Burning Man, the Temple and a week before Year One is over.

I don't know what to say.  It is all so much.  I'm okay, but I am tired and not getting stuff done.  Still, it will all be okay in the long run.  

Deep adulting.

I had a good long talk with my nephew about the last time his sister came to visit me.  It had been a disaster of a visit, and upset me a great deal.  She is manipulative, and literally insane, which makes her delusional, and barely functional as a free-range adult.  As I learn more about her current family dynamics, I am actually a little afraid of her.  Why?  She is trying to get her mother declared incompetent so she can be her guardian.  That means getting at what little money the woman has.  I thought this through, I have money, not huge amounts. but enough to be attractive.  I have a house.  My niece is money hungry, she always has wild plans to become rich.  Lawsuits which never happen, jobs she can never land, and yes, getting money from family.  She wants my dad's military records to file a downwinder suit.  It is not entirely unreasonable for me to be concerned that she may try to hatch a plan to get at my estate, such as it is.  Still, I'm worth a quarter mil easy, IF it could all be accessed at one time.  It cannot.  That's enough for her to sniff around though, and for me to get serious about not just my will, but sorting out my life right now.

My closest living relative is my brother, followed by a plethora of nieces and nephews. (The nice in question is not the daughter of this brother, but of one of my brothers who died).  The nephew I trust the most, and who is my direct heir, lives across the country.  I have two dear friends who are like my kids, and who do more for me than any of my relatives.  That makes me a little concerned that they have no say in my care or upholding my wishes medically.  Time for that living will I never thought I needed when Larry was alive.

I have always known I am a target given my age and situation.  The term "vulnerable adult" meant little to me other than an abstract concept. However, I forgot to take my medication yesterday and woke up with a headache today, a minor thing, but ... and here is the but ... what if it were not?  The realization that I had better be damned sure that the people I want deciding my fate had better have legal documents to back it up hit me hard.  My niece would do worse than find a nursing home for me, she'd take the house and put me on the street if given the opportunity. She called the cops on her own mother once, trying to claim domestic abuse.  I would be foolish to even let the shadow of that become a possibility. 

Where is the line between paranoia and legitimate concerns for my future?  

Adulting never ends

I went to register the truck and trailer yesterday.  Larry always handled it, so I had a pretty steep learning curve, and a few tears.  Desi took me to Jiffy Lube for the truck's emissions inspection, easy enough.  Took a few days for me to get the oomph to go to the county assessor and the DMV. Decided to time it so I could go to Pig and A Jelly Jar on $5 chicken and waffle day.  Turns out I couldn't do the trailer, as the DMV doesn't send a registration card for utility trailers.  The lady at DMV gave me a paper I can take to the county for my veteran's exemption.  I can do that after Burning Man.  We had a short chat about husbands and cremation insurance.  She was very kind.

Burning Man.  My spark is lacking, I honestly do not want to go.  I feel obligated, to take Larry's ashes and kilt to the Temple, and to hug all the people who want to see me.  Ugh.  I will try to be the tough old bird, and not take it out on my campmates.  They can't help it they are not Larry.  Crying Man, here I come.

All of it, and none at all

I am feeling the rage today.  General free floating anger.  Feels like PMS if I still had such a thing.  Angry with myself,my decisions, angry Larry is gone, angry my neighbors on one side have made landscaping decisions they can't control, angry with the horrible dog on the other side, angry at the yellowjackets, angry I cannot work in my yard without anguish.  Angry I don't know how ot prep for Burning Man.  Angry my carpets are so nasty.  Angry I am still paralyzed.  Angry I am fat and hungry.  With so much rage, it is probably just me in a mood. 

My best guess is I am missing the lovely lazy Sundays mornings Larry and I used to share.  

Sometimes the light turns on

Geez, I have moments of clarity when I can see how bad the widow fog can be.  What sort of things I have blanked on completely, what I have ignored, and what simply did not occur to me. Frustrating.  No, not an age related impairment.   And then I slip back into the dream state, and drift along. 

I really hope I didn't screw up our early entry to Burning Man.  I may have.  

Long winter of grief

I figured something out.  I am simply hibernating, and there is no spring.  I guess the 12th month is a singular and special hell.

I went to get the will notarized, turns out the credit union cannot provide witnesses anymore.  That's unfortunate and inconvenient.

Need to register the truck and trailer.  Larry always did that.  What if it needs an inspection?  Crap.

August, the 12th month.

They say the Year of Firsts is the worst, but others say the second year is harder still when reality soaks in.  If next year is worse, I am in deep doo.  August has been a wild ride, and we're only five days in. 

Still, had a nice visit with Eve.  We talk about depressing crap in our lives, yet it cheers me up. 

Gave away the giant bean bag and the black mink blanket which goes with it.  It was great for guests and parties, and made a terrific dog bad.  The cats loved it.  However, it had become a place to pile blankets and throws and extra crap, so it was time to move it on to a new family.  A family with kids, a wonderful new life as a place to read, watch movies, and nap.  I am excited.  Sad, though, everything which Larry had touched is a mindfield.  Yes, Mind.  The black mink blanket was one he bought in Korea, the bean bag we bought at R.C. Wiley's shortly before we moved in here. 

I sorted the art adoption cards from last year into their album.  Reading the cards, I realized every piece of art I made then was when Larry was alive.  Random thoughts like that sneak up on me daily.  Some I can let surf past, but others swamp me and pull me into a circling whirlpool.  Some bite sharply, like sharks.  Diminishing waves?  That seems so simple.  Just keep swimming until the grief is a wading pool.  Ha.  Hahahaha fucking haha.

Pissy pissy, and why I am edging toward being a hermit. Also, drama.

Sweat in my eyes and running down in front of  my ears, sticky yet tickly.  Ugh.  I have been lugging bedding about, packing the seabag for Burning Man, and stripping every blanket, throw, pillow, and sheepskin off the chaise, the recliners, and the giant bean bag.  There's simply too much, and a cat who simply will not quit peeing on fuzzy stuff.  I don't have a way to shut off that room either, not without upsetting Harry.  If Harry is upset, then he pees on the carpet.  Pretty sure it is Lolo, not Lucy.  She must have learned to pee on fleece blankets before she was rescued, and has not totally dropped the habit.  Not certain the couch is better than the bed, as the bed has waterproof mattress covers. I had to toss the four sheepskins, even washed, they smell like pee.  Larry loved those damned things, and they weren't cheap.  Farewell, fuzzies.  I am sobbing my guts out over this.

At any rate, I'm going to bag up most of the comforters, blankets, and throws, the clean stuff, and donate them.  I have literally dozens of things to wrap up in and keep warm with.  Larry had given a lot away, but he also stashed a lot.  The old ones never left when new things came in.  The giant beanbag will go too, as soon as I wipe it down.  Too much stuff, it will serve others better than me now.

Yesterday began well enough, but one visit from a clueless relative put a nasty downward spin on the afternoon.  Showed up unannounced, although I knew she would eventually be by, but no call or text.  Had a dog on a leash she claimed was her service dog, but damn, she was using one of those chain collars with hooks on it.  That's pain compliance right there, and a well trained service dog does not need one.  I refused to let it in my house, she hadn't warned me and I have young cats. Had I known, I could have made arrangements to keep them safe. She kept telling me how she respected my boundaries, even though she didn't like it.  Fuuuuuck.  Next, she started in on how she was going to get an 80K job, because her disability preference had more points added to it (???), and her job with the parking company gave her good managerial experience.  It was pretty rambly and far-fetched. Reality has not been her strong suit for some time.  Actually made me sad.  Her last plan was to sue her employer for deceit and discrimination, and unfair termination.  Oh, she also wants my dad's service record so she can file a downwinder lawsuit for her father's cancer. Gah.

The final straw was a rinse and repeat of her ancient grudge against a family member I like a great deal.  I've asked that I not be included in the rants, it is ancient childhood history, blown up then chewed like a rotten old binkie.  Give it up.  I get it, you and your mom dislike her vehemently.  Maybe stop calling her the devil and she'll be nicer.  It is all stupid, petty, and childish.  I informed her the visit was over, and stood up.  Told her she had to go, her dog was getting too warm outside.  She then patted herself on the back for recognizing a social clue. I guess standing up and telling her to go was subtle.  I think I am done.  I had said I would use a bit of my brother's ashes to have glass things made, and I will, I have already ordered them.  I took a small amount, two spoonfuls, because she wouldn't leave the baggie with about a cup or so in it.  She was worried about what the family member who lives across country might do if she got her hands on it.  Excuse me?  Like I am going to die soon and my executor will let this person do stuff to the ashes?  So weird and paranoid.  That's it.  I am done with her forever.  When the keepsake pieces arrive, I will mail them to the family.  No more.  I just cannot deal with this on top of my own disordered life.  

Catching up....

I didn't mean to miss most of May, and all of June and July. 

Still struggling, there are good days an bad.  I try to go to the movies once a week, and I always take little Loki.  My weight is down a bit.  I am still spending too much money.  I have most of the "death chore" done.

In June, we had the regional burn.  I took some of Larry's items, and Fire Tribe ceremonially placed them in his paper urn, which we placed in the Temple, along with several photos.  Watching it burn felt good and right.  The Big Burn is next.

I did go to New Orleans for a Reddit met up of r/widowers.  Five of us had a very fine dinner, and talked and talked.  We shared pictures, and there was a good bit of laughter.  I explored a tiny bit on my own, mostly in the French Quarter.  Beignets at Cafe du Monde, a fantastic brunch at Kingfish.  There's much to do, perhaps I will visit again.'

Prepping for Burning Man, but my heart is not in it.  I am not making decisions for the future now, but the futility is overpowering. 

The oddest things will set me off.  Today it was the ramen spoons in the cupboard.  I only need one now.  As I hot the 11 month anniversary, it is sinking in harder and harder; I will never see Larry again.  Ever.  Perhaps a few appearances in dreams, but I will never have him walk in the back door again, or be fixing and working out in the yard, no comfortable companionable road trips.  No Larry ever.  The reality is harsh.  Some say the second year is harder, and I am beginning to believe it.