Sunday, November 25, 2018

Blackout Holiday and the Missing Routine.

Widows do not get roof lights.  No one wants to climb on the roof, except for one person.  He lives at the other end of the valley, and is detoxing for alcohol.  He is in no shape to drive north and climb a ladder.  So.  I will try to get the ornaments and bells out for under the eaves, and the lights for inside the windows, but there will not be a net on the swamp cooler to make it look like a present, no LED strands along the roof ridges, not light up garland under the eaves, no great big sparking stars, no Bright Ball of Wow.  Nope. 

Today is Sunday.  We would have woke up, had coffee, turned on the TV to Sunday Morning.  He would have made breakfast in bed for us.  Then morning sex with the classic rock station on the TV.  Put on a meal in the crockpot.  Sort the newspaper ads, clip the coupons, read the funnies to each other.  Go to the commissary.  Maybe Michaels and Lowes.  Maybe lunch somewhere, then we'd come home and he'd putter around the yard.  The firepit would be going.  Maybe he'd be helping me put up the decorations indoors, maybe I'd be helping him put up the ones in front of the house.  He'd work outside for far too long, until after dark.  Maybe fix the roof to the Buddha house.  Wrap the trunks of the tiny Japanese maples.  Winterize the veggie garden.  Fill the twitter bird feeder.  I'd be putting clean sheets on the bed.  Maybe painting.  Fussing and futzing.

The leaves would all be up and mulched.  The gutters would be clear.  The Burning Man stuff  would not still be underfoot.  The fireplace would be warming the basement.

We would eat dinner in the recliners, he'd catch up on his shows while I dozed beside him. 

And that's what Sunday should be. 

It is not.  I got up at four in the morning, because why not? Fed the cats and started coffee.   I did bake some cornbread for breakfast because I am out of bread for toast.  Got the papers and found one worthwhile coupon.  It's in a pile with the others from last week.  Watched a little TV on the laptop, but did not turn on the bedroom set at all.  Looked at FB and Reddit.  Got showered and dressed.  Cried some.  Scooped the cat box.  Sat in the front room and stared out the picture window.  Cried some more.  Worked on the kitchen decor.  More crying.  Sorted some paperwork.  That annoyed me.  Then moe kitchen stuff.  Cried when I found our framed Christmas photo.  Zapped a bean and cheese burrito, ate it with homemade cranberry sauce.  No one to share the sauce with.  No one wants it.  No one wants me. 

I still have the high shelf and the baker's rack in the kitchen to go, as well as put away the pumpkin teapot and squash pictures, and get the Spode out. Then there's the tree.  Steam and mop the kitchen floor, and get out the Christmas rugs.  And the white lace noren and the garlands, and the shower curtain, and a tablecloth.  I will do it too.  May take two days.

This sucks so much.  So very, very much.


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