Man. I’m under it today.
And it’s only Saturday.
I know why they are afraid to ask, “how was your weekend”? On Monday, it will be written all over my face. The signature look of grief. It would be a compliment to call it a “hot mess”.
Most of the week, I am in “zombie mode”. On Fridays, I crumble. Saturday is “mad dog” day. I walk around in circles trying to remember where I hid my bone, or put my keys, unable to settle in a comfortable spot. But better drop that ass quickly because here comes Sunday! The variety-pack of anxiety, fear, and what-the-hell-happened-to-my-life?
Monday. It’s just not something people can take – early in the morning – seeing the big gaping hole in my chest, the dark circles under my eyes. Weekends are for rest and recovery, aren’t they? I’d be afraid to ask, too. So away we go, allowing clients, deadlines and pressing needs distract, derail and lead us all astray from the important things in life.
A presumptuous young doctor, (strutting around in his self-perceived cloak of immortality), asked my husband what he would “do” with his precious remaining time. I think the guy was seriously expecting some kind of fantastical answer about blasting up into space, base jumping from the Eiffel Tower, or frolicking over to Disney, and sucking on Mickey Mouse’s dick. Is that offensive? Well, so is asking deathly-ill people what they are going to “do” before they die.
Seriously. I wanted to punch him. But then my husband answered. And he melted my heart.
“The only thing I want to do, is go home, and spend time with my beautiful wife, our dog, my family. Enjoy our garden, sit out on the front deck with my coffee, listen to the birds…I don’t need to go anywhere to find what is most important.”
Is it any wonder my weekends feel like a barren landscape, leaving me with dried-out eyes, and a mouth full of sand? It’s not something happy-hour and a little mascara can fix. I’m still under it, and can only dream of being over it.
Though I guess my morning cup of coffee does help…cheers, baby. Thank you for seeing the beauty.
bedraggled & kicking 
Ok, thanks….triggered here. You hit it my friend…on the head…. “the only thing I want to do is go home…” I’m sorry for your tears, your pain, the hurt. (((hugs)))))
Thank you Rose. I was actually just thinking about you, and was “wandering around” your blog. You were one of the first people to pay attention to my rants. I feel a connection to you and wanted to let you know I always look for your new posts.
OMG! You are too kind! Really. But thank you. You understand none of us know how long another has been blogging. a day, a week, a lifetime? I have no recollection how I stumbled across your blog but reading what you wrote, I knew what you were feeling by way of your words. I was touched. We are in a club that we didn’t want to be in, we are kindred in that sense. Its a tough time of year, with the holidays. Its Tough for those of us, like you, like me that life has altered in a way we could not image nor prepare for. I just want you to know that I get it, that I feel it I feel you too. I know it doesn’t help much, but it might help a tiny bit. Maybe that is how we get on with this new life, a tiny bit at a time.
There isn’t much to wander around my blog lately as I have gone into hibernation, which between you and me and our readers…lol..is really I’m just curled into a ball. I can manage almost fine the rest of the year, but not November/December. I become weak, teary, melancholy and reflective. But can’t function much. So if you’re feeling anything like I am, its ok. This too shall pass.
Oh wow! I wish you could have punched that doctor in the face, or at least tripped him…Repeatedly. Sometimes it is not the ones that leave that hurt the most, it is those that are left behind. My heart hurts for you…and I do hope it gets better one little step at a time. Keep blogging…it may not always help, but it cannot hurt. ((Hugs))
Your voice and clarity is fucking brilliant. Sorry, just came out that way after most of a lifetime of not cussing 🙂 fucking beautiful!