Therapy

My initial reaction to my therapist is positive. He is smart and while there was one moment of pure psychological cheese it went OK.

Then I came home and made dinner for Bean (yes, I made dinner. And no, "making" dinner did not involve calling for take-out. Actual dinner with vegetables and everything). My intention was to work on my paper(s) for tomorrow, but I fell asleep instead. I am going to write as much as I can tomorrow and just get the hell over the fact that I am not the student I want to be this semester. No focus.

Perhaps I will take that incomplete after all...

So things are more positive today. I need to get a grip on my sleep schedule, but that was an issue long before Bartleby was in my life in the first place.

It's almost Friday and I am ready for this weekend. The Therapist says I need to be more selfish, so I'm going to selfishly spend the weekend hanging out with some of my favorite people in some of my favorite places.

Cheerful.

I spent yesterday researching vacations online... which would be great, except that I can't actually GO anywhere. (Broken foot, no time, no money...)
All it did was remind me that this rut that I'm in is going to stay rutted for a while longer.

I don't know why I am so negative lately... but I can't seem to get away from it. I had a mid-level panic attack in class last night but couldn't get up and leave because of my stupid broken foot.

Let's just say that Panic + Self-pity = Pathetic.
Luckily I just had my Stoic tuned up and was able to get through it.

SO. I am not going to blog about everything that is wrong because eventually my fingers would cramp, so here are a few good things instead:

*I have gauge for SOCK WARS III. That's right, bitches, my kninja knitting skills are about to explode on your foot. I am not afraid to knit for 24-hours straight and I'm just committed enough to FedEx the socks to you overnight. That's right. I got no life and FedEx on speed dial. (woot woot).

*Saturday is gearing up to be the BEST DAY EVER. Lunch with Sally at the Best Bookstore in the World, knitting at Twist, dinner (and gelato) with Sally and Andie and (hopefully) The Fabulous Michelle and then a movie. Jealous yet? You can totally come with if you're not busy!!

*Bean made the sweetest dinner last night... she even lit a candle on the table. She wanted to make tuna casserole but she didn't think we had all the ingredients (we did) and also she didn't want to use the stove when she was home alone (smart girl). So she made tuna salad. We were out of bread so she served it on crackers. Then she decided that we needed more variety on our plates so (once I was home) she made pizza rolls to "round out" our meal. I love that kid. Tonight I promised her tuna casserole. Also I didn't promise not to put peas in it. Score! I'm thinking old school, with canned pears on the side and everything!!

*The "stimulus package" cash should be deposited soon. I could use some damn stimulus. I plan to use my stimulus to pay for school this summer and also to stimulate the local economy in the form of The Best Bookstore in the World, Twist (of course) and the Middle-Eastern restaurant near my house.

*My new water bottle from The Loopy Ewe is SO COOL!! There is no leaking. None. The crutches make it difficult to, you know, carry stuff, so the fact that I can fill it and throw it in my purse and know that everything will stay dry is so great.

Holy Kureyon it's been a long fucking week.

My foot is healing - though I was way too active yesterday (12-hour day at work) and was very swollen last night. I was up and down the hall at work a lot more than I should have been, and keeping it elevated is difficult when I'm working.

That Very Bad Man was around to make sure I stayed off of it while I was home and I slept until about 2 this afternoon.
Apparently I was tired?
He brought me hummus. And pie. And stupid 80's movies that required no thought at all.
That Very Bad Man is doing well in the taking care of me arena...
Remembering that this is NOT a Relationship is taking a decidedly larger amount of effort.
And it's not a Relationship. Really.

So I'm slammed from the pace of pledge drive to the end of the semester rush... and this year is so much worse than my usual end of semester panic. I have missed so much and been so completely unfocused that assignments have piled up.
I should be researching "massage as a treatment for addiction" right now... but clearly I am writing instead.

My Karma Dump party has been scheduled (and re-scheduled) and I think we have a firm date and a nice list of participants. Now I just need to clean my house and shop for party food. And wine. Lots of wine.

I also need to paint the den and call the DAV to come and pick up the rest of Bartleby's stuff. It's time for that all to go... way past time actually.

But back to party food... we had lunch delivered from the restaurant at the Art Museum and what I had was so good that I'm going to try to imitate it for the party... chicken and cranberries and cashews and blue cheese and pears over greens. Yum-o. (I will probably end up getting a couple of orders to go from them and arranging it in a bowl as though I made it... oh well, right?)

So I had this series of dreams last night... there were all sorts of weird things, but essentially in each one I ended up barricading myself in a room either trying to call for help or load a gun.
Seriously. I'm not having enough issues? Now my sub-conscious has become a smart ass too?

Karma

There are better days ahead. I know that.













I have been thinking a lot about Karma and while I have made a great many mistakes in my life - some of which had devastating results for me and others - I can't help but feel that this recent turn of events is a little extreme in terms of retribution.

There has to be something coming. Something good and beautiful and balancing.

I just have to figure out what that is... and also how not to be hiding in my bed full of Xanax and chocolate when it happens.

So send me good karma thoughts and stay tuned... we're planning a "Karma Dump" cleansing party.

I'm going to light a fire in the chiminea and we're going to drink some wine and we're all going to burn some representation of the things that we need to say goodbye to. Then sage burning and more wine and lots of good food.

I expect some crying and bonding and some laughing and some sisterhood.

Who has some bad Karma to dump?!?

Broken, Broke and Drowning in it.

I misjudged my step and my foot is broken.
I misjudged my bank account and now I am broke.
I misjudged my capacity for self-pity and now I am drowning in it.

I imagine that wherever Bartleby is he is laughing at me.
And I am ridiculous... seriously.
Stumbling through the house on crutches, my cell phone tucked in the strap of my bra, a can of Fresca tucked under the other strap. What I really want is a bowl of cereal... but there is not any way I can think of to manage that... even my bra is not that big or sturdy.

I managed to get to my bed without breaking anything else... so that's a plus.

I think the broken foot is a sign. I think I'm supposed to stop trying to run away. I fill my time with work and other diversions so that I don't have to deal with what's in my head. I fantasize about trips to Hawaii and Venice - as though my head won't follow me there. Don't worry, I am going to see someone about this. And I know that this is not all just because he died.

I think I just need something good. Something big and good to see me through this. But what is big enough, good enough to see me through this?

Stop the Rain!!

You know that saying "When it rains it pours"?
My foot is not sprained. It's actually broken.
I haven't ever broken anything before... it sucks. Really sucks.

I don't know how much more crap I can take.

Luckily Kerri loaned me her boot and Dr. N said it was more than enough and I didn't need a plaster cast. Which is great... plaster casts are unwieldy and make showering difficult... but now there is nothing for people to sign.

Finding something to pout about is a gift.

I am still going to the concert tomorrow night. It will take more than a broken foot to stop me... though I probably shouldn't say that very loud.

Bean made dinner and keeps checking on me. I love that kid.

Graceless but Lucky

So I fell yesterday.
This in itself is not news. I fall all the time. Especially if there is snow or any kind of wetness (real or imagined) on the ground.

There was no wetness on the ground (real or imagined). There was nothing in my way to trip over. There wasn't even a chemically related reason. I just stepped down onto my porch and my left foot rolled sideways (with a really sickening POP) and I ended up on the ground on my back thinking, "Holy shit that is going to hurt in a second."

And it did.

I fell like this about ten years ago and heard several pops and had to be carried into the house (and then to the emergency room). It was so badly sprained that time that the doctor said it would have been better if it had broken. I was in an air cast for 6 weeks.

What with only one pop this time, and the fact that I was able to get up without being carried (mostly because this time there was nobody around to carry me) I figured I'd just go to work and see what happened from there. I could wiggle my toes and put (some) weight on it... and frankly, I really can't stand the thought of paying the $100 co-pay to go to the emergency room for some tired doctor to tell me to alternate heat and ice and keep it elevated. Seriously. I can tell myself that for free and spend that $100 on yarn. Or gelato. Or a massage. Important stuff.
Today it is bruising and swollen and not very cooperative.

I am pouting about it, and I am very sad that there is nobody at home to attend to my every need. ~sigh~

But I am STILL a lucky girl and all my friends hate me now.
Here's why:
My dad called me on Friday and said that since my mom was going to be out of town for the week he had an extra ticket to see Sheryl Crow on Tuesday... he asked if I wanted to go.

Um... let me think about it... YES!!!
I don't even care if I see the doctor and she says not to go. I'm totally going. Totally.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Hi.

Leave the kids with Grandma and go see this movie. Seriously.
And you all know that I take Bean to everything... I am sooooooooooo glad she was with her dad tonight. There is some... unexpected nudity.
Full frontal male nudity. Which is totally fine with me and all, but how often do we see that in a movie?
Or at least in a movie that you can see at a normal theater...
And the audience reaction is as great as the "crowning" scene from Knocked Up.
Andie thought maybe they were trying to top that for shock factor... I don't know. I think he was just proud of it and wanted to waggle it around on a big screen.

And the dude from How I Met Your Mother? Has quite a bit to be proud of.

This movie is fucking funny. Laugh out loud and almost pee your pants funny.
(Go see it again next weekend when That Man and The Fabulous Michelle are both back in town funny).

And also, now I want to go to Hawaii. To eat pineapple and drink a LOT (and get "lei-d" and waggled at. Heh heh heh).
I know this is quite a departure for me... being pale and, you know, fat. The beach is really not my element.
Nothing sexier than a bright red fat girl on the beach, and I don't think you can get SPF 8000.

Right. So go see this movie... and call me first. If I'm not on the air begging for money I will come with you.

Cheers!

Grief Studies, Pledge Drive and Retail Therapy

I think I am doing OK. But how would I know?!?

I told "the story" in my Addictions class last night. I almost made it through without crying, but by the end almost everyone was crying. And the class was so still and quiet. I have absorbed enough of this story by now that it's not a shock to me anymore, but I forget how it affects other people until I tell someone else.
I took questions and assured everyone that Bean and I were doing fine and that we were, indeed, getting the support we needed. I opened myself up to these budding social workers... we talked about what we might see in our clients - grief and illness and addiction and I gave them my opinion about what helped me and what didn't. (Yoga, knitting and Xanax? Helpful. Supportive friends and family? Very helpful. Mother in law? Not so helpful. Credit card company? Not at all helpful). But since we often don't think about some things until we have to... like who cleans up after someone dies in the home? Especially if it is a violent death. How do we support a client going through something like this in a way that will be helpful?

We also talked about what happens when we become emotional as we listen to our client's stories... how to stay professional and not make it "about us."

I keep getting this feeling that something is (not so subtly) suggesting that I might consider a career in grief therapy. I am not opposed to this. Grief is a whole different bear... because you have all of the crap of life to deal with... and also this complicated process.

I did get some more sleep last night... I took a double dose of my sleepy pills (freak not, dear readers, I take this and you can double it without fear... ) an hour before I wanted to go to bed and shortly after the second running of The Colbert Report (did you see it? Hi-Larious) I was asleep.

But of course, it's pledge drive, so I was up early this morning, running late and cursing at traffic.
Make sure you are supporting your public radio... blah blah blah.

I placed another Loopy Ewe order last night... and also downloaded some Eddie Izzard from iTunes... and ordered some summer clothes.
I need to get this retail therapy thing under control.

Perhaps with actual therapy?!?

Ughity Ugh

Still not sleeping well.

What's a girl to do? I don't want to start monkeying around with my medications (though I know at least one of you got the advice from me to not be afraid to talk to your doctor about a higher or different dose during the time in which you are healing from... you know... emotional trauma). I know that this malaise is normal and there is no pill that is going to substitute for time and distance. On the other hand, this not sleeping thing is making me extra tired and punchy - when I am already tired and punchy.
Ugh.

Bean and I went to an intake appointment yesterday at a program designed to help kids move through stages of grief... and there is also an adult group. We start in a few weeks. I think we are doing fine, and I know it takes time, but I just want to make sure we are addressing any issues that I'm not catching.

She was in full-on teen mode last night. Holy cats. She is blaming it on PMS, but I can see that I will, indeed, be blessed with a child just like me. Thanks, mom.
I told her dad something that she didn't want him to know... and she was in the car with me. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw this look of shock and hate on her face and said, "Oh shit, your daughter is piiiiiiiiiiiiissed at me." He laughed and said, "Good luck with that!" (He's usually the one she's pissed at).

Then we went to dinner with my parents and we were sort of making a little bit of fun at the fact that she has now seen the movie 23 and is convinced that everything really does come down to that number (I thought the answer was 42, but I'm old. What do I know?). So my parents - OK, my DAD - was like, "I bet there are 23 people in the kitchen," and "Are there 23 grains of rice left yet?" And on and on ad nauseam.

On the way home she admitted she was really mad at me. Apparently this "23" obsession is her "hobby" and she doesn't make fun of my knitting so I shouldn't make fun of her. I said, "Point taken, I'm sorry."

To my credit, I did not apologize to her 23 times.

Tonight a very bad man (who is actually a very good man) is going to make dinner for us.
And then hopefully I will be able to sleep.

More Ass Effects

I know that I should be all calm and full of perspective about what is and is not the "end of the world" and I'm supposed to be "learning important lessons about life, etc" following this whole death thing.

But fuck that.

I am furious.

And it's not the end of the world, but it does affect my education and my schedule for next year and that affects what kind of a future job I might get. My lovely boss at my part-time job has been "courting" me for a practicum spot at the crisis center. For months. We were supposed to meet and iron out all the details two weeks ago - but two weeks ago I was in a Xanax and grief haze so we rescheduled.

Today he told me that the university had assigned a full-time student to that spot and he didn't feel like there would be enough work for two students to have. Sorry.

So now, two months AFTER everyone else put in their practicum applications I am sitting out here with my ass hanging out. No practicum scheduled and scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Enter my secret weapon: my mommy.

My initial thought for next year was to work at the VA. I practically grew up there and it would be great experience. When I was offered the Crisis job (with pay) I jumped at it because EVERY crazy thing comes across your desk at Crisis. So I called my mom and she is going to email the Social Worker and let her know that my name will be coming across her desk. This does not guarantee anything except that she will not make a final decision until she sees me.

But what if I did not have someone on the inside? And what if she picks someone else anyway? I could end up doing my practicum at (shudder) SRS.

ASS EFFECTS! ASS EFFECTS!! ASS EFFECTS!!!

Are You KIDDING Me?!?

I was all set to write this sad post about how I got off at midnight and "How to Save a Life" was on the radio and I got home and opened the door to the den and turned the light on in a panic... and couldn't get the image out of my head and was all sad and how even thought I know it's not my fault and there was nothing I could do to help him I felt so responsible and guilty...

And then I turned on the TV and there was a commercial for an acid reducer called AcipHex.

AcipHex is pronounced "Ass Effects."
And they say the name of the medicine like, a thousand times in this 30 second commercial.
Ass effects. Honestly.

It is really difficult to write a serious, sad post when an announcer and some actors are walking around saying "ass effects" over and over.

Go ahead and try it. Next time you're depressed or something bad happens... just have someone say "ass effects" a thousand times and see if you can help laughing.

I still feel bad.
But now I feel bad with "ass effects."

Yoga for Healing

Sally and I went to a Yoga class yesterday. I have asked my body to contain me and keep standing through all of this, but I haven's asked it to be physically strong in a long time. There were poses I couldn't do anymore, and some that I could only sustain for a short time, but I did it.
After class I felt peaceful and stronger.

It is easy to forget that my body is reacting to the stress and trauma too. For the first few days after he died I was thirsty all the time. I was obviously mentally in shock... but it is easy for me to forget that the healing process is physical too.

After Yoga, Sally and I met Lara and Andie at The Best Bookstore Ever for lunch and then we went to Twist. Usually on Saturdays I settle in and stay until closing, but yesterday I found myself really tired by 4. I came home and slept until almost 9, made some dinner and then went back to bed just after midnight. Apparently I needed sleep. It didn't feel like my usual "sleep for escape," it felt more like "being OK is exhausting and I need sleep."
There is another yoga class today, but I'm going back to work at my other job tonight and I don't want to run out of energy halfway through my shift.

I think I'm just going to rest for awhile and then get ready for work.

Exhausting

Being OK is just flat out exhausting.

And I am OK.
Mostly.
But I don't realize how much effort goes into it all until I am about to collapse. By then it's usually too late... sort of like the early days of potty training - only with more crying and less pee.
The worst part was going to pick Bean up from my parents. They bowl on Thursdays... with lots of people from my mom's office. Lots of people who know what happened and who really want to know that I'm OK.
And I am OK.
Mostly.
But picking Bean up was at the end of a very (very) long day and the more tired I get the less OK I am. After about the hundredth sad look and concerned smile I got that prickly feeling in my throat... that "way too many people here" feeling. We came home and I made some orzo with marinara and lots of cheese.

I did have one sort of funny thing happen today... there is a therapy group for kids and their families after the death of a family member. They called me back today and while we were doing the initial intake the woman on the other end of the phone figured out that we are in the same MSW program and she is, in fact, in one of my classes this semester.
"You haven't been in class lately!" She said.
"Um, my husband died," I reminded her, "class seemed somewhat more than I could accomplish."
"Oh! Right!"

For the love of sheep.

But I am back in class - for what it's worth. I think I can make up what's missing in my addictions class... if I work my ass off and fudge a little. But my other class might be too far gone. I don't want to face it, but I can't afford to fail and I can't quit now.

It is just really difficult to think about working my ass off for class when all I want to do is crawl under the bed and just stop.

But I'm OK.
Mostly.

In Knitting News...

Did anyone else notice that Susan from Crystal Palace Yarns totally commented on my blog from yesterday?!? I KNOW!! It's sad how much that excited me. The only thing that would have been more exciting is if The Yarn Harlot commented. (Sorry Susan).

I do think it's cool that the company is interested in what the bloggers have to say because we are a powerful group and we can make things shake. "Word of mouth" used to be limited to the people in your general area - no longer. I had over 500 "unique" visitors last week alone, and I have a small, relatively unknown little blog. Way to go, Crystal Palace!

The other thing is that I started my very own support group on Ravelry - Yarnaholic's Anonymous. I need to slow down with this yarn ordering and buying just because I'm stressed or sad. We're going to support each other as we try to knit from our (rather large) stashes and try not to buy yarn "just because." Come and join us!!

Of Cruises and Socks

No creepiness last night. Of course, I took a sleeping pill and went to bed rather than going outside in the dark by myself. That might have something to do with it, but I could be wrong.

Bean and I had a really nice time with Emilie's mom and dad. We had BBQ and talked about their recent cruise. I really really really really really really really really want to go on a cruise now. Really. They went to Nassau and Key West... sigh. Can't the widow get a cruise?!? I so need an older, rich man who just wants to adore me and buy me things. Anyone have an extra one of those hanging around?

(Oh, Emilie? I'm supposed to subtly suggest that you need to give your parents a grandchild. I offered them Bean, but I think they were hoping for a smaller model. I reminded them that they had a new granddog, but that didn't seem to be quite what they were hoping for. I tried!!)

It is Wednesday, and Wednesdays are for knitting... so knitting shall resume. I have orders on the way from Knitpicks and from The Loopy Ewe that I am hoping to get today. (I know that you're all shocked. It is so unlike me to deal with stress by acquiring new yarn). I ordered all of the Knitpicks self-striping yarn that had purple in it, along with 4 sizes of 47-inch circulars. I have some serious sock knitting ahead of me, with The Monkey Swap and Sock Wars and all... and bean has been wearing her spring socks (basic sock recipe, 2-at-once, Panda Cotton in Picnic) EVERY DAY. I have to force them off her feet and into the washing machine. It's like the "barbie dress" she had when she was 2. We had to peel it off at night, throw it in the washing machine and get it dry and back on her before she woke.

I think she's trying to tell me that she needs more mommy-made socks.

Knit on, knitters!!

Ugh. Seriously.

Blah blah blah, Iraq. Blah blah blah, American freedom. Blah blah blah, economy.
All freaking day with these guys.
(We're airing the General Petraeus and Ambassador Crocker briefings today. Brief my ass).
It's booooooooooooooooooooooring.

I did get to have some cake, but there was a meeting attached.
Boooooooooooooring.

And it's rainy and cool today. I would very much like to take a nap... Can't the widow get a freakin' nap? Throw me a bone here, people!!

Bean and I are going out for dinner with Emilie's parents tonight. They are very sweet and they treat Bean like a grandchild. There are lots of reasons I am happy that Emilie and I are friends, and her parents are one of them. It's one thing to have people in your life who have known you for 20 years and still like you, but when their parents still like you too it's really cool.

Of course, they do think that I should go to Law School when I'm done with this social work nonsense, so they really are kind of like my parents. They're just a little more subtle about it.

Last night was weird.
It was my first night with no "babysitter" and KU won so around 11 there were lots of fireworks and stuff. It scared Bean so I charged out the back door to confront the guys next door (who I assumed were at fault) but they weren't outside. The fireworks were coming from a few houses away. It was cloudy and windy and there were weird noises and it was very creepy outside in the dark.
Then I realized that I was actually in my back yard and the recliners (THE recliners) were on the back porch. I wanted to go inside so bad, just to get out of the creepy dark and away from the recliners but I couldn't make myself turn around and I certainly didn't want to back into one of them accidentally. So I stood there. In the creepy dark. With the weird noises. Sobbing and shaking because I felt so scared and powerless.

On the one hand, my dad needs to pick these fucking chairs up before I have a full-on nervous breakdown about it.
On the other hand, I am a grown-assed woman and I know that the recliners are not going to hurt me. He is not in the recliner anymore and he is not going to hurt me. It's over, he's gone and they are just chairs.

Refer back to the creepy dark. And the weird noises.

And I did eventually take a deep breath and walk past the chairs and into the house... though it was the emotional equivalent of turning off the bedroom light and then making the mad scramble into bed so that the monster won't grab your feet. Apparently our fears don't go away as we grow up, they just get more personal.

Back to Work

And it's actually sort of nice. Nothing here has changed and I know exactly what I'm doing.
I spent the weekend with friends, knitting and eating and getting a tattoo and watching movies and... oh you noticed that one, did you? I will have a "real and complete" post about it when I get the pictures from Andie... but I finally have some ink.

Here's an example of how my brain is working at this point:
This morning I couldn't find my glasses. They had completely disappeared. I wore them to bed, took them off in bed and lost them sometime during the night. Consequently, I had to wear my contacts today. I haven't worn contacts in maybe 2 years... at least since before we bought the house. But I knew exactly where they were. My glasses from 6 hours before? Gone from my mind. Contacts from 2 years ago? First place I looked.

Bean comes home tonight... all reports are positive on her progress this weekend. They say she was a little cuddlier than usual but otherwise doing well. I really think that we are fine. The initial shock of it was intense and I still have moments of breakdown, but for the most part I feel... not terrible. The situation had become so stressful and unlivable... I would not have wished for this ending, but it is over and we can now move on.

I had a little moment of breakdown last night and Steve said, "Even if he had moved out when he was supposed to it still would have ended this way." There was nothing I could do. He had probably been sick since before we got married and he was not the type to comply with treatment - especially treatment that a) put him anywhere near a hospital or b) required him to stop drinking.

Deep cleansing breath.

So tattoo pictures as soon as I can get them From Andie and figure out a way to show them without being obscene... heh heh heh.

At Peace

I just got home from the funeral.
It was a lovely service. (Isn't that what people say?)
The (wonderful) amazing part was how many people came. My mom's whole department came. Almost everyone from the station came. The therapist I work with on Sunday nights came. People I worked with last year at Hospice came. All of his friends from high school were there... some of whom I had not seen since we were all in high school.

There was a lot of hugging and crying and also some laughing. It was exactly what he would have wanted and that feels good.

Thank you all for your comments and prayers and good thoughts. Bean and I are doing pretty well, considering.

His mother was concerned because they couldn't find his wedding ring. (He lost it over the summer). Before the funeral started I slipped my band off and my mom put it on him for me. Our marriage was good in the beginning and I have to believe that if he hadn't been so sick for so long that it would have stayed good. Finding out that he had an undiagnosed illness that has been brewing for years and years really helped me understand the last year or so of our lives together. He was probably sick long before we even got married.

I am at peace with this now. It may be a long time before I can get rid of the image of how I found him, but emotionally and spiritually I am at peace. (Yes, I know this is a process and that could change in less than a heartbeat).

I know that I did everything that I could do for him, and I loved him as well as I could. It is terrible that a 30-year-old man could die. It is terrible that his intelligence and kindness and potential are gone.

His best friend is coming over tomorrow to go through some of his things, and another friend will be by this weekend to pick up everything else so that I don't even have to worry about that.