My leg was so sore when I got up this morning. Remember I woke with it hurting on Sunday. If you saw the video in my album, you know I ran all over my back yard with a certain little blond. Leg did not like it at all. I got to work at 7:45 a.m. and the day began with a roar. I limped into the building but spent the whole day on the run!
My boss walked in a few minutes behind me limping! He had sprained his ankle playing basketball over the weekend. He said he was waiting to see if it would get better. I sent him off to the doctor. LOL! Had to tell him it could be broken and he needed it checked. He came back several hours later with a boot and instructions to go back to the orthopedic clinic in 11 days.
I worked non-stop on files, stopping only to take a lunch break with my friend, Carolyn at McDonald's. We go there most days to sit and talk. Then it was back to work to try and finish my mounds of work.
In the afternoon I got an email from my author/teacher/friend, Ron Roat. You remember I mentioned him last year in a few posts and there is a link to his site, Remedial Academy, somewhere in my links section. He was my writing instructor from college. We've remained friends but he moved last year to Michigan. He was in town to drop his daughter off at the university and wanted to meet for coffee after I got off work. I agreed but had my appointment with my counselor, Dan, at 5 p.m. so it would have to be at 6.
I arrived at the clinic and had the usual "how are you" relay game where I make some attempt to prove my stability. He, like everyone that knows me, thinks I am a very funny person after a few minutes deduces that I am better.
I never understand the "you're so funny" statement. People always say it about me but I never get it. Is there something wrong with me that I don't think I'm funny? Thinking about it now, I realize that my whole family is funny. I have two brothers that can have the whole room rolling in minutes and people will be doubled over holding their sides and literally sobbing with laughter. My sisters and I seem to send people into tears over really stupid stuff. I have cousins who are hysterically funny. It seems we were blessed with this uncanny ability to make people laugh. But life was just hell for most of us. We're some of the most dysfunctional people on the planet. Well, not like the Bundys and Mansons, and those other folks. But we're not right. And people think we are just these hilarious folks! {head shake here}
Anyway, during nearly an hour of rollicking fun with Dan we discussed my concerns over my hair loss and the fact that I might soon have HIS hairstyle. I told him I thought I was better because the St. John's Wort was working but I was going to have to get off of it because I thought was causing my hair to fall out. He thinks it is possibly something else and suggest when I see my doctor in a week that I talk to him about it.
I left to meet Ron at.... McDonalds. Well it is a happening place. . . for me anyway. I seem to be destined to meet men either at parades or circuses.
Ron is always a lot of fun and I've always enjoyed our meetings. Usually it is mostly about what's he's been doing and I'm the listener. Today he was a good friend and played the listener. He asked me what happened. I told him. He seemed to know that was the right thing to do. And like all of you, said it wasn't my fault. Maybe I'll believe that someday. I doubt it but won't just toss it off.
So, what did we talk about? I talked about this blogging thing and you've got to know, he's not a touchy, feely sort of person. He's really an old softy but doesn't want anyone to know. But he's not sold on blogging for the sake of blogging or of hanging out the laundry. Doesn't think I can "help" anyone by any of this. I, of course, disagree. I help me. Totally selfish.
He told me again there is no God. He does that every time we meet. I ignore him because we will never agree on this and I refuse to follow endless arguments that can't be solved with people I admire and like. You're a believer or not and that's the end of it. I lose nothing by anyone's lack of faith. I can't convince anyone who doesn't really want to believe anyway.
So, we move on to writing, his and mine - he's published- I probably won't ever be but we both like talking about it. I rave over NaNo and actually got a spark of interest from the baby blues. We talked about his daughter. I remember sitting and talking with her when she was just a little girl with freckles. Segue to my kids, his work or retirement, his trip down, my trips - past and future. My flying - He's a pilot and of course, sympathized with those really bad ones from Memphis. Whatever flew into my head pretty much flew out my mouth. And he just listened and made Roatian jokes that made me laugh.
Do you know that when I left McDonalds two hours later I was smiling on the inside as well as the outside. I felt like I was breathing again for the first time in months. I smiled all the way to Walgreen's to pick up my meds. I don't remember laughing this much in a long time. It was a good end to a busy day and I'm so thankful for a friend like Ron.
I think that's what I've been trying to say for days, or weeks maybe. Friends are what make the unbearable, bearable. It is when loads get the heaviest that friends should step in and ask to shoulder some of the weight. I supposed the depth of friendship is what gets measured during times like this. You don't really know if people care until you actually need that care. What continues to surprise me is that those who loudly say they care are often those who care the least. I don't know how to fix that but I can make sure that I'm not the problem. I can make sure when someone needs to be heard that I am the one listening.
He really is a good teacher . . and a good friend.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Oh My Aching. . .
Pick one. Anyone will do. I think it was the fibro kicking in but maybe not. The clock woke me at 7:30 and my legs were hurting. My back was hurting. My neck was hurting and my hands. I think I got chilled. I'm not sure. I seem to be more cold natured than I used to be. Some nights I get cold and my air is not set very low. I think 74 degrees. For some reason about 4 in the morning the house seems much cooler or I am much cooler.
I went back to sleep and slept until 10:30... too late for church. Sarah is sick this morning too. She's caught Mike's cold. She didn't see him that much but I suspect it is just going around. Better she catch things from us since we seem to catch less nasty bugs than some folks.
Well, I'm going now. I've been lying around, chatting with my friend Alice and that is always fun. She's a very funny person and I usually end up in stitches talking to her. I need all the laughs I can get.
Maybe I'll pop back in later today. Don't know. If the aches are not too bad I will.
I went back to sleep and slept until 10:30... too late for church. Sarah is sick this morning too. She's caught Mike's cold. She didn't see him that much but I suspect it is just going around. Better she catch things from us since we seem to catch less nasty bugs than some folks.
Well, I'm going now. I've been lying around, chatting with my friend Alice and that is always fun. She's a very funny person and I usually end up in stitches talking to her. I need all the laughs I can get.
Maybe I'll pop back in later today. Don't know. If the aches are not too bad I will.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Lancing
It is true that lancing a wound will make it feel better. I've had injuries that became infected and after they were drained and bandaged they felt so much better.
After my meltdown this morning I had a better afternoon. No, I can't say I'm less angry. I'm just reconciled to it. I can't fix the world. I can't fix me. It isn't really my job to fix anything.
So, having vented, I left the house and had lunch with my son, Mike and exchanged some clothes for my granddaughter, Sarah.Then, we picked up Sarah and her mother, Becca. I took Mike home and the three of us came to my house to tutor Becca in math and Sarah took a swim in the turtle pool. Dave got off around 7 and came and picked them up.
I've just had time to get a shower and sit down to read blogs and emails and comments to my blogs. My poor aunt called and thanked me for making her cry. I had warned her ahead of time not to read the post today because it would upset her. Of course, her middle name is Eve. . .
I do have to thank all you brave souls who came in and felt you could post to that frightening blog. I do read all comments and sometimes I reply but I think I'd said all I could. What I did not say, you said for me.
I am also learning things from the comments people leave. They do give me some comfort. They do make sense. There is solace in having another human being say something, even if it is "I'm sorry for what has happened to you."
I've learned that one of the most common events in life is the least understood and acknowledged by those who will experience it more than once in their lives.
Think about that for a second.
When a baby is born we celebrate with gifts, and laughter, and showers. We call and write and send toys. Every milestone is met with fanfare and thousands of dollars in long distance calls. Photos of every step, fall, and giggle are sent over the internet, in letters, cards and even calendars. Every birthday is a monumental event until you're 16. After that, the tend to decrease is importance to everyone but you. But for 16 years, you get noticed.
Death, on the other hand, is a hurried affair. Ideally you want it over in four days and you don't want to EVER repeat it. The widow can cry all she or he wants until after the funeral but is then expected to appear in public fully in control of his or her faculties and ready to function normally. If you are fortunate to be able to take time off, well, two weeks should do it. The widow is expected to smile when meeting friends but no mention should be made of the deceased. After all, its over and done. It isn't like a first tooth after all.
No, dying is an embarrassment to everyone. I mean, it even out ranks prostitution. And guess what? It is contagious. If you live long enough, it will catch you.
Imagine also. At some point both of your parents will die. If you marry, you or your spouse will die. Losing a spouse is worse than losing a parent. I've lost both. Believe me. I adored Mama above every one else but losing Jerry was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I lost half my identity. The only thing I can think of that could be worse is the death of a child. God deliver me from that! And if you have children they could die before you. If you have siblings one or more of these could die before you die yourself.
Imagine now, after you have read all my raging against death, imagine the feelings of the wives whose husbands died on 9/11. Imagine the husbands, and children, and parents who death slapped that day. Imagine all the horror, all the pain, all the nightmares you've read in my blogs and that also followed their lives and still follow. Do they wonder if one of those who jumped out the windows was their loved one? Thousands of people were jerked into a nightmare from which there is no waking.
Think about all that for just a minute. All those points at which death can reach out and touch you personally. How quickly, unexpectedly and cruelly it can come. And yet, we don't know how to deal with it? Even worse is that we don't know how to deal with the people who are dealing with death!
Imagine that. . . . . I can't.
How did we get to this place where we do not know how to comfort the grieving? Exactly when did we become so disinterested in human suffering that we forgot compassion?
After my meltdown this morning I had a better afternoon. No, I can't say I'm less angry. I'm just reconciled to it. I can't fix the world. I can't fix me. It isn't really my job to fix anything.
So, having vented, I left the house and had lunch with my son, Mike and exchanged some clothes for my granddaughter, Sarah.Then, we picked up Sarah and her mother, Becca. I took Mike home and the three of us came to my house to tutor Becca in math and Sarah took a swim in the turtle pool. Dave got off around 7 and came and picked them up.
I've just had time to get a shower and sit down to read blogs and emails and comments to my blogs. My poor aunt called and thanked me for making her cry. I had warned her ahead of time not to read the post today because it would upset her. Of course, her middle name is Eve. . .
I do have to thank all you brave souls who came in and felt you could post to that frightening blog. I do read all comments and sometimes I reply but I think I'd said all I could. What I did not say, you said for me.
I am also learning things from the comments people leave. They do give me some comfort. They do make sense. There is solace in having another human being say something, even if it is "I'm sorry for what has happened to you."
I've learned that one of the most common events in life is the least understood and acknowledged by those who will experience it more than once in their lives.
Think about that for a second.
When a baby is born we celebrate with gifts, and laughter, and showers. We call and write and send toys. Every milestone is met with fanfare and thousands of dollars in long distance calls. Photos of every step, fall, and giggle are sent over the internet, in letters, cards and even calendars. Every birthday is a monumental event until you're 16. After that, the tend to decrease is importance to everyone but you. But for 16 years, you get noticed.
Death, on the other hand, is a hurried affair. Ideally you want it over in four days and you don't want to EVER repeat it. The widow can cry all she or he wants until after the funeral but is then expected to appear in public fully in control of his or her faculties and ready to function normally. If you are fortunate to be able to take time off, well, two weeks should do it. The widow is expected to smile when meeting friends but no mention should be made of the deceased. After all, its over and done. It isn't like a first tooth after all.
No, dying is an embarrassment to everyone. I mean, it even out ranks prostitution. And guess what? It is contagious. If you live long enough, it will catch you.
Imagine also. At some point both of your parents will die. If you marry, you or your spouse will die. Losing a spouse is worse than losing a parent. I've lost both. Believe me. I adored Mama above every one else but losing Jerry was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I lost half my identity. The only thing I can think of that could be worse is the death of a child. God deliver me from that! And if you have children they could die before you. If you have siblings one or more of these could die before you die yourself.
Imagine now, after you have read all my raging against death, imagine the feelings of the wives whose husbands died on 9/11. Imagine the husbands, and children, and parents who death slapped that day. Imagine all the horror, all the pain, all the nightmares you've read in my blogs and that also followed their lives and still follow. Do they wonder if one of those who jumped out the windows was their loved one? Thousands of people were jerked into a nightmare from which there is no waking.
Think about all that for just a minute. All those points at which death can reach out and touch you personally. How quickly, unexpectedly and cruelly it can come. And yet, we don't know how to deal with it? Even worse is that we don't know how to deal with the people who are dealing with death!
Imagine that. . . . . I can't.
How did we get to this place where we do not know how to comfort the grieving? Exactly when did we become so disinterested in human suffering that we forgot compassion?
Anger Phase
WARNING: This blog post deals with graphic and raw emotions surrounding grief. If you are upset or offended by emotional displays or strong language, leave now.
It is Sat-ur-day. That's right. This is Ur day to sit. Says so on the label. I've been up since 6:30 more or less. Clock kept going off, I kept hitting the snooze until around 7 a.m. Actually I woke before the clock and dozed off until it sounded. I can't sleep anymore. Before Jerry died, I could spend half a day in bed lazing around. I loved it. Now, it is as if I not going to be allowed to enjoy sleep and rest again.
I've had two cups of coffee since then and done pretty much what the day demands. I have no interest in life at the moment... truly. Those who know me know this is not normal.
Am I better today? You know, everyone says (and I've repeated it before), "It will get better." "You will get better." I get really tired of it. I suppose they are tired of my grief by now. Most people were by the sixth week. You can tell. People stop talking to you. They don't call. They don't send cards or letter. Does anyone do that anymore? Probably not so it doesn't really count. Oddly, even people who used to email me don't any more. So, I've been cleaning my contact list, my email list, and my Facebook. To be a bit dark, they are dead weights.
You do not get over this, folks. You learn to breath underwater or you drown. If people are uncomfortable with what they read here, that's good. I hope someone gets so uncomfortable that the next spouse you run into or the next parent or next sibling you meet who has lost someone in death you will reach out and wrap them in your arms and tell them how very much you care and want to be there for them. And I hope you will mean it in six months, a year, or two years. If you can't do that, then walk away and never, ever speak to them again. They don't need you giving them anymore grief.
As a point, name the people you know that have lost a spouse or child to death. Now, at which point did you begin to think, I mean really think they should be better? How many of you made statement like these: "I just don't see why she's still carrying on this way." "He needs to move on." "She really needs to get over it." "Her husband died a year ago and she still gets upset? What a drama queen!" "He has other children...." "She can get married again...." "How long are they going to grieve?"
My bet is that those thoughts or similar ones, even if not put into words, have passed through everyone's mind after six months. I don't care how kind, considerate, compassionate you are, you've thought those kinds of things about someone you know who has suffered a loss by death. You were wrong.
I told a friend last night that I am cursed with an over abundance of conscience. I also have a memory that won't turn lose of trauma. I relive events years after they have happened. I had a traumatic childhood and so I suspect that turned on a switch that can't be turned off. I am predisposed to bouts of severe depression as a result of trauma. The last day of my husbands life are engraved in living color on my memory, right down to the smile he gave me as he shoveled the snow that probably killed him. Watching my husband die in my bed is not going away. My failures that led to that are not going away. All of it is in perpetual rerun. I'm not going to get over it. Those who think this way need to get over it.
I believe I've reached the anger phase everyone always talks about. I'm angry. Angry at God for the injustice I perceive this to be. Yea, yea, yea, I know he's God and we can't call him unjust. Actually, he will probably be less annoyed at me than you are. I don't know that he doesn't think the same thing about Jerry's death. I was unjust in so many ways. So many things I could have done differently had I not been so self absorbed and selfish and miserable with the way life had turned for us. It was ALL about ME. I forgot Jerry in the end and what he was going through. He'd been sick so long that I just got used to it and failed to notice the serious changes that were occurring.
We forgot each other. We sort of lived in the same house. Our work hours were not the same anymore and we seldom got to be together as a couple anymore, just talking and going places together. Our children were constantly after us for something. The "I need" syndrome. We loved doing things for them but financially, they were breaking us. After all these months finding receipts he stashed and remembering events, I realized he was giving a whole paycheck away every month "for the kids" "for Sarah". My God, he shouldn't even have BEEN working! How selfish we all were! We pushed him to work and he worked himself to death. In the last seven months I have realized that had we shut off the money anything but OUR living expenses he would not have had to work for the last two years! We could have managed on my income and his pension.
No, no, no, no! I could not have saved him from heart failure. I'm not God. I do realize my limitations. But I am a realist. His life could have been prolonged had I paid attention. His life could have been happier and more meaningful had I paid attention. I could have had good memories of our last days together! I DID NOT pay attention.
Do not patronize me by saying I couldn't know. I know MY failure. I know what I did, did not do, ignored, over looked, and simply remained blind to. And it is MY nature to admit when I failed. It is MY nature to regret being an ass. It is MY nature to wish, fervently, with every shred of my being that I could roll back the clock two years and start over at that point knowing what I know so that I can be a better person. It is MY nature to feel remorse and guilt and sorry for my behavior. I did not, do not want to be that selfish. And it is far to late.
Thank God for a conscience.
I'm angry at people who have done the same to me. They've looked the other way because they are uncomfortable, don't know what to say, don't know how to act, or the just did not give a damn to start with and were only pretending because it was their duty. You need to get over it. Life was not designed for your comfort. You weren't put here to make YOU feel better. I'm not the last person you will meet like this.
So, yes, I am at the anger phase.
In the first days of this I had so many people who helped with the funeral and feeding my huge family and for that I am truly grateful. But in six weeks, every person I spoke with disappeared. I've had superficial conversations when we "bump" into one another, you know the ones, "Hi. How are you. Good to see you." That's it. I've sat in my home for seven months and of all the people I know here, three have called my house three times. I see no one and I hear from no one... unless I go to church where I get that lovely little greeting. My blood relatives call daily and weekly.
Alice and I talk via chat frequently. Her sister died almost two years ago. My co-worker, one of the best friends I've ever had, has lunch with me EVERY DAY unless we have other obligations that prevent it. Her son died in September. These two women and I understand each other. We know you need, desperately need, human contact and companionship at this point more than you need food.
Do you know the salvation the internet has been? That's crazy! I have been blessed by the people who have reached out without regard to their own comfort level.
Does anyone know that some nights I sit and read my blogs comments and cry because someone, someone actually said something that made me think they cared what I was living in, someone wanted to make it better? They can't but they extend that hand. Maybe 100 words but certainly more than a front door greeting. It doesn't take much to be human.
No one knows who sent me the books in the mail on grief that have been so very helpful. I don't even know but I know they came from someone I've never met on my Multiply contact list who knew that was the only way they could help me. And honestly, they have.
My blog started years ago as a fun, carefree way to explore my writing and get acquainted with interesting people. It has more than met that expectation. I love the people I've met on my Multiply blog. But with Jerry's death, it has also become a vehicle to expose this reality I am living for the hell it is and that most people never realize it is. That I never realized it could be. It is a vehicle to put on "paper" what I can't put into words.
If I said these things to some people, they'd be pretty annoyed. Some who read this will be offended. It is unfortunate if someone is made uncomfortable by this. You will just have to get over it.
Maybe you'll be better by morning. But if you aren't, well, I guess it isn't MY problem.
Yes, I'd have to say I'm at the anger phase.
It is Sat-ur-day. That's right. This is Ur day to sit. Says so on the label. I've been up since 6:30 more or less. Clock kept going off, I kept hitting the snooze until around 7 a.m. Actually I woke before the clock and dozed off until it sounded. I can't sleep anymore. Before Jerry died, I could spend half a day in bed lazing around. I loved it. Now, it is as if I not going to be allowed to enjoy sleep and rest again.
I've had two cups of coffee since then and done pretty much what the day demands. I have no interest in life at the moment... truly. Those who know me know this is not normal.
Am I better today? You know, everyone says (and I've repeated it before), "It will get better." "You will get better." I get really tired of it. I suppose they are tired of my grief by now. Most people were by the sixth week. You can tell. People stop talking to you. They don't call. They don't send cards or letter. Does anyone do that anymore? Probably not so it doesn't really count. Oddly, even people who used to email me don't any more. So, I've been cleaning my contact list, my email list, and my Facebook. To be a bit dark, they are dead weights.
You do not get over this, folks. You learn to breath underwater or you drown. If people are uncomfortable with what they read here, that's good. I hope someone gets so uncomfortable that the next spouse you run into or the next parent or next sibling you meet who has lost someone in death you will reach out and wrap them in your arms and tell them how very much you care and want to be there for them. And I hope you will mean it in six months, a year, or two years. If you can't do that, then walk away and never, ever speak to them again. They don't need you giving them anymore grief.
As a point, name the people you know that have lost a spouse or child to death. Now, at which point did you begin to think, I mean really think they should be better? How many of you made statement like these: "I just don't see why she's still carrying on this way." "He needs to move on." "She really needs to get over it." "Her husband died a year ago and she still gets upset? What a drama queen!" "He has other children...." "She can get married again...." "How long are they going to grieve?"
My bet is that those thoughts or similar ones, even if not put into words, have passed through everyone's mind after six months. I don't care how kind, considerate, compassionate you are, you've thought those kinds of things about someone you know who has suffered a loss by death. You were wrong.
I told a friend last night that I am cursed with an over abundance of conscience. I also have a memory that won't turn lose of trauma. I relive events years after they have happened. I had a traumatic childhood and so I suspect that turned on a switch that can't be turned off. I am predisposed to bouts of severe depression as a result of trauma. The last day of my husbands life are engraved in living color on my memory, right down to the smile he gave me as he shoveled the snow that probably killed him. Watching my husband die in my bed is not going away. My failures that led to that are not going away. All of it is in perpetual rerun. I'm not going to get over it. Those who think this way need to get over it.
I believe I've reached the anger phase everyone always talks about. I'm angry. Angry at God for the injustice I perceive this to be. Yea, yea, yea, I know he's God and we can't call him unjust. Actually, he will probably be less annoyed at me than you are. I don't know that he doesn't think the same thing about Jerry's death. I was unjust in so many ways. So many things I could have done differently had I not been so self absorbed and selfish and miserable with the way life had turned for us. It was ALL about ME. I forgot Jerry in the end and what he was going through. He'd been sick so long that I just got used to it and failed to notice the serious changes that were occurring.
We forgot each other. We sort of lived in the same house. Our work hours were not the same anymore and we seldom got to be together as a couple anymore, just talking and going places together. Our children were constantly after us for something. The "I need" syndrome. We loved doing things for them but financially, they were breaking us. After all these months finding receipts he stashed and remembering events, I realized he was giving a whole paycheck away every month "for the kids" "for Sarah". My God, he shouldn't even have BEEN working! How selfish we all were! We pushed him to work and he worked himself to death. In the last seven months I have realized that had we shut off the money anything but OUR living expenses he would not have had to work for the last two years! We could have managed on my income and his pension.
No, no, no, no! I could not have saved him from heart failure. I'm not God. I do realize my limitations. But I am a realist. His life could have been prolonged had I paid attention. His life could have been happier and more meaningful had I paid attention. I could have had good memories of our last days together! I DID NOT pay attention.
Do not patronize me by saying I couldn't know. I know MY failure. I know what I did, did not do, ignored, over looked, and simply remained blind to. And it is MY nature to admit when I failed. It is MY nature to regret being an ass. It is MY nature to wish, fervently, with every shred of my being that I could roll back the clock two years and start over at that point knowing what I know so that I can be a better person. It is MY nature to feel remorse and guilt and sorry for my behavior. I did not, do not want to be that selfish. And it is far to late.
Thank God for a conscience.
I'm angry at people who have done the same to me. They've looked the other way because they are uncomfortable, don't know what to say, don't know how to act, or the just did not give a damn to start with and were only pretending because it was their duty. You need to get over it. Life was not designed for your comfort. You weren't put here to make YOU feel better. I'm not the last person you will meet like this.
So, yes, I am at the anger phase.
In the first days of this I had so many people who helped with the funeral and feeding my huge family and for that I am truly grateful. But in six weeks, every person I spoke with disappeared. I've had superficial conversations when we "bump" into one another, you know the ones, "Hi. How are you. Good to see you." That's it. I've sat in my home for seven months and of all the people I know here, three have called my house three times. I see no one and I hear from no one... unless I go to church where I get that lovely little greeting. My blood relatives call daily and weekly.
Alice and I talk via chat frequently. Her sister died almost two years ago. My co-worker, one of the best friends I've ever had, has lunch with me EVERY DAY unless we have other obligations that prevent it. Her son died in September. These two women and I understand each other. We know you need, desperately need, human contact and companionship at this point more than you need food.
Do you know the salvation the internet has been? That's crazy! I have been blessed by the people who have reached out without regard to their own comfort level.
Does anyone know that some nights I sit and read my blogs comments and cry because someone, someone actually said something that made me think they cared what I was living in, someone wanted to make it better? They can't but they extend that hand. Maybe 100 words but certainly more than a front door greeting. It doesn't take much to be human.
No one knows who sent me the books in the mail on grief that have been so very helpful. I don't even know but I know they came from someone I've never met on my Multiply contact list who knew that was the only way they could help me. And honestly, they have.
My blog started years ago as a fun, carefree way to explore my writing and get acquainted with interesting people. It has more than met that expectation. I love the people I've met on my Multiply blog. But with Jerry's death, it has also become a vehicle to expose this reality I am living for the hell it is and that most people never realize it is. That I never realized it could be. It is a vehicle to put on "paper" what I can't put into words.
If I said these things to some people, they'd be pretty annoyed. Some who read this will be offended. It is unfortunate if someone is made uncomfortable by this. You will just have to get over it.
Maybe you'll be better by morning. But if you aren't, well, I guess it isn't MY problem.
Yes, I'd have to say I'm at the anger phase.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Was Ever a Day So Welcome
Friday at last. I'm so glad. My headache is more or less gone and the pain in my neck abated with that. It still hurts but within managable range. Guess we know another factor in that saga. However, I found that I had not taken my bp medicine for a couple of days. I had the scripts refilled early in the week but forgot to put them in my pill minder with the rest of the meds. So, my headache was probably a couple of things. I didn't realize it until yesterday.
Last night was really not good at all. I did manage to sleep ok. I dreamed of a dark haired man that I didn't recognize but he lay next to me on the bed and put his arms around me. I don't remember anything else. And now, after remembering it, I can't write anything more.
Last night was really not good at all. I did manage to sleep ok. I dreamed of a dark haired man that I didn't recognize but he lay next to me on the bed and put his arms around me. I don't remember anything else. And now, after remembering it, I can't write anything more.
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