Something came over me last night like a dense gray blanket and it was a horrible night of waking up over and over with numb hands and the light from next door shining in my window. They could do surgery over there with those lights. All. Night. Long.
Yes. No. I haven't put up curtains or blinds. I want the air that flows in the window. I've been having hot flashes for fifteen years or so (yes, I am one of the lucky ones for whom menopause symptoms never end) and I need the cold air. That window is open all winter long and now I have to block it?
Well. I'm a curmudgeon of an old woman and guess what? Some day you will be too and those kids next door, they will be too and things that never occurred to them as a bother will make them crazy and yes, you too, and you can look back and say, "Ms. Moon warned me."
It's gray and chilly and we have two things to do this week which will require going out at night and I should be looking forward to them. Tonight we're going out to hear Lon and Lis play and when I called for a reservation they only had bar stools (god, I hope they're at the actual bar and not just sitting there in space) and although the music starts at seven, they could only get us in at 6:30 and how does that work? Do they think we're going to leave when the music starts?
It's raining now and Elvis is screaming for me to come and let him and the hens out and tomorrow night we're supposed to go to the Assisted Living place for the Big Christmas Dinner and all the kids are going and the boys too and it should be lovely. It was last year. Delicious dinner and NA wine which (a) I don't drink wine, and (b) What is the point of non-alcoholic wine? Wouldn't grape juice just taste better? Santa will be there and there will be entertainment and thank god the boys will be there, my grandsons. There will be old men in suits way too big for them now singing with wavery voices and old women wearing festive Christmas sweaters and sturdy black shoes singing with even more-wavery voices and if you could put together the stories of all the lives which have been lived, represented in that room you would die of it, the heartbreak. The meals prepared and the babies born and the children tended and the jobs gone to every day for a lifetime and the wars fought and the bills paid and the illnesses and the deaths and the hopes and the dreams all represented there in the tiny bent bodies, the faces wrinkled like road maps of the years. The tears and the laughter and anger and fear and joy all represented with lines and creases and yes, one day it'll be me. But not in a place that nice. Believe me. And the nurse at the Assisted Living just called and Mother is nauseous today and they're giving her ginger ale and crackers and bananas and I feel like I should do SOMETHING.
Pouring rain and I should be grateful and I am, I am, I truly am but oh, it's so gray and it's the season of light and I'll get through this, this mood, whatever it is.
It's 12-12-12 and no, I don't think the world is going to end. The Mayans have calendars reaching forward for octillion years and I didn't even octillion was a number or maybe it's not, just another bullshit thing I've read but I don't believe in numerology either and this day is going to be like any other which is gray and cold and will last forever at least until tomorrow and then it may all be different and most likely, yes, it will be.