be no forgive and forget moments between us - I think they are abominable people and I will not allow them to continue to have a role in my life, because I know them to be toxic. I'm through trying to see things from their perspective, giving them a fresh start/another chance, even listening to their excuses: the only reason I had to listen to them before was because of Nana. I know that they are the same people who called my grandmother a 'raving bitch,' who refused to stop painting the porch when I started having an asthma attack because they were 'halfway through a coat,' who threatened to 'punch (us) till we bleed, because (I) won't be able to stop myself.'
And I know that continuing to allow them access to my life, or my family... would be poisonous and crazy.
Except that we're still living in the same house. And, of course, the PUS are the most self-centered, careless people on the face of the planet.
Which brings us back to the whole 'where are we going to live' issue. Because the PUS, who weren't supposed to make any decisions regarding the house until the lawyer's papers all came through; who assured us that they weren't going to 'so much as dust' Nana's things (and yet threw some of them away); who were offended when Auntie E's husband asked them what they were planning to do about either buying the house or selling it (we haven't even thought that far ahead!") - yeah, that PUS?
Well, they're having the upstairs floors sanded and varnished.
Next week.
Oh, there'll be 'no smells - the guy promised!'
And the sanding won't be an issue either because it's upstairs.
Right.
I just did a ton of research, and none of it said anything about 'odor free'... as a matter of fact, most of them mentioned 'health concerns' and 'toxicity levels.' That sounds fine... that sounds like something I'll be react to perfectly well.
So, I may be on the move. I may be permanently on the move, as I doubt, once they start, that they're ever going to stop. There'll be varnish, and sanding, and painting, and gluing, and hammering, and all of those things that come along with fixing up a 125 year old house.
Meanwhile, we don't have enough money to just get our own place right now, so I'm going to, most likely, be imposing on the kindness of my relatives (SisterJ, who's got a couch: Yay, almost newlyweds! Have a sick sister living on your couch! or my Grandmother, who, you may remember, turned 90 last July. Not that she wouldn't love to have me, but still... It's hard enough having to move back in with your parents because your sick and can't do everything for yourself, but to have to move in with your 90 year old grandmother? Yeah, that's not exactly in my life plan either.) But we do what we have to do, and I may not have any choice.
However, Nana's lawyer (who hates the PUS because he's an 'arrogant asshole') says that he'll help us out, so we're going to try to get some sort of Temporary Restraining Order, so that he won't be able to do any improvements without the consent of the two other owners (Hi: we hate you, and no you can't fix anything because it will make me sick. The End!)
We'd still have to sell the house, relatively soon... but by then, hopefully, the money from Nana's trust will come through, so we can find someplace else to stash me. And it won't be two day notice that I have to leave behind everything and live on someone's couch for however long.
The funny part is that the lawyer doesn't really know if he'll be able to get the TRO on the grounds of my health concerns, but seems pretty confident that they'll be able to get it because of the money involved: PUS will no doubt be applying to Nana's accounts for the funding - he, however, gets no funds from her estate... which was as cold as she was willing to be to him, unfortunately.
Me? I've never met people more deserving of the "comes around" portion of the whole "What goes around comes around" maxim. I'd like to say that I'm done letting them have even the tiniest bit of say in my life, but I can't really afford to just move on my own (healthwise or financially).
So for now, let's all pray that the restraining order comes through.
If not, it's just something else I'll have to deal with. Which I will, because I can... I just don't want to have to.
So, I wouldn't mind a break right about now... maybe I'll see if we have any chocolate.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Things I don't get that other girls do...
(Part 1... of probably 1 billion.)
Valentine's Day.
I just ... don't get it.
I mean, I am a Card Person. Capital C, Capital P.
I know the location of 3 local Hallmark Stores. I know two of the salespeople at one store as more than nodding acquaintances (I may or may not know the names of their children).
I can, very easily, spend upwards of $50 (and 50 minutes) on choosing cards alone. I usually have a multistep approach to buying cards...
- Step 1: Pick up cards that I like, have a need for, may someday have a need for, or just plain want.
- Step 2: Try to keep a running tally in my mind of an approximate cost for the cards I am gathering.
- Step 3: About 45 minutes later, after having gone through each aisle of the store at least once, realize I now have enough cards to wallpaper my room with, and no freaking idea of how much they cost.
- Step 4: Realize that I cannot rob a bank in the next 15 minutes, which requires cutting the pile of cards in my lap down by about 75%.
- Step 5: Still spend about double what I had set out to spend, but walk away happy just the same.
If those steps get screwed with -- if I have an urgent need for just 1 card, for example, I feel disappointed that I did not get to loiter in the store for hours on end.
So I love cards. Hallmark commercials make me cry, I am sappy and sentimental and have a gooey chocolatey center. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and Grandparents' Day, and even sent a Friendship Day card one year (albeit totally by accident.
In short, I am the sort of person that seems tailor made for Valentine's Day Fever.
And yet, I have none.
I know what some of you may be thinking, but I am also not a Valentine's hater: a cynic, heartbroken at having spent her entire 28 years on earth Valentine free, set lose to terrorize the 'lucky few' out of their moonlit dinners and conversation hearts. (Well, I doubt that any of you are thinking that, but let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I ever heard that theory...)
No, I'm all for you having a great time if it means something to you... I just don't get it.
I like Valentine's Day parties in classrooms ... as you are reading this, children everywhere are sneaking business card-sized envelopes into the specially decorated desks of their classmates, eating cupcakes bedecked in pink sprinkles, or wondering at who could have possibly signed their card with a question mark. (And their teachers are shaking their heads at their naive belief that they might have actually accomplished any work today.) And, when you're teaching, any excuse for a party is welcomed ... but I don't get it: It isn't as if there are extensive curriculums set up that delve into the philosophy of love and it's many representations, or that there's a historical imperative to learn more about this wonderful patron saint of fainting, the plague, bee keepers and lovers (wow, I love being a Catholic!)... It's just, "Hello, it is February, and this is what we do in February."
I don't get buying roses when they're 3 times as expensive as they might be on any other random Thursday. Or heartshaped boxes of chocolates that are irresponsibly unlabeled (I hate those orange creme ones: why are they even in there??)
I don't get why single people have to feel lonelier on the 14th of this month than they would on any other mid-month (especially since, any other 14th day would not find them feeling particularly lonely at all). Or why couples should have to feel the pressure of adding a perfect night to their weekly routines. I don't get imposed happiness any more than I get imposed unhappiness.
I don't get how guys forget Valentine's Day, when it starts being everywhere right after Christmas, but I also don't get why it's so important that they should have to remember it.
It's just one of those things that I missed out on, like the need to buy shoes that cost more than a good camera.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm going to try to get back into posting: I've been missing it, and all of you.
My days are still very difficult: knowing the right thing to do for other people who are grieving, particularly my mum, is a hard, hard thing. Knowing what to do for myself is proving pretty difficult as well.
But I think we're all doing ok, and I'm going to keep thanking you all for all your help, just so you know how much I appreciate it. For now, I need to write again ... it helps me remember that there are other things going on -- in my life, and in the world -- and helps me feel more like myself. And I can use all of that that I can get.
Valentine's Day.
I just ... don't get it.
I mean, I am a Card Person. Capital C, Capital P.
I know the location of 3 local Hallmark Stores. I know two of the salespeople at one store as more than nodding acquaintances (I may or may not know the names of their children).
I can, very easily, spend upwards of $50 (and 50 minutes) on choosing cards alone. I usually have a multistep approach to buying cards...
- Step 1: Pick up cards that I like, have a need for, may someday have a need for, or just plain want.
- Step 2: Try to keep a running tally in my mind of an approximate cost for the cards I am gathering.
- Step 3: About 45 minutes later, after having gone through each aisle of the store at least once, realize I now have enough cards to wallpaper my room with, and no freaking idea of how much they cost.
- Step 4: Realize that I cannot rob a bank in the next 15 minutes, which requires cutting the pile of cards in my lap down by about 75%.
- Step 5: Still spend about double what I had set out to spend, but walk away happy just the same.
If those steps get screwed with -- if I have an urgent need for just 1 card, for example, I feel disappointed that I did not get to loiter in the store for hours on end.
So I love cards. Hallmark commercials make me cry, I am sappy and sentimental and have a gooey chocolatey center. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and Grandparents' Day, and even sent a Friendship Day card one year (albeit totally by accident.
In short, I am the sort of person that seems tailor made for Valentine's Day Fever.
And yet, I have none.
I know what some of you may be thinking, but I am also not a Valentine's hater: a cynic, heartbroken at having spent her entire 28 years on earth Valentine free, set lose to terrorize the 'lucky few' out of their moonlit dinners and conversation hearts. (Well, I doubt that any of you are thinking that, but let's just say it wouldn't be the first time I ever heard that theory...)
No, I'm all for you having a great time if it means something to you... I just don't get it.
I like Valentine's Day parties in classrooms ... as you are reading this, children everywhere are sneaking business card-sized envelopes into the specially decorated desks of their classmates, eating cupcakes bedecked in pink sprinkles, or wondering at who could have possibly signed their card with a question mark. (And their teachers are shaking their heads at their naive belief that they might have actually accomplished any work today.) And, when you're teaching, any excuse for a party is welcomed ... but I don't get it: It isn't as if there are extensive curriculums set up that delve into the philosophy of love and it's many representations, or that there's a historical imperative to learn more about this wonderful patron saint of fainting, the plague, bee keepers and lovers (wow, I love being a Catholic!)... It's just, "Hello, it is February, and this is what we do in February."
I don't get buying roses when they're 3 times as expensive as they might be on any other random Thursday. Or heartshaped boxes of chocolates that are irresponsibly unlabeled (I hate those orange creme ones: why are they even in there??)
I don't get why single people have to feel lonelier on the 14th of this month than they would on any other mid-month (especially since, any other 14th day would not find them feeling particularly lonely at all). Or why couples should have to feel the pressure of adding a perfect night to their weekly routines. I don't get imposed happiness any more than I get imposed unhappiness.
I don't get how guys forget Valentine's Day, when it starts being everywhere right after Christmas, but I also don't get why it's so important that they should have to remember it.
It's just one of those things that I missed out on, like the need to buy shoes that cost more than a good camera.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm going to try to get back into posting: I've been missing it, and all of you.
My days are still very difficult: knowing the right thing to do for other people who are grieving, particularly my mum, is a hard, hard thing. Knowing what to do for myself is proving pretty difficult as well.
But I think we're all doing ok, and I'm going to keep thanking you all for all your help, just so you know how much I appreciate it. For now, I need to write again ... it helps me remember that there are other things going on -- in my life, and in the world -- and helps me feel more like myself. And I can use all of that that I can get.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Go Pats
Wanted to say thanks, again, to all of you. Mostly because I know you're here: my brain is starting to be able step outside the ridiculous dramas that are happening in my family, and see them and go "What the hell is happening here?" and I know that a large part of that is thanks to the blogging part of my brain. The part that thinks "wow, where's Janice when you need her?" or "Maya's Granny would know the perfect thing to say right now." Please know that with all of the absurdity & disconnection from reality and drama that is happening here, everysingleday, that so many of you are in my mind and heart, helping me to get through it.
And to get through all the regular stuff, the stuff that shouldn't be this hard, like four o'clocks and football games.
Tonight's game is niggling in my mind like no other football game before it, only because of Nana: She and I had a running faux-argument about the merits of football. She insisted that there were merits, and I insisted that if a grown man wants a piece of leather that he can throw around, all he needed to do was go to the store and buy one - there was certainly no need for all this traipsing and chasing up and down of fields, and certainly no need for tackling and being injured for the rest of your life for a stupid BALL. Nana suffered my lack of interest in organized sports (and my Kindergarten teacher-let's all just get along- mentality) semi-stoicly... which means that she and I had essentially the same discussion every time a football game was on, particularly a Patriots game.
Nana was - with the exception of the Red Sox (or "Red Slobs" as she called them), a diehard, home-team sports fan. The heydays of the Celtics and Larry Bird were crystal clear in her memories, and she even had a positive thing or two to say about the Bruins, even though she found hockey mostly boring. But the Patriots were her team - I'd like to remember some of the stuff she told me about them here, but I honestly wasn't paying that much attention: football players that were good, football players and coaches that sucked, traitors and the traded, glories and goners... she knew a lot of useless Patriots information, and watched every game as if the team depended on her in order to win.
Which, of course, they did. She would run up and down the entire field with them yelling and stomping, cheering and jeering. Coaches were called horrible names, players had their honor defiled. Even when they won, she'd be sure to tell me how they almost screwed it up.
And this is - in case you aren't interested in football &/or don't live in New England - a record setting year for the Patriots. They've gone undefeated for the entire season, heading into the Super Bowl. No one's ever done that before, apparently. Which is great for them, and would, ordinarily, mean very little to me...
Except this is a game my Nana won't be here to nag me into watching.
In Super Bowls past, we've watched together, me reading during the football and listening to her scream, her tsking me when I would look up in order to catch the new commercials, then head out for a cigarette. I know there was another football game they were in, the day after she died, but I wasn't ... aware ... enough of anything for that one to matter to me. This one, I feel it.
I feel all the hype and crazinesss, and I just wish it were over. I miss the "What am I going to do with you, you have no sense of team spirit?!?" conversation that we'd have already had 3 times today.
And I know that it's just another football game, that it has no impact in my life besides this: It's just one more thing we won't be doing together.
I don't know whether or not I'll watch try to watch it alone (Sister Ch probably won't be watching, and Mum and Dad will no doubt be smoking in the cellar), or take advantage of my first Tivo-fied Super Bowl and wait till later and just watch the commercials, or just... blow off the whole thing altogether. But I know that Nana will be riding the coach... (I seriously looked up the coach's name to add it to this post, but that felt forced... Nana will know it either way) from the sidelines, giving him her very clear opinions of each and every play. And even heaven won't be able to help them if they lose.
And to get through all the regular stuff, the stuff that shouldn't be this hard, like four o'clocks and football games.
Tonight's game is niggling in my mind like no other football game before it, only because of Nana: She and I had a running faux-argument about the merits of football. She insisted that there were merits, and I insisted that if a grown man wants a piece of leather that he can throw around, all he needed to do was go to the store and buy one - there was certainly no need for all this traipsing and chasing up and down of fields, and certainly no need for tackling and being injured for the rest of your life for a stupid BALL. Nana suffered my lack of interest in organized sports (and my Kindergarten teacher-let's all just get along- mentality) semi-stoicly... which means that she and I had essentially the same discussion every time a football game was on, particularly a Patriots game.
Nana was - with the exception of the Red Sox (or "Red Slobs" as she called them), a diehard, home-team sports fan. The heydays of the Celtics and Larry Bird were crystal clear in her memories, and she even had a positive thing or two to say about the Bruins, even though she found hockey mostly boring. But the Patriots were her team - I'd like to remember some of the stuff she told me about them here, but I honestly wasn't paying that much attention: football players that were good, football players and coaches that sucked, traitors and the traded, glories and goners... she knew a lot of useless Patriots information, and watched every game as if the team depended on her in order to win.
Which, of course, they did. She would run up and down the entire field with them yelling and stomping, cheering and jeering. Coaches were called horrible names, players had their honor defiled. Even when they won, she'd be sure to tell me how they almost screwed it up.
And this is - in case you aren't interested in football &/or don't live in New England - a record setting year for the Patriots. They've gone undefeated for the entire season, heading into the Super Bowl. No one's ever done that before, apparently. Which is great for them, and would, ordinarily, mean very little to me...
Except this is a game my Nana won't be here to nag me into watching.
In Super Bowls past, we've watched together, me reading during the football and listening to her scream, her tsking me when I would look up in order to catch the new commercials, then head out for a cigarette. I know there was another football game they were in, the day after she died, but I wasn't ... aware ... enough of anything for that one to matter to me. This one, I feel it.
I feel all the hype and crazinesss, and I just wish it were over. I miss the "What am I going to do with you, you have no sense of team spirit?!?" conversation that we'd have already had 3 times today.
And I know that it's just another football game, that it has no impact in my life besides this: It's just one more thing we won't be doing together.
I don't know whether or not I'll watch try to watch it alone (Sister Ch probably won't be watching, and Mum and Dad will no doubt be smoking in the cellar), or take advantage of my first Tivo-fied Super Bowl and wait till later and just watch the commercials, or just... blow off the whole thing altogether. But I know that Nana will be riding the coach... (I seriously looked up the coach's name to add it to this post, but that felt forced... Nana will know it either way) from the sidelines, giving him her very clear opinions of each and every play. And even heaven won't be able to help them if they lose.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
My Nana
I just wanted to thank you all for your supportive comments and wonderful advice: this week has been incredibly difficult, and having you all there in my heart & head has been so helpful.
I've heard people speak poignantly about death and grief: read amazing posts from people who are suffering through unbearable pain, and I've never been more in awe of them than I am now.
Because I can think of nothing to say. No, I can think of too many things to say, and the zooming of my thoughts does not seem to translate into anything I can express.
I want to say how much I miss her: that I hadn't realized exactly how much of my everyday life was wrapped up in hers - from her morning trek down to get the paper to her last pills at night, she lived with us, she was a part of almost my every moment.
I want to say that it is so hard knowing that she won't knock on the door again... that it doesn't seem real. It seems as if I am either the best actress in the world, or the worst, and I am just waiting for her to enter stage right, and until she does, I don't know my lines. Or my cues, or my reason for being on the stage.
I want to say that, even as I am writing this, I know that it could have been so much worse. That this was, in actuality, a pretty easy way for her to go. The last two weeks were hellish for us & for her, but it would've gotten so much worse. And so I'm glad that she didn't have to do that.
I want to say that I am mad at her for hiding how sick she was, for wasting so much of our time together with the stupid PUS, for so smoking up until the day she started her radiation. And that I know how pointless it is to be angry at her.
I want to say that losing her makes me so afraid because I remember again, just how easy it is for people not to be here any more. 10 years ago, I lost my grandfather, my father, and an uncle, one every year for three years, and I kept thinking "I can't go through this again. I'm just not strong enough." 10 years later, and I feel no more capable of saying goodbye than I did then, and I'm terrified, because I know more people that I love will - eventually - be lost. Seeing my grandmother kneel in front of my Nana's casket, and knowing that she was my last living grandparent? I just wanted to hold on to her and never, ever let her go.
I want to say that I wish I could just deal with this one thing, but there are so many other things that I have to deal with too, and that makes it feel impossible. That makes it feel as if I will never be able to feel normal again.
And I want to say this here, because I can't say it anywhere else without feeling like a ridiculous child: It's just not fair. I know that life isn't fair, I live a pretty unevenly balanced life most days anyways, but this, it's just not right. It's just not fair.
I want to say so, so many things, but they all get stuck somewhere around my throat, and I feel like I'm choking on them. So, just... Thank you.
And, here's my Nana... know that she was loved.
I've heard people speak poignantly about death and grief: read amazing posts from people who are suffering through unbearable pain, and I've never been more in awe of them than I am now.
Because I can think of nothing to say. No, I can think of too many things to say, and the zooming of my thoughts does not seem to translate into anything I can express.
I want to say how much I miss her: that I hadn't realized exactly how much of my everyday life was wrapped up in hers - from her morning trek down to get the paper to her last pills at night, she lived with us, she was a part of almost my every moment.
I want to say that it is so hard knowing that she won't knock on the door again... that it doesn't seem real. It seems as if I am either the best actress in the world, or the worst, and I am just waiting for her to enter stage right, and until she does, I don't know my lines. Or my cues, or my reason for being on the stage.
I want to say that, even as I am writing this, I know that it could have been so much worse. That this was, in actuality, a pretty easy way for her to go. The last two weeks were hellish for us & for her, but it would've gotten so much worse. And so I'm glad that she didn't have to do that.
I want to say that I am mad at her for hiding how sick she was, for wasting so much of our time together with the stupid PUS, for so smoking up until the day she started her radiation. And that I know how pointless it is to be angry at her.
I want to say that losing her makes me so afraid because I remember again, just how easy it is for people not to be here any more. 10 years ago, I lost my grandfather, my father, and an uncle, one every year for three years, and I kept thinking "I can't go through this again. I'm just not strong enough." 10 years later, and I feel no more capable of saying goodbye than I did then, and I'm terrified, because I know more people that I love will - eventually - be lost. Seeing my grandmother kneel in front of my Nana's casket, and knowing that she was my last living grandparent? I just wanted to hold on to her and never, ever let her go.
I want to say that I wish I could just deal with this one thing, but there are so many other things that I have to deal with too, and that makes it feel impossible. That makes it feel as if I will never be able to feel normal again.
And I want to say this here, because I can't say it anywhere else without feeling like a ridiculous child: It's just not fair. I know that life isn't fair, I live a pretty unevenly balanced life most days anyways, but this, it's just not right. It's just not fair.
I want to say so, so many things, but they all get stuck somewhere around my throat, and I feel like I'm choking on them. So, just... Thank you.
And, here's my Nana... know that she was loved.
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