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| My instinct is to hold tight. It has been for a long time, though this has never proven an effective or positive strategy for me.
The tighter I hold, the faster my hands get tired and cramped, and I end up letting whatever it is go, even if I wasn't ready. ESPECIALLY if I wasn't ready. Or, I hold tight and when I pause to take a look...I find the thing I was holding crushed. Damaged somehow. Broken by me, and I can't fix it.
Then I try to hold several things at once, and I find that while I was busy paying attention to one thing, another thing has slipped away without my even noticing it go.
I am not good at holding.
What confuses me is why it hasn't sunk in to my psyche yet, that for me...holding is not a good idea. Why do I still want to do it?
I am good at falling. Slipping. Reeling. Floating.
Now if I could only perfect and enjoy the free fall, rather than the partial fall, punctuated by the desperate, intermittent scramble to find a hold.
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| Who wants to wake up at 4am on their birthday and not get back to sleep? Not I. Damn.
I'm pleasantly ambivalent about this one. I like the number 33. It sounds nicer to me than the number 32.
Lately I am pulled by so many strange rivers. I have a terrible memory for my own life.
I was talking to one of my co-workers who asked me what I had been up to lately. I foggily replied that I've been really busy, but I'm not sure exactly with what. I had this nagging suspicion that I had done something pretty time consuming recently...but hell if I could remember what it was. It was about 2 hours later that it suddenly occurred to me that I'd been in New Orleans for A WEEK and had only been back for a few days.
Vacillating back and forth between crying with happiness, crying with loneliness and crying for no goddamn reason at all, and I'm not really a crier historically. I think I have an alien in my frontal sinuses. It makes me stupid and dizzy and forgetful.
Anyway, welcome year 33. I'll take you.
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| My stomach is empty.
Not at all an abnormal thing, I know. I'm letting it go a bit longer than I ought to this morning though, because I am contemplating the memory it is triggering.
At various points in my life, hunger has been a very sought after thing. The fact that I'm having hunger pangs and my stomach is flipping over on itself and growling can still make me feel as though I've "won", somehow, a dark relief.
Right now I am contemplating the fact that I still have this reaction with some sadness, and also some gratitude. Gratitude that while I still have some ongoing issues...that this is no longer the focus of my life. There are so many more important things.
I'm going to go have some breakfast.
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| Things are finally looking up. We did three days in the hospital, lots of screaming, narcotics, delirium and blood...in short, a REALLY awful couple of days but Dain is getting much better very quickly now.
We are homebodies who do a lot of workbooks, painting, reading of books and watching of kid movies right now.
Dain had a nickname on the hospital unit we were in. They called him "The coyote", because of his high-pitched howling that extended late into the night. Now that we aren't there anymore, I can think that it's funny.
Thank you all so much for your kind thoughts and words.
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I have been up since 4:30am. I have been pretty calm up until this point but the worry has officially begun.
Dain is having surgery tomorrow and while I have been very anxious to get this the hell over with, I have now become viscerally ill with the thought of it.
He had 3 surgeries before he was a year old. It was a pretty horrible year. I identify the worst moment of my life as the moment I handed my 9 week old baby over to an anesthesiologist for the first time. It was the thing I care most about, and a complete loss of control.
We will be at my hospital. I will stay with him the whole time. I trust the people I have chosen to be involved. Even in the best scenario, however, this will be a very painful experience for him, and there is nothing I can do about that. I've talked to him quite a bit. I have told him it will hurt. I don't want him to have any fakey, flowery ideas about that. I have told him he just has to tell me about it and I will help him in any way I can. I just hate the thought of him in so much pain. I would take all of it, all of it, without any hesitation if it meant he wouldn't have to feel it, but I cannot.
I imagine the smell of exhaled anesthesia on his little boy breath, and I can hardly see, my head spins so much.
If anyone has any positive thought energy to spare tomorrow morning, please send it our way. I'll take it.
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