Labor

What happened last Friday or Saturday or Thursday was this: we took out the dogs, and there was a five-gallon ice cream bucket on our back patio/deck, overflowing with pears.  Our neighbor, who has been asking us if we want pears from her pear tree for weeks (and we keep saying no, because Jut hates them and honestly, I know that if I had more than a few they’d sit around until they were rotting), and she had picked some and brought them over for us.  Which is so nice, and she’s been getting more forgetful lately.  But I looked around and realized she’d been on our patio, and everything looked disasterish.  Two half-dead ferns, leaves, the fencing material we’ve had for almost a year, weeds.  Inside the garage, things were way worse.  I hadn’t cleaned things up from the flooding in June (a lot of stuff just got thrown in the garage to get it out of the way), and Cab’s shed hair was coating everything.  The bushes in front needed trimmed, the weeds had overtaken everything, I hadn’t watered in weeks and weeks.  Spiderwebs from busy spiders around our front stoop, flecking paint from the hail.

I had plans for the summer.  1) Build the fence.  2) Power-wash the deck/railing in front.  3) Stain the deck.  4) Re-paint the railing.  5) Fill the front flower bed with flowers.  6) Paint the trim around the front door.  7) Fix the back door.  8) Find a new home for the washer and dryer that are still camped out in our garage.  9) Do some things with block to make the yard look more tidy.

Sunday morning, I woke up early and trimmed the bushes, did some weeding, took down two broken wind chimes.  Jut helped me move the fence stuff off the patio, and trimmed the tree branches that were taking over the clothes line.  I swept the spider webs away, we cleaned the garage.  I viciously trimmed down the ferns and watered everything.  We went to breakfast, and a store was having a sale on summer stuff.  We got two Adirondack chairs and a patio bench/table thing, and saved roughly 180 bucks.  Jut put the chairs together, and arranged them on the deck.

As I was desperately weeding, I thought about all the time that had passed.  I thought about my summer plans, I thought about buying the plants in the spring.  The lilies of the valley are still shredded, they look the same.  They struggle to stay alive, but the remaining flaps of their leaves are tired.  They remind me of the hail, they remind me of the early summer sadness.  They remind me that things can change, and that it takes a long time to recover.

I felt angry at myself, that I let so much time pass, that I hadn’t fed the birds.  That is when I realized how bad I’ve been feeling.  It’s amazing it takes a moment of realization, because: of COURSE I’d been feeling bad.  Of course things hadn’t been normal.  I’ve struggled with depression many times, but this was the first time a depression started from a tangible cause.  Some of the aspects were the same, but some were horribly different.  The normal depression doesn’t have the ache, the rawness that this kind did.  Normal depression isn’t something that I’d shoved aside, over and over.  The cycle has been this: I think about Alex, I start to feel bad, I feel really bad, I feel guilty, I shove it aside.  Things feel sort of normal for a while.  Repeat.

I know other things contributed.  The flooding, the stress, my insane hormones, my normal every-day struggle with anxiety, feeling sick, blah blah blah.

I had my realization, and that means that things will get better.  If only because maybe for two minutes I  stopped feeling guilty about not staining the deck.

Right now the badness feels physical.  It is a tightness in the back of my throat, right back where words first begin.  It is a choking, and I don’t know if it’s Alex or normal anxiety/depression or guilt about the passage of time or all three, with other things muddled up too, like bleeding and work and working through other things.

This weekend we are not going anywhere.  Everyone I know here has plans, is going to visit family or go camping.  My family is having a get-together, and we are not attending.  I feel that I need the time to do some things, because we have three whole days to do things that I want to do before winter.  I feel I need to talk a lot to my husband, and write some letters, and maybe just try to get my mind to be quiet for a while.  I feel that the three days are important for us to have, alone, and I am trying not to feel guilty about it.

The birds always come back.

What are you doing this weekend?

Nine

1.  This week has been stupid, with each day sort of stupider than the last.

2.  The ultrasound was interesting.  I saw my ovaries, and also did not pee anywhere inappropriate.  I won’t know anything for a week, or maybe more.  They ran some other tests, too, on other body parts.  My other parts are fine.

3.  SATURDAY WILL NEVER GET HERE.

4.  At work I’ve been learning a bit about structural building stuff, ceilings and roofs and walls and support and load-bearing.  It’s been satisfying.  Also: sometimes I am shocked at how simple and frail our little human homes are.  I mean, they are strong.  But also frail.

Never mind.

5.  Last week I fell down twice in 24 hours, because I am graceful.

6.  I started a feeble organize-my-closet project over the weekend.  Each night I’ve sort of poked at it/made more of a mess.  The contents of my closet are now sort of eating the entire room (I have the closet in our book room–our closets are too tiny for us to share the bedroom closet) and I’m not sure what I was thinking, exactly.

7.  I realized, Sunday morning, just how depressed I’ve been and how the summer is gone.  Jut pointed out that every time I realize and admit that I’ve been depressed, I am coming back out of it.

8.  We have a renegade pumpkin plant growing out of our compost heap.  It’s big.  The tiny starts of pumpkins get bigger every day.  We have a renegade stalk of corn growing up against our patio.  Out of all the poppy seeds I planted in the spring, only one tiny sprout survived the summer and made it out of the ground.  I was startled to see it Monday evening.  Tiny fuzzy leaves.

9.  Sometimes Coltrane snores.

Love,

black sheeped

Flail

Yesterday I had my yearly exam.  I liked the doctor, and while I was there, he schedule an ultrasound for me to find out why I have so many girly problems (long-time readers know this is way overdue, etc).  He had some sensible possible explanations and some sensible possible solutions.  He also diagnosed me with a sinus infection (I like to multi-task while wearing the paper gown, don’t you?  I also showed him a mole on my knee I’ve been worried about) (WHY IS MY LIFE ONE GIANT SINUS INFECTION) and prescribed some stuff.  Thank goodness, because I’d been feeling pretty gross.  The last week I wouldn’t even rest my chin/cheek on my hand because my face hurt so much, and I felt like some kind of sissy with an imaginary illness.  I can’t call in sick for unexplained face pain.

Obviously.

Instead I’ve just complained a lot to my husband and asked for about a week if he thought I had a fever.

I’m not annoying at all when I’m sick.

In other news, I am terrified of the ultrasound, because they instructed me not to “void” when I wake up Wednesday morning, and also to drink a ton of water.  And then they will prod me, and my bladder will be teetering on the brink of despair.  They even wrote on my appointment card in large print, “FULL BLADDER.”

I said something loud along the lines of, “THIS SOUNDS HORRIBLE!” and the doctor, nurse, and secretary all laughed.

I was serious.

Laugh it up, medical professionals!  Just LAUGH IT UP.

In other news, I stupidly took the All-egra and antibiotic when I got back to work (around four) without realizing the All-egra was the kind that had a decongestant.  This is especially stupid, because when you have a sinus infection you always take decongestants.  And even more stupid is the doctor TOLD me it had a decongestant, and I mentioned it to Jut on the cell phone while I was in my car, waiting in line at the pharmacy drive-through.

What I am trying to say is, I was wide awake most of the night because of the medicine, all jittery and glaring at the alarm clock.  At 12:45 I thought, it MUST be about time to get up!  What should I wear today?  What was the forecast again?  And then I put on my glasses and experienced rage.

I got up for a few hours, and the dogs are never good insomnia companions.  They will not even stir when I stumble across them in the dark.  Coltrane was too busy purring/drooling/planting herself firmly against my husband’s knees to get up.  Jelly Roll, however, loves when I can’t sleep.  A) He might get an extra dinner–that’s what his brain thinks anytime one of us goes downstairs.  B) He gets extra lap time.

I sat on the couch downstairs, and Jelly Roll first proved to me that he is neglected by gnawing on some dog food.  (I’m pretty sure he only does this when a human is around to witness it, and it is more ridiculous than you can possibly imagine.)  After staving off certain death by starvation, he threw himself all over me, repeatedly, purring and cat-talking and getting fur in my nose.  He shows his love by thumping up against me, flopping down again and again.  Think “love flailing.”  It’s sort of infuriating, because, JUST FIND A SPOT ALREADY.  After an hour of tolerating his flopping and rolling, I went back upstairs to blow my nose and get back in bed.  He followed me to the bathroom and jumped into the bathtub.  He meowed mournfully and loudly, over and over.  It echoed against the tub walls, and cat owners everywhere know which soulful, dramatic, gut-wrenching meow I am talking about.   You know.  The sorrowful one, that sounds awful, but probably means the cat is just bored or indignant about feeding time, or the cat is getting a bath.  “I’m right here,” I hissed, and he squeaked happily.  He poked his head out from behind the shower curtain, looking surprised.  Purring, he jumped out and flopped against my feet a few times.  He watched me get back in bed, then thirty seconds later I heard him in the hallway, yowling sadly again.

He is an idiot.

In other news, Coltrane bit me when I got back in bed.

There is no good way to finish this aimless story.  It’s true.

I like the cats, is all.

Love,

black sheeped

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