Some sad and some weird

This week and the last have been… not hard, exactly.  Well, no, I guess hard. 

It’s weird, I keep forgetting that it’s supposed to be shit for a while yet.  I feel fine most of the time.  And then… suddenly… I don’t.  And by the time I realise that I need to dial it back a bit, I’m in the thick of it and I should have been taking it easy for a week or more.

Partly it’s just the winter setting in malaise.  It’s always dark when I get home, it’s freezing in the morning when I have to get out of bed.  I need a holiday from work so that I can remember that I actually relaly love my job, because right now I don’t want to come in and I can’t wait to leave.  And I hate feeling like that. 

Plus, I was sick last week.  And I’m recovered from the actual disease, but I’m just super tired.

So defenses are low, you know?  My mum has asked to stay over again next week.  She’s coming down to have dinner with some of the people that she and my dad used to work with – people I grew up with, basically.  She asked me if I want to go.  I do.  But I don’t want to deal with my mum and, frankly, I don’t know if I’d be up for it even without her there.  I went out for dinner last night with two of my favourite people, and it hit 7:45 and I was DONE.  Bedtime!  I’m sleeping 9-10 hours and I’m still buggered.

This morning I caught the bus in.  Feeling a bit fragile.  IPod on shuffle.  And ‘You Are My Sunshine’ came up.  I associate this song with my dad – in fact, it is on my iPod in the first place because I bought it off iTunes to put on the playlist my sister made for the wake.  I remember him singing it to me as a kid.  These are the memories that kill me the most – the ones of me as a kid and him as a young dad.  He loved being a dad – everyone kept telling us so at the funeral, it was a running theme.  My memories confirm it.  He loved showing us stuff, having fun with us; he had infinite patience.  I remember him picking up the whole bean bag with me on it and twirling it round and round until everything was fuzzy.  I remember him having baths with us and spending hours with the plastic toys.  Hundreds of memories like this – simple ones, where him and me, or him and me and the sister, made a little world, with just us in it.

Anyway, the point of that is that it didn’t help with the fragile.  Oh, did I mention that I am wearing Cobblestone today?  Why? First thing I picked up off the pile of clothes that was warm.  Maybe not a brilliant idea.

I just hate how out of my hands all this is.  It keeps catching me by surprise. I’m fine when I should feel like shit, and then for no reason, it all comes crashing down.  This is not to say that anything dramatic has happened – I’m still living my normal life, I’m not in tears at the office or anything.  It just takes that much more energy to keep it that way.

There’s a family dinner for my grandma’s birthday on Saturday.  I don’t know the details yet.  I want to see my grandma – haven’t seen her for months now.  But I just don’t think I can handle it.  There are a few family members that I think I will have trouble being polite too, frankly.  And I don’t think I can handle the family.  They’re loud and crack horrible jokes – all things I love about them, but…. not this week, prehaps.  I feel a little… autistic, maybe?  I don’t mean to exaggerate, or to make light of a serious condition.  But seriously.  I’m very socially anxious, I feel uncomfortable making eye contact (except with a select few, trusted, people) and I have trouble finding the right thing to say, often opting for silence.  Which can be awkward.  I’m so easily overstimulated – too much noise, colour, light, and I go into shut down mode.

Anyway, I promised some weird.  This was on the tea room table this morning.  (Warning.  Moderately graphic)

On the tea room table by you.

 Next to a bowl of nuts with a sign saying ‘free: please eat’.  I should point out that this is nothing out of the ordinary.  The other day we had an argument about whether silicone was safe for cookware, which ended with the statement ‘well, if you’ll stick it in you, why won’t you eat off it?’ and then further discussion of the fact taht you can wash your silicone sex toys in the dishwasher, and whether that was ok or not.  I really do love my job.


3 thoughts on “Some sad and some weird

  1. There are a million and one things I wish I could say to you, in hopes that what I said could make a difference, but I wouldn’t know if it would help, because it never helped me. I lost my father when I was 15; taken from me before I had the chance to ask him all I needed to know before the real world came calling. He too loved being a father, though he was older by the time he had me, I was the youngest of five and the son he always wanted, one to bear his name. I know that playing catch was hard for him to do, and trivial when it comes to most everything else in life, but those were some of my favorite memories–included with the times I was sick and before I woke up from a bad cough, he was already at my bed, with medicine and a hug.

    I was a huge baseball fan–the biggest fan the Baltimore Orioles ever had. My first game–in person–I was maybe eight or nine years old, and short, like I’ve noticed most of us redheads were when we younger. The game was between the Orioles and the Yankees–the most hated team in all of baseball. I remember sitting above the bullpen when a ball hit by Cal Ripken, Jr. fell into an usher’s hand. I wanted the ball more than anything in the world–remember, as children, these are the most important things to us. My father told me to ask the usher–so I did in my young broken voice, stuttering, scared he would say no. The usher yelled that he was going to throw the ball up to me, but if I was unable to catch it, he couldn’t force anyone to hand it over. I waited with my glove hand over the railing as he launched the ball over my head. I was instantly lost–sure the ball was gone off to some other kid–one who didn’t deserve it as much as I did. When I turned around my favorite hugged me and put the ball in my glove–he caught it. It is the fondest memory I have of him and still brings me to tears when I share it.

    I know this has gotten very long and I’m sorry. Just know, that it never goes away, the pain that is, just sometimes, it is a little easier.

    Good luck my friend.

  2. I remember sitting in a doctor’s office in Oct 2002 (needing a doctor’s certificate for c’link) and trying to explain why I couldn’t keep it together when I needed to eventhough most if the time I seemed fine, that my feelings were somtines so unpredictable and overwhelming. And she said to me “grief is not linear”. Alongside some other sage advice about respecting my own need to withdraw when this happened. It didn’t make it any better, but somehow more bearable. Which I guess was the point – it doesn’t get better (not really, really better anyway) for such a long time.

    I hope you find something to make it all a bit more bearable soon.

  3. Oh my God that aged care add is a scream! That should be on Jay Leno.

    “You are my Sunshine” is the sweetest song!

    I get shut down by social anxiety too. I definitely have the sensitive personality thing. Officially I have ‘social anxiety disorder’ although I have been making progress with it, this has been really helpful to me (it’s free), “Social Anxiety Anonymous” (Just Google it).

Whadya reckon?

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