I should start a blog called Things I Do Instead of Journaling (or Blogging). It would be NSFW. Tonight I cleaned my sewing room. Last night I went out on a date with a jazz musician who reminded me of my brother (also a musician). I told him, "I know someone who would be perfect for you." But it was just an inside joke with myself because he was so much like my brother.
I took all last week off of work. I'm really grateful for that thing many companies have - bereavement leave - where you can get paid but not use vacation time because it certainly wasn't a vacation. I couldn't have been at work, but, what do you do? I spent five days wandering around at home, going from room to room, lost. At times I felt capable of handling a little bit of life - I put on my dad's favorite music and sewed for hours one day, cutting fabric and sobbing and sewing - and other times I felt crippled by reality. Those days I could have only gotten out of bed if I'd crawled, so I stayed. Grief comes when it wants to, I guess. I made it to work two days this week, but I called my boss at 7:00 AM today when I had yet to sleep at all and said I needed to stay at home.
I don't really feel like sharing much. I know how people are, with their issues and insecurities and unresolved things lurking. I do it, too. But in this case, I don't feel like I can handle well-meaning but ultimately not-what-I-need expressions. I've been putting off dinner with a friend. But I'm not going to be able to do that much longer. Still, I don't feel like sharing. Sometimes people misunderstand the point of sharing - for you to be here for me - and they think they have to *get* something. You don't have to understand anything. This is just me, over here, going through what I'm going through. It's rare and powerful to just bear witness to someone's pain or process or current state. To not have to change or improve upon it, or even understand it. One of my closest friends at work, maybe my closest - I know I'm full-on criticizing well-meaning people now - ignored it almost completely. Ignored my five-day bereavement absence. That was weird. I wish I wasn't so prone to withdrawing, but it's all I can do sometimes. I understand you have your issues; I have mine, too. Just don't have them all over me right now.
I joined a gym for the first time since I guess the 90's. I didn't want to rush in, so I joined a few days ago and I'm going to start going next week. I think it will be good for me in lots of ways. That is, it will be good for me if I actually make it in and start. I think I will. More on that next week.
I think I've always wondered, "always" in a casual way, what it would be like to have a parent die. Maybe when it's happened to a friend or when one my parents' parents have passed away. I think it might be different for me than for some because I don't have a partner or kids - basically, a family of my own - but it feels very unnatural. I feel unsettled, restless, even when I'm not consciously thinking about it. One of the two people who made me and put me here is no longer. It doesn't feel right, but more than that. It feels alarmingly wrong. I feel untethered, floating, not tied to what I am supposed to be tied to. It feels terrible. Abrupt. Surprising. Lonely. It's too final, isn't it? Our brains are finite and death is infinite. It doesn't "work" for us.
This is me, trying.