Oof. I want a positive blog. This morning I wrote checks to put in the mail, one for the new rain gutter downspouts, one for the Pineview water on the property tax. I washed the icky playa towels. Put away clean dishes. As usual, fed the cats, meds, scooped the litter boxes. Watched some recorded TV. Think I have found Logan's gauntlets. Took the laundry downstairs. Took Larry's shoes out of the front room and put them in an empty bin in the spare room.
But I cannot quit crying. Oh, it is on and off, but racking when it comes. I cannot figure out WHY. Why should I do anything? Why should I care? No one cares about how the house looks, or if the trash is out, or if I let the dishes and laundry pile up because I have enough clothes and dishes to last for months. Sure, I have to keep the bills together if I want to keep my home, and a semi-civilized exterior appearance. WHY. Why did Larry die? What makes sense about THAT? Nothing. No reason at all. He was vibrant and active and healthy. Now he is dead and the WHY escapes me. He took care of me. I took care of him. We took care of the house and work and chores and cooking and mundane crap for each other. For each other's happiness. Now, I struggle with WHY. Why should I care without him? What am I alone?
Sure, people care about me, but on quiet mornings, it is hard to hear anything but the rustle of leaves in the street. I care about myself, selfishly, but the WHY of my existence is elusive. The world is horrible. My little corner of the world is dismal. WHY did my charmed life turn into a soggy circle of Hell?
No, I am not suicidal. That is madness and I am not up for that. No worries.
I guess my why is going to be to see how everything plays out. Why should I care? Because I do want a comfy home, for myself and for the cats. I do want to make and create again. I suppose I will pull it together eventually, somehow. I am a tough old bird. I don't want to be, though, I want to be Larry's love, pampered and cared for.
Fuck you, Universe, fuck you sideways with a chainsaw. If I could find it, fuel it, and get it to run. Fuck.
But I cannot quit crying. Oh, it is on and off, but racking when it comes. I cannot figure out WHY. Why should I do anything? Why should I care? No one cares about how the house looks, or if the trash is out, or if I let the dishes and laundry pile up because I have enough clothes and dishes to last for months. Sure, I have to keep the bills together if I want to keep my home, and a semi-civilized exterior appearance. WHY. Why did Larry die? What makes sense about THAT? Nothing. No reason at all. He was vibrant and active and healthy. Now he is dead and the WHY escapes me. He took care of me. I took care of him. We took care of the house and work and chores and cooking and mundane crap for each other. For each other's happiness. Now, I struggle with WHY. Why should I care without him? What am I alone?
Sure, people care about me, but on quiet mornings, it is hard to hear anything but the rustle of leaves in the street. I care about myself, selfishly, but the WHY of my existence is elusive. The world is horrible. My little corner of the world is dismal. WHY did my charmed life turn into a soggy circle of Hell?
No, I am not suicidal. That is madness and I am not up for that. No worries.
I guess my why is going to be to see how everything plays out. Why should I care? Because I do want a comfy home, for myself and for the cats. I do want to make and create again. I suppose I will pull it together eventually, somehow. I am a tough old bird. I don't want to be, though, I want to be Larry's love, pampered and cared for.
Fuck you, Universe, fuck you sideways with a chainsaw. If I could find it, fuel it, and get it to run. Fuck.
No comments:
Post a Comment