Sunday, May 31, 2009
mental upset.
it had been so long i accidentally posted the belows in the wrong blog. wope. i suppose it doesn't matter, but i'd meant them to be more me than us.
i'd come by to say that sometimes a well-placed pop song can remind your guts that you really do have the thing most worth having. and then it got diluted by the homework of moving the posts, but i'm seeing if i can carry it around for a while. i have, in a sense, so much more than my share.
i'd come by to say that sometimes a well-placed pop song can remind your guts that you really do have the thing most worth having. and then it got diluted by the homework of moving the posts, but i'm seeing if i can carry it around for a while. i have, in a sense, so much more than my share.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
at home.
i'm back, and the monkey is still in kentucky. it's lonely, but also sort of relieving in the way being alone can be when you have too much to do and not enough grace. i'm hungry for things to be "back to normal," and while sleeping in my own bed is a nice part of that, sleeping in it alone isn't quite right. since the good job we thought he had right before leaving didn't work out (not because of his absence; there was some weird miscommunication that led even the very wary monkey to celebrate prematurely), there's no real reason for him to come home when his family can still use his help.
in the meantime, i'm locked in a dead sprint toward the end of the quarter. meh. it'll get done, or it won't. i think things are looking okay.
i keep meaning to write something down about what it was like out there, about how i feel closer-knitted to him that i did before, even though i stopped suspecting that was possible about three years ago. selfishly--so selfishly--i'm grateful that this kind of tragedy befell him first, so that my fear of it, which has always been much greater than his, can be tempered by knowing what it is to have someone un-alone you in the loneliest time of loss. the world has never been so small.
in the meantime, i'm locked in a dead sprint toward the end of the quarter. meh. it'll get done, or it won't. i think things are looking okay.
i keep meaning to write something down about what it was like out there, about how i feel closer-knitted to him that i did before, even though i stopped suspecting that was possible about three years ago. selfishly--so selfishly--i'm grateful that this kind of tragedy befell him first, so that my fear of it, which has always been much greater than his, can be tempered by knowing what it is to have someone un-alone you in the loneliest time of loss. the world has never been so small.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
periodic absence, again.
things i do when my husband is gone:
1. eat veggie corndogs for dinner two evenings in a row.
2. sleep flat. i really didn't realize that he makes a BIG dent in the bed, so i'm always sleeping on something of a slant. i woke up this morning feeling amazing. flat!
3. put stuff away without thinking about whether *he* should put it away. and then it stays put away.
4. not enjoy star trek.
5. notice the quiet.
6. wonder when the magic robot will appear to take the garbage and the recycling out.
7. miss him.
he said today, while in kentucky dealing with the impending loss of his dad, that he loves me in a whole new way. i know what he means; as awful as this is--and don't think i don't occasionally feel guilty for being intensely relieved that it is not, at this juncture, my parent who's dying--it's one of the biggest things you help someone through. there's a bond being forged that wasn't there before, as tied up with each other as we are. i'm a little in awe of it.
1. eat veggie corndogs for dinner two evenings in a row.
2. sleep flat. i really didn't realize that he makes a BIG dent in the bed, so i'm always sleeping on something of a slant. i woke up this morning feeling amazing. flat!
3. put stuff away without thinking about whether *he* should put it away. and then it stays put away.
4. not enjoy star trek.
5. notice the quiet.
6. wonder when the magic robot will appear to take the garbage and the recycling out.
7. miss him.
he said today, while in kentucky dealing with the impending loss of his dad, that he loves me in a whole new way. i know what he means; as awful as this is--and don't think i don't occasionally feel guilty for being intensely relieved that it is not, at this juncture, my parent who's dying--it's one of the biggest things you help someone through. there's a bond being forged that wasn't there before, as tied up with each other as we are. i'm a little in awe of it.
