Yesterday was just hard. It was one of those days. And my boys being sick made me feel just terrible. At one point I hugged Owen who spent all day in his pajamas either dozing on the couch or on my bed and I said, "I just hate it when you don't feel well."
"It's okay, Mer," he said, not with any falseness or attempt to cheer me up, but just with the pragmatic truth of it. He hugged me back and offered me the top of his head to kiss and I did.
Gibson was feeling better but he needed a nap and he didn't want to take one and he didn't want me to set him down and he didn't want me to leave the room although at one point, he did amuse himself for a few moments, rolling out playdough snakes while I washed dishes.
He also made playdough eggs and I made a playdough bowl and he shook the eggs in the bowl and said, "Cooking, cooking," and then we both sampled the eggs and they were delicious. He has taken to saying, "Holy heck!" which is about the funniest thing I've ever heard. He also wanted me to read him a lot of books and that made me happy. Maybe he will be my book lover.
He finally fell asleep on the couch watching Sponge Bob and was still asleep when his daddy got here to take him home.
I made a venison meatloaf and it was delicious but I just could not be happy yesterday for anything. My soul was sad and that was all there was to it. But I slept well and when I woke up it looked like the picture at the top outside and Mr. Moon is absolutely jangling with the excitement of being about to leave to go hunting in Canada and this is what our old bed looks like and I am not kidding you.
Oh. Let me be clear- he is not taking the bear with him. That's just where the bear sits.
It is strange to witness these preparations. I am not involved at all except for a certain amount of laundry although he really does a lot of that himself. I think this is part of the difficulty for me in his leaving on these trips. And I used to really and truly resent this- that something in which I did not figure at all brought him so much happiness. Does that make sense?
And although it does not bother me the way it used to, there is still a bit of a lingering melancholy at the fact. This time of year is just hard. The approach of the gross horror which Christmas has become, the darkness which falls at six o'clock, the chill in the air, my partner and lover and husband, absent both in physical presence and in thought.
It was this time last year that my anxiety began to torque up. I felt it rolling in and tried and tried and tried to deny it and suffered in silence the way we do for so very long and then it simply could not be denied anymore and then the tooth that had to be removed and all that entailed and it was such a nightmare and it truly has taken me a year to come back to myself and it's been a very, very good year with that perfect, lovely, loving trip to Cozumel (which I am yearning for more and more as the days grow darker and colder and the man pulls away to do man things in the cold north) and Jessie and Vergil moving back and yet there is the lingering fear that with the darkness and cold, the darkness and chill will return to me. There is nothing to fear but fear itself, etc. but fear itself is a black monster bastard. Just ask anyone with PTSD which is probably most of us.
Wow. This is a fucking scattered post, isn't it?
Well. I feel scattered.
I better go take a walk and see if I can find some focus on this day. I can tell that I am disassociating and as with the crying the other night, I do not even know why. Even as the light and shadows are as sharply defined as if cut with razors, the spaces in my mind remain fuzzy and gray.
Life on earth.