Tag: love

Humanity

its sunday. books and bob.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

i’m home. all of my kids are here. my man bob is here, and he is recovering. (Everything went as expected and the crisis is just now losing its bubbling simmer.) There is a fire going and i have two days off in a row, plus more to come. recovery will be slow, and then leap, and then slow again. i’m glad the week of hospital is over, and he and i will have the opportunity to out-stubborn each other over and over again in the next weeks. how many times per hour do you think i can ask what his pain level is? or offer him drinks? food? we will see. i’m overly skilled at obsequiousness.

but also this:

i’ve had more time off in the past week than i usually do, because i have asked for it, and needed it, sometimes to go to the ICU, sometimes to get gift cards for nurses, and I think i’ve fallen into the woolf-y world of recognizing how much my creative brain needs more space. just having some mornings to myself this week has sent me to books, to writing. just two mornings, and the space – the space has been full, and my heart and anxiety fully engaged in another, but really, deeply, I have appreciated it. (only the space, not one other aspect. not one.) the ability to dither, to think, to idly spin in the kitchen.

I listened to Pride and Prejudice in my drives this past two weeks. I’ve also hit up a bunch of Agatha Christie. I listened to one audio detective type series which took place in the US, with an American protagonist, but it was read by a British reader, and the words were pronounced in British format and it made me insane. INSANE. Also, the Grass Harp. so beautiful, and a tree in a house and an escape. You’ll see. I set myself the task of fifty books this year, my fiftieth, and there is no way I will make it. But I’m still reading much more than I have been, so I’m thankful for the impulse.

and this:

One of the things on my list for my fiftieth year was a getaway for myself, and I booked it before all this stuff with Bob, and now I know how much I will need it. See? February, four days in a cabin stoking a woodstove and using an outhouse. There is electricity and a tiny kitchenette. Me and me. four days.

In some ways I do think I will come back different. less tied to my device, more settled in ways that are from my past, i’ll be so happy to see everyone when I get back. I’m moderately thrilled about it. I’ll add some more books to my list, I am sure. And I’ll bring plenty of socks and sweaters.

But that is not until February. And there is a whole lot that will happen between now and then, and I’m here for it, and glad of it.

love you guys,

me.

Humanity

so.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

my man is going in for coronary artery bypass tomorrow. that’s no joke, right?

Same hospital, same floor that I was on ten years ago with my father. the emotions are too many and so strange and i’ve said things out loud like, ‘when did i get married? am i fucking married again? when/how did this happen? what do i actually fucking do? what if he dies? i will fucking kill him. Can i just lie in the bed with him? ‘

no, i’m not married but boy, the love, attention and life pivot is the same, and i have been shocked to realize i’m here. Everything has been put down. Hands free.

i’ve not written a single word in two weeks. and thats not even because of hearts. sent a postcard to my ailing father-in-law but that doesn’t count.

got my mother her christmas present. it’s still in the car. hope its allright. its a giant beaded giraffe. don’t tell her.

my work people are good, if not great. and i’m lucky. but i’m an hourly worker so every time i have to go to the hospital, i’m hurting my own finances and boy, that’s a bitch and a half. don’t worry, my sister threatens to send me money all the time. which is also a bitch. (yes, i love you dearly and appreciate the kindness, anne. truly.)

Its one of those times when you look around and wonder how people are going about their daily lives. and because i’m in a serious branch of the hospital, i know there is a lot worse going on, and still, I’m in the serious branch of the hospital. very sober.

he’s okay. his spirits are good. but man, this is a fucking big deal. and I’m tired. he’s way more tired.

working 7-5 three days a week and other hours all the other days except sunday, and nights at the hospital this week plus emotional tomfoolery. i don’t feel like i’ve seen my kids this week. and its true, i haven’t. just minutes per day.

i watched my college kid play rugby yesterday. i had no idea what was going on but he got a touchdown. if its called that. my man made me go and i’m very glad i did.

I’m not complaining as much as I am sharing. just getting it out on paper so that I’ll remember it later.

Coloring page picture of a robot, scribbled over with colorful markers

Yes, this is about right.

Humanity

Not sure at all. a list of course.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I’m about three skin layers away from hysteria. And they are transparently thin sometimes.

And I’m back to smoking, and there is, in the addiction, the belief that if I could just go outside and have a minute to myself, everything would re-set itself, and I’d be fine, it would ease my mind somehow. and it’s a lie, every time, it’s a lie. I’m sitting here with minutes to myself right now, inside, and at the typer, and I am not escaped, and I am not even needing escape. It’s a trick of the mind, and I resent the bastards who’ve encouraged the ‘on the road’ shit that tells me I need to wander in order to find. Without and within, you know what I’m saying? I’m not a badass because I smoke, I am a craven addict.

My boys are both teaching themselves to play guitar. There is much to say about that. pride and cringes and whatnot.

Tissue paper thin. My eleven year old daughter suddenly resents me. It is a hard change to swallow, no matter how well I can identify and depersonalize.

I just planted the last of the dahlias. Saving something over the winter to plant again and have hopes for, is possibly my pride moment of the year, aside from the guitar thing and the fact that my daughter is a flaming badass.

I’m trying to get my ducks all lined up to lower some of my expenses this year. Everything takes time, especially when you add in my fearful procrastination. I had to make two cold calls to gather appointments this morning, and it made me unable to go in to my most part time job. Too many things.

The nerves and anxieties of having to ask a stranger for help? An appointment? When that is literally their job, to field these calls? And still, I am crippled? Why am I still 11 years old and of the middle school innards?

These steps. Get the trampoline listed on the giveaway page. Wait for someone to come and get it. They cancel. List it again. Finally goes, to become a chicken run for someone else. Heavens to Betsy.

Find policy. Wait three weeks to gather the nerves to call what I actually know will be a good resource. Wtf.

I had to wait for my tax return to fix the leaking upstairs bathtub. So, had to first do taxes, then get quote, then bleed from the eyes in horror and refuse to use said bathroom until I got another quote. Got refund. Then called friend of friend, young young young and he did it for 150. All done. No ceiling teardown, no mold remediation and suddenly I am at two working bathrooms and I didn’t even have to do my damn taxes for anything afterall. Which of course, is a lie. Hello school systems! Hello working highway departments! Hello bridge repair! I love you, of course you can have my taxes! Thank you for your service!!

Call the garage that will handle the car once its towed. Mother of god, I am ridiculous. Does anyone specifically pray to mary? I always found that easier, but felt like I was sneaking around or being a cheat somehow or that maybe she wasn’t a real choice, and that, in the face of my wavering beliefs in anything other than the big dad figure in the sky. and my less wavery belief that we all get what we dream of in the end anyhow, as long as we try not to do harm. I’m extremely lucky to have had the dad I did. Even with his questionable rage practices. As a parent now, I am less confused by fits of rage.

All these multiple step processes and they’ve been with me for weeks or months and yes, I know the ‘break it into baby step’ methods but hell gods, that only works if you can take steps at all. I’ve got to go register my kid for a soccer camp in the summer. This, she will resent me for also, but at least i will cut down on her screen time for one whole week while i am incessantly working. sigh. all hail summer.

love you guys. hope to get out the writing bugs more often…

me.

*The fact that now I have to wait for a call back is breaking me. I’ll have a whole ‘nother breakdown when it arrives. This is probably unsupportable materials.

Putting the treasure back in the pizza. Yes.
Humanity

Allright, hold on.

Lovelovemotherexpletive

I did some writing yesterday, about how I don’t really let go of things. There were pieces of it that were downright beautiful, and that was a real delight. I’m sure I’ll share it eventually. It was a little bit storytelling and a little bit metaphor and a little bit imaginative. but tangibly imaginative, if that makes sense. Things dirty and worn, and dragging on the ground.

It was a snowfall, a quiet one, and I’m really glad I had it.

My college-aged son went back to school yesterday too, and everything feels off again. This time, I know it’ll reset back to me and the two, and our ‘just fine-ness’, but there is a gentle tearing, as we perforate. It was so good and heartwarming to have him home. It is a change of many relationships to be getting used to letting him go.

When was the last time you called your parent’s home yours? I’m feeling my age when I think about how many years that has been, and where i have been all that time.

I’ve got a fire going, and earlier I mostly cleaned off the kitchen table to use the candle holder that i love. the shape is thrilling and I suppose is probably resonant of Naruto, the anime my kids loved for so damn long. Or maybe you want to say its Nordic? Maybe that’s classier, I don’t know anymore. As my kids say about everything, that’s racist, and I think they may be right, most of the time, even though they think everything is a joke.

I’ve broken the charger on this laptop, inside of the laptop somehow, so now I’ve got to figure out the whole world of hardware vs. software and do a backup while i wait to get it fixed. For now, I’m just waiting for an appointment, and for the battery to die, both. Somehow it seems meaningful, to invest in my typing machine. Also, I may have to look into how I treat my tools, because it is broken because I stepped on it, because I store it on the floor. And what is that?! ??

Sigh.

i love you much.

-me

Humanity

pneumonia

Lovelovemotherexpletive

i missed two thanksgivings. one of which i was supposed to host, and had spent hours getting ready for. furniture moved, rug purchased, rugs cleaned… I’d even been writing about what it means, how much it means for me to be a host, to be a table upon which sustenance is served.

but no. instead, i host (still) a withering soul-destroying cough, granny panties for all the pee, and a fixed need to look into the colors of my own mucous.

i deeply missed seeing my family. touchstone moments for me, these yearly traditions, set me aright in identity and history. Too much of my own mortality at stake in not having these sightings and sit downs. Found myself enraged and trying to figure out how to be present there without anyone seeing me. Sent five dishes of food, much help if not all help given by the lovely bob. So many sighs.

dirty dishes heaped in kitchen sink
Photo by Gary Barnes on Pexels.com

And now I’m sitting here, back on the sofa, feet curled up and a few books read. Not read well, mind you, because i’m not entirely connected to my brain. Somehow ‘Gift from the Sea’ showed up on the floor nearby and so I’ve broached it yet again, and the slow down is immediate. And the withdrawal from the phone, and the recognition of how my brain is changing with all this immediacy of interplay that the phone gives. It is a mindlessness. And there is a part of me that is actually gravely concerned that I really do need to give it up in order to maintain my personality, the enjoyment of the ways in which my brain hops and sizzles on the skillet.

It takes me away from the slow, pulls me into a here-and-now that is somewhere else. If I need to stare out the window for ten minutes, can I do this without reaching for the phone to tell someone or to check something that occurs to me? I’m not being overly dramatic when I say it is changing something in me. And I’m not a fan.

And i’m done now, here. for today. I’ve got some reading to do. and maybe a little thinking, maybe some random staring. I’d wink at you if you were here.

love you much, shout out from the sick bed,

Kate