I feel a kind of loud, heavy aloneness. Angry at the universe that took my mama away and is leaving little holes in Grandma’s memory and sense. Bitter that I have to mother the baby to sleep while Bu has beers and music at friends’. I said it was OK; didn’t know the house would start to shrink around me and I’d feel like I have lead for blood.
No more words, just enough energy to scratch my initials in the ether. Reach out to the air with disembodied half expressed thoughts.
Say, I’m here, feeling sluggish and clogged and un-everything, and this is my reality this moment. Dear diary. Dear electronic penpals. Dear other tired moms and Dads:
I’m tired, I’m worried, and I’m scared kind of. I know this, the paralyzing nothing in my hands and toes and mirror. It’s worse than the shaking buzzing panic, but it’s better than it was when I was half my age and I first felt it. Better because I know I can breathe through it and never lose my center. Better because a tiny child’s cry will pierce it in an hour or a few and I’ll be a little satellite around her and the tiny new world of her will be my gravity. Better because my husband who has lovely laughter etched around his eyes will come and he will act a monkey fool to make me smile. I have milk to feed my daughter and I can’t stuff my holes with drink and pills and we’ll all be OK this time. I have a new book, with daisies not demons and people to read it. They leave me notes like little folded greeting cards and they make me know the isolation is in my head where it always was. I know myself better, inside out, and I’m knowing my world and letting it spin. Light after dark, always. Always.
I need some too. Did you find any? Can you share? My xi/prana/inner daisiness is just sitting here. Sad, crappy, colorless. Grey Street day.
Stolen from Bine. Can’t bear to think or be productive, yet not sleepy. Continue reading
My Grandma has had a couple of TIA mini-strokes. Seems to be having a lot of trouble with recent memories and her perception of time. She tried to take her medicine (diabetes stuff and Aricept for dementia/possible earloy Alzheimer’s) twice- eep. Continue reading
I’m so very bored right now, with my little family asleep, and my IM buddy lists all empty, that I’m trolling a Tool fan forum reading lyrics and amateur psychoanalysis analysis of MJK’s brain. So bored, in fact, that when the discussion somehow landed on whether or not breastmilk tastes vanilla (alarmingly, by way of a much-debated possible Oedipus complex,) that I almost registered a user name just to tell the other Toolgeeks that my breast milk definitely is not vanilla flavored.
It’s a shame, since I’m (shockingly) discussing nursing, that I can’t get stoned out of my mind to grok this newest album. (Do we still say ‘album’?)
*Sigh* It was only a matter of time before the Tool posts intersected with the milk posts.
Dream last night, and I’ll warn you, it gets kinda sexy. And scary. Somewhat weird. *g*
Starts in a cool house, totally a house-lust dream. Huge kitchen. Two refrigerators, and somehow it’s in the moment of looking through the kitchen for food, and finding some oatmeal with nuts and honey stuff that the dream switches gears. Continue reading