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No Answers

How were we talking about wedding ideas one day, and a week later we’re over? How were we buying a house together one day, and within a month I’m packing all your things and your friend is moving them out? How is this happening? How does someone stop loving that fast? I wish I could.

How could I have known standing on that sidewalk outside the bus that took you away six months ago was the last time you’d kiss me? I’ve been living on the anticipation of your homecoming all this time.

Now there isn’t one. It’s just too cruel.

Thirty Years.

Whatever time is, it’s cruel.

Thirty years. It took thirty years for us to connect and fall in love.

Six years. And we only got six years together.

However foolish it may be, I will wait another thirty years for her.

Even if it meant we’d only get another six years. Or six months. Or six days. 

I will wait. And grow and learn and better myself. I will wait through any amount of time for any amount of time with her again.

That will always be true.

Six Years. Almost.

I don’t know how I am where I am. I don’t know how we’re here. But we’re broken and I’m dying.

Except that I’m not dying, and that’s the worst part.

I wish I would. It would be a relief.

I’m so tired of struggling to live. Striving to survive. Fighting to get through it.

Tired of hearing all the “this too shall pass” and “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and “time heals all wounds” platitudes.

This too might pass, and that’s my greatest fear and pain–that the love of my life changed her mind and is passing me by.

What doesn’t kill me is a tease. It brings me to the brink and leaves me there gasping for breath and wishing for death.

Time is a voyeur and heals nothing. Time is not active. It merely passes and looks on indifferently while life beats the shit out of me.

My life has been an endless parade of pain and hardship and people who leave. Event after hateful, agonizing event without a break.

I thought she was my karma. I thought she was the universe finally handing me the payout for all my grief.

Self-Portrait

A few weeks ago, I felt smugly confident I’d get through this winter without the usual self-loathing and morbid dreariness that tends to accompany February. Several factors were in my favor:

I began Weight Watchers just after New Years and have lost seven pounds without much effort, which, as anyone trying to lose weight knows, if you can feel immediate success, the encouragement of that far outweighs the constraints you place on yourself to continue losing.

We had a lovely house guest—Karen—for a week crossing January and February which has to be my favorite part of the winter.

I recently bought several adorable succulent house plants to bring in more naturey greeness which I expected to be a further balm or preventative to my winter blues.

I’ve been taking Vitamin D for general health and wellness and because I know it can help with seasonal depression because you’re not getting that Vitamin D from sunshine. (For the most part, I have noticed a significant improvement in my overall moods since beginning to take it daily.) And I thought the snow was on my side.

I was mostly ok with the relentless snow because it was at least pretty and disguised the muted ochers, grays, and dingy greens of Pittsburgh’s winter landscape. The snow brought a clean, bright contrast to the skeleton trees, and really, for me the view outside my front window and all the photos I saw of the buried city and surrounding towns, filled me with wonder and awe at the spectacle and ferocity of nature. It was breath-taking and wonderful and vicious all at once.

I thought to myself and said to several people that, even though the clean-up of the snow was annoying and a week stuck indoors with my kids drove us all a little batty, I wanted to think of it as positively as possible. My spin on it was that at least February looked pretty and the snow wasn’t likely to melt until March and by that time, Spring would have all but sprung and I’d be well out of danger for my yearly bludgeoning by seasonal disaffectedness…whateverthefuck it is that makes me despise drawing breath while I wait for the sunshine to crack the clouds and find me again.

But I was too smug or too confident or too a few weeks ago because today and for the past several days all I can do is sigh and mope and drag my hang-dog self around the house prodding me to switch the laundry so we can all have underwear tomorrow.

Today I have eaten 12 or 13 Tagalongs, 5 Trefoils, and at least 9 or so Thin Mints (cookies, not boxes—if that were the case I believe I’d be going to have my stomach pumped.) But seriously, who eats that many cookies in a day? Good grief. I felt like if I could just reach that one more cookie, I’d have a reason to let my heart go on beating. Pathetic. It’s unbearably pathetic. And this is the eat-me-up cycle: Inexplicable moroseness, disinterest in all things (excepting perhaps chocolate and Girl Scout cookies), bounded well with a mortar of intolerable self-loathing.

I know this sounds like whining, but it’s not in my head. I mean, the tone of voice isn’t whining. These are simply matters of fact.

I’m dreading going to sleep because I haven’t actually slept well in three weeks thanks to strange and disturbing dreams and perpetual pain in my neck/back/leg—depression with an insomnia chaser; I’m dreading waking up tomorrow feeling the same as I do today; I’m dreading an exam, a paper, and another exam all due next week; I’m sure there’s plenty more I could dread. I know there is. I’m overcome by dread.

Thing is, I know it’s unreasonable. I know there’s no real cause. I know in a few weeks I’ll start to feel my way out of the fog and gloom and will mostly continue on through life…but right now, I feel terminal even though the ickyness feels interminable. Whether or not that makes sense, I know what I mean.

I just want winter to get a move on.

The Infidel

I must must must must must see this movie.

David’s Dream

On February 10th, 2010, David had a dream:

This was during the week of the Snopocalypse. Thought it might be the last vestiges of life that the survivors would discover of mankind pre-February 5th, 2010. Since we’ve basically come out unscathed, I figured I’d share the few chuckles this inspired.

I Draw

Here’s some stuff I’ve drawn. Most were for a class last year, but I’ve never shared them, so I figured why not now, especially since I asked people to trust their faces to me. This should show (I think) that your face is safe in my hands. 😉

Also, Casey bought me an easel and I shall share pictures of that too. (But also use it for creating more pictures, not just admire it.)

You can click on each picture to see it bigger. Hope you like ’em.

Banana Pancakes

Finally, third time around, new baking powder (thanks to Tom‘s suggestion), and a little tweaking of the recipe and these are the most delicious Banana Pancakes you’ve ever seen.

Also, when I ground my coffee beans this morning, I threw in some whole cloves and allspice and a little cinnamon, and WOW. I know it’s noon and I’m still in jammies and just now finishing my breakfast, but it’s so worth it to be slow-moving when this is what I get to enjoy.

White Trash

I swear this is not an indicator of my actual creative/artistic abilities. Promise. It is however a red flag for my loved ones that my crazy is about to take me over…

Positively speaking I’m resourceful and tenacious.

I’ll just go ahead and let the photos speak their piece and see if you can’t figure out what happened here.

Macognito

It’s like Where’s Waldo, except with a MacBook. Betcha can’t find it.

Give up? Ok, ok, it’s the tall red-head. Nice, huh?

According to Casey, these were just released today and he’d already ordered mine so it arrived this morning. Most Excellent. Now my laptop won’t feel so out of place among its ancestors.

Go, buy yourself a new BookBook. It’s rad.

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