its a snow day of sorts. everything is panicky shutting down but the kids still had ‘remote’ learning. i took two of us for covid tests today, because of exposures.
two of four. right?
i took us to fast food when it was all done and now i feel bloated, at all the ends, and does everyone feel like this but just forget each time? The only good thing about a quarter pounder is the pickle. and it even looked disgusting. but i still ate it.
its beautiful outside.
i haven’t written in three days and i’m fearful of letting it go any longer. The kids are embattled with each other today and I don’t know what its about, but maybe they’re responding to the food too.
the snow is so beautiful and the ground is too warm to let it stick, so driving is a pleasure and there is a feeling of cozy, even in the car.
i have my green tea with ginger waiting and i’m trying to work through my feelings and i’m tired of the way i seem to fling myself about. why can’t i just move sedately like adult people? i feel just a mass of limbs lately. today. today i feel that way, a pile of frog legs on the plate.
i’m not following a prompt, but they’ve been influencing me greatly these past two weeks.
the creative minds of others. i’m just blown out of my space by these people. out of my orbit. How can they walk around with all this color and word-richness in their heads? How do they bear the weight?!
I finished the big project today, and sent it off. shortly had a mini-meltdown of mood. its not the first time, and this past few weeks i was struck by how often i could feel myself at the top of a hill, spilling downwards like Jill. I couldn’t seem to stop it, and there it was, despair. great hairy balls of fire.
my old college roommate (she’s old, not me) allows me to use her as an accountability partner on these big projects. I let her know each time i zoom past another thousand words. It makes such an enormous difference. really. Lets Hear it for KIM!! RAAAAH!!
i love the winter, the darkness, the safety in staying home. BUT my kids are chafing, so very chafed. pandemica makes me not want them doing anything at all, and i do let them do things, and i have fears that i am killing people by doing this. i both see the irrationality and don’t, so don’t address it with me. the middle starts in-person this week and the eldest in two weeks. i want a complete and total freeze on the old people. no, zero. no.
i made two lasagnas today, because i’ve been worried about my former in-laws. they will get one, yes, my father-in-law claims to love love love them. my mother in law is my best woman ever, and she is going into dementia and it hurts my whole body.
holy fuck kim. i just did math. its been a long damn time.
i’ve decided to suspend rational thought when it comes to men. yes, i have suspicions that mine and their wants are different. but now, i just want to deal with right now. i’m too tired to dwell in suspicion. its a thing i can just let go. i can always live in regret.
tomorrow there will be a new president. and yes, i have been holding my breath for the past few weeks.
all the cups are empty, and they are all over the house. Should i read into this?
my middle kid has requested a peach tree. how damn cool is that? I am looking into it. For real. Peaches in the yard.
Dickie December? Yes. Its funny because my kid requested two pieces of Dickie merchandise for Christmas. and also, because life is dick-ish currently.
Nothing is really wrong, no worries.
I had a list of beautiful words, to say, to think about, to feel, and I was going to give it to you, but instead I fell into sobs in the Target parking lot. lots of them.
and herein lies todays post.
none of us are really okay. its been too long, we are missing people. we are getting old. we know that people are suffering in big ways around us, if not in our own home. My kids want game systems and there might be people hungry on my street right now. (sidenote: the parents of my kid’s pack have decided not to buy it, so i am granted reprieve from the fear that my kid will be the only one without- which was what was driving me deep down. the fear of being the failure mom.)
I’m sure that people in healthy relationships are relying on each other, and yes, i think that probably helps a whole lot. So I am missing that little bit.
But I’ve got great resources, and I’m 46 and I’ve been through this kind of thing before. In the car, while crying, I contacted my health insurance to find out who i’m covered to see as far as therapists. Texted a friend, and gave up on going in to Target. I hadn’t made a list and I would have spent a bunch of money on myself when really, I need to fucking focus on getting Christmas done, and not buy myself another scarf/lipstick/sweater I’m not really going to wear, just ’cause its pretty. I literally don’t wear any makeup at all, and I’m coveting lipsticks lately.
The subject of the overwhelm is what we all feel right now PLUS:
I stepped on the scale and I’m five pounds OVER the number I cannot mention but have stayed at for an entire year. I have glaucoma and spent the morning having talks with my doctor and having stinging stuff put in my eye and facing the fact that on the day i can’t drive after the appt, i’m just going to sit in the car because I refuse to ask my 75 year old mother to drive me home. I’m single momming and deeply worried that I am not enough. For me, the anxiety of the covid era has WAY WAY exaggerated my low self-esteem and I heard myself talking to myself (yes, this is a thing) about how I didn’t know why I was taking this new job because I would do a crap job anyhow. (oh?) I’m in a new and very beginning stage dating situation which might not even be dating honestly and I can’t offload all this crap on him just yet. (see previous self-esteem problem).
Its truly all interwoven. And I’m just succumbing to it today. The kids are at their dad’s til 8 or so, so I can go take a bath and work on re-writing the thing thats been edited five times, again. Essentially I am removing my self and my writing voice from it, which is what I’ve been slowly realizing. Just erasing. bummer.
So there. thats a truth. I have enough. I give. I’m okay almost all the time. But I’m worn thin. We need to be holding hands right now, but a text message will do.
(not me. really, you don’t need to text me, i’m heading upwards. send a text to everyone on your list. do it.)
There is still joy. There is. Look at this photo. I’m the biggest goob you know, really. And the man who I’m doing all that re-editing for sent me a hundred bucks today because he knows how hard i’ve been working. I’m going to take a bath now. Breathe deep, my friend told me. Breathing interupts the anxiety/overwhelm. Just Breathe.
I am in a spot of bother, as Toad says in Wind in the Willows, at some point. I am. I’m having to learn this whole quarantine thing all over again, as a single woman/mom, starting at week 78. all this food that I keep having to make, the weekends that I sit alone in my living room, the lonely lonely lonely. I fucking lost my shit because my kid threw a green bean at me. I almost cried. Laughing would have been way better. But I’m frazzled.
guys, I can’t handle tv anymore. its the most depressing and deeply sad thing ever. and yet, at 8 pm at night, there is nowhere else I can be, nothing I can concentrate on.
and I hate my phone. madly. and it never leaves my side. and I think I have carpal tunnel from it.
I went for a walk this morning, a short one, because I was going to do an online yoga class. its happening right now, i’m not doing it. its too much social pressure because they might see me, and i’m not fit, and they might see me.
yoga teachers are SOOO judgey.
i’m having microwave popcorn for breakfast.
I planted cucumbers this morning, and watered everything, and put the eggs out by the road for unsuspecting shoppers. Its 4 minutes before 9. did I mention that I took a walk? before 6 am? because I need to make this day longer?
I read an excellent book. And herein lies the GreenMan reference. And I’m not sure I have the werewithal to write it up with the sincerity it deserves.
Lanny, by Max Porter. Lanny is the little boy of an artist’s green dream. (I say). Weirdly charming, full of the world of mystery, magic and growth. witness to the beauty of the world. curious. birds eggs, northern lights, bowers, toad stools, charcoal smudges. illuminated.
and its about him. and you have to read to the end, because of what you hold dear, you have to.
as a friend said, notice what you value, and love that you love that. be consoled.
I think I wrote about this ages ago, when my dad died. BUT that was another lifetime ago, and I just tried to go look it up and find where it was, and reading that stuff was too hard, and too foreign. The lifetimes having slipped far away down that river.
when my dad died, I was wrecked. Not only was his heart attack in my backyard, and my now former husband was giving chest compressions that kept him alive long enough for all his kids to get there to see a living body… but the suddenness of the loss and the incontrovertible NO, HE WILL NOT MAKE IT. . . there it was, there it all was.
I found my mind racing and racing and racing, and I couldn’t get back to where I needed to be to function as myself and as the mother and householdrunner that I needed and wanted to be. it was memory, and memory and more memory world-shift and fear and grief welling and complete detachment from the people I was sharing a house with.
and oh, the racing. the fucking racing of my mind. pinging from wall to wall. a highspeed badnews montage, looped.
Quickly after the death, I drew a hand and wrote ‘RIGHT HERE’ and I don’t know if someone suggested it to me or if the HUBSJatthetime suggested it, but I hung it on the cabinet door next to the stove. I saw it multiple times a day. and I physically put my hand in front of my face multiple other times per day. I smelled my skin. I closed my eyes.
Here I am. Here is my skin. This is all that there is, RIGHT HERE.
the circles are small. the physical space I am is all that there is. when the quakers say ‘center down’, this is how I feel, all the energies bringing me back to the RIGHT HERE.
I kept it up there during the long and painful divorcing process. Really helped when I put out the wrong number of plates, or when all I could hear was his disapproval, even after he was gone.
Somehow the hand fell off the cabinet, or I replaced it with another missive. Its been quite a few years now.
And, this week, I noticed it moving from place to place in the kitchen, showing itself in my new time of need. In this new sadness that is so familiar.
so, i’m going to put it back up. because…
HERE I AM. HERE IS MY VERY OWN SKIN. BLESS WHAT IS RIGHT HERE.