Well, I have been up for four hours and have done nothing whatsoever except feed the dog across the street and make my husband breakfast.
Oh yeah, I fed the cat and chickens as well.
So. I have fed things. That pretty much sums up my life as well. If I were to have a gravestone (which I will not) it would most appropriately read, "Mary. She Fed Things."
In the last twenty-four hours I have gone from complete (albeit prosaic) happiness and contentment and relief to profound exhaustion (I was in bed by nine and forced myself to stay awake until 9:30) to what I am feeling now which is pretty much "fuck alla y'all" but only in a universal sort of way, not a directed-at-you-or-anyone-you-know sort of way.
Considering everything and especially the fact that yesterday was the one-year anniversary of my mother's death, I'll take this not-bipolar but possibly quint-polar range of emotions and frankly, when I say fuck alla y'all, I think I am mostly speaking of myself as the alla y'all.
I tried to give some sort of emotional, at least, tribute to my mother and her life yesterday but failed miserably. To be quite frank, I don't think I've had one real moment in the entire year of what I would call grief in regard to her death. How sick is that? I sincerely hope my brothers have taken the grief burden upon their shoulders because could there possibly be anything sadder than not being grieved by your children?
I probably shouldn't even say these words out loud, much less write them down here in the Internet but this is how things are. I am no more resigned to having had the mother I had than I was on the day before she died. I can certainly remember good things about her, things I did very much respect and that, too, is quite true. Things I even appreciate. But these are more logical and Mr. Spockian than they are human gut-feelings. I cannot fan the flames of them into any real human emotion.
Which disturbs me somewhat.
Here's another thing that disturbs me- I still, in my heart, believe that if I had been a better person, a better daughter, she would have shared with me more of the love I know that she must have felt for me and we could have gotten along so much better.
Well, that train has left the station and that's all there is to that.
It is Friday. I have things I need to do. I am an almost sixty-year old woman with a missing tooth. Well, it's not missing. I have possession of it. When I asked for the gold of my crown back, I did not realize it would come attached to the tooth. What was I thinking? Human molars, extracted from their gum beds, are horrifyingly ugly. I certainly do not have the technology or ability to removed gold from a tooth. Perhaps I will have a tiny funeral for my gold-topped tooth. I could bury it in a matchbox, say a few words over it and place a tiny violet overtop the grave. It will become part of this old piece of dirt which regularly yields me tiny treasures which other humans have left behind. Shards of old dishes, old bottles and rusted jars, pieces of rusty iron tools. A child could find it someday and think- TREASURE! TOOTH TREASURE!
Or, be completely freaked out.
I sort of like that idea.
I have given up on those sheets. I washed them and washed them with hot water and fabric softener and they are still not fit to sleep on. I put the old sheets back on the bed last night and they were heaven.
I am procrastinating. The Target credit/debit card breach has left me feeling vulnerable and angry. Someone (possibly a Russian) now knows where I live and other things about me.
Oh yeah. So do you.
Well, you are not evil.