There is something in the air...
and it's thick like pollution,rancid like fly-peppered gobs of lard on the back shelf of a rusted-out warehouse.
Depression is crushing everyone around me.
Or something like it.
Maybe it's just a marked lack of elation.
Maybe it's just a sudden shift in temperature
affecting temperament.
Maybe it's just a new way to be:
Depression is the new black.
Nah.
But I find myself feeling scared.
Scared that Camelot is drawing to a close.
Afraid of all that lies ahead.
The heaviness of all my thoughts crashing against each other in the crowded interior of this delicate bone-colored skull of mine...
well.
It's not terribly pleasant, that's what.
36 hours til therapy.
Woooot.
(notice the lack of exclamation point)
It snowed today.
I drove a lot, and talked even more.
It was really a great day...despite all that gloom and doom crap at the beginning of the post.
I helped a friend and nothing makes me happier.
But.
Sometimes...
no matter how much goodness there is, it can't fill the emptiness.
The brother-in-law's birthday is on Friday.
It feels so fucking strange to call it that--
can people still have birthdays if they're dead?
And I just remembered last year...
how I wanted to bake him a cake, but it just felt too intimate.
There was always such a carefully placed, carefully guarded boundary between us.
We were more alike than I realized.
Anyway.
Friday we're having a memorial thingy at our house.
And I feel it coming like a big black tidal wave.
I keep talking about it in casual conversation and not letting myself think about it.
I don't know if I can handle it.
I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this...
I am convinced that it was preventable, and I was the Preventer.
I don't want to hear "but it was his time."
I don't care if it WAS--he would not have died at that particular moment in time if I had gone upstairs
stood up from this very computer
to go and talk to him.
He nipped into the house to open the garage and was gone again in a flash,
not grabbing his helmet, not closing the garage door
oh, I ache.
I want to hear his long strides crossing my kitchen.
I want to tell him how much he was loved by so many people.
I want to tell him how grateful I was to have his presence in my home--
and how great it was to know that he was not The Asshole of the family.
Not even a little.
I remember that time hubby and I were heading out on a date and I was wearing that long, full skirt and I stopped in the foyer to twirl around in a circle. As I tilted my head back to fully enjoy the twirl, he was at the top of the stairs coming down. I felt exposed, caught in a moment of solitary bliss and it was a connection.
I remember on my birthday...my horrible awful birthday in June, when he walked through the kitchen on his way to work, and saw in my face how miserable I was (if you've never seen me in person, you may not know that I wear my emotions splashed across my face in intricate design) and the kindness in his face just about brought on the tears as he said, softly, "C.'s gone again?" In that moment I knew he loved me. (Not like that).
Moments, moments.
I guess what I'm stuck on is that no matter how much I wish it, he won't be back.
For every other crazy dream of mine, there is hope.
Will I sprout wings and fly one day?
Maybe so! (you never know...)
Will I meet Eddie Vedder and convince him to leave his supermodel wife for me?
There is a possibility--an enormously minute one, but a possibility does exist.
This, though.
This...there is no wishing him back.
Ok, there is wishing happening, but you get the point.
There is not even the tiniest chance that the wish will be granted.
Not by a thousand leprechauns,
not by an entire desert full of genie-filled lamps,
not by every birthday cake in every house from now until the end of time.
Not ever.
No way no how.
I've been cruising by, letting my subconcious believe that he had just moved out of our house--an easy thing to believe because he didn't live here for the first 7 years that I knew him.
This is the worst feeling on the planet.
Look out therapist!!! You better be ready to work.
Well that was a happy phone call.
Just got interupted in my MOPING by a friend with some great news.
And she thanked me for getting so many balls rolling...
which made me chuckle in the little corner of my mind that is reserved for making everything into a dirty joke.
I didn't do much, but one of my best talents is being a good friend...
I think that's why I have such anxiety over not reading your blogs enough.
I love you all and want to give to you the way that I give to my "real" friends...
Eh.
I'm just an all-around, general purpose BASKET CASE lately, so whatever.
There is healing on its way.
And maybe I just needed a good cry.
Thanks for sitting here with me while I had it.
I can now go to bed smiling. |
posted by Bored Housewife at
11:03 PM
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