“The trouble with life isn’t that there is no answer, it’s that there are so many answers.” ~ Ruth Benedict

Swaledale Valley, Yorkshire, UK
(globe images)

                   

“I wish I could say everything there is to say in one word. I hate all the things that can happen between the beginning of a sentence and the end.” ~ Leonard Cohen

Monday afternoon. Partly cloudy, hot, and humid.

The shower is officially in the past. Can I just say how terribly glad I am that it’s over? It’s not that I didn’t want to do it because I did. It’s more the consequences of doing it: Walking is painful. Sitting is painful. Breathing is painful.

Door to Ireland
by rchevalier (cc license on deviantArt)

I overdid it as I knew I would. It happens when I revert to this manic OCD mode in which everything must be absolutely perfect—the food, the decorations, the whatever. I fret and stew and worry myself into a panic, and then it (whatever it is) happens, and I am left completely depleted, physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Here is a prime example of my own insanity: On Thursday when Alexis and I went to Costco I accidentally locked the keys in the Rodeo after I had turned it on. I turned on the air conditioner, sat my purse in the car, and unlocked (I thought) the doors so that I could load the groceries into the rear. Well, in my haste, I locked all of the doors. The sunroof was open halfway. I climbed on top of the hood, reached inside the sunroof and hit the switch to open it all of the way, and lowered myself through the sunroof.

I am no longer 16, or 26, or even 36. But I really didn’t see any alternative. It was that or call roadside assistance while my car idled with the AC going full blast, which just seemed like such a waste. However, that particular scenario precisely captures my state of mind leading up to Sunday.

“We’re stormy, and that which is ours breaks loose from us without our fearing any debilitation. Our glances, our smiles, are spent; laughs exude from all our mouths; our blood flows and we extend ourselves without ever reaching an end; we never hold back our thoughts, our signs, our writing; and we’re not afraid of lacking.” ~ Hélène Cixous, “The Laugh of the Medusa” (trans. by Keith Cohen and Paula Cohen)

Tuesday afternoon. Partly cloudy and warm.

Yesterday, I took a break from writing to give the dogs baths. This is my logic: Since I cannot move without pain anyway, why not go ahead and do all of the chores that will cause me more pain so that I can bundle all of that pain and work on feeling better later?

Packhorse Bridge, River Conway, Wales, UK

Makes perfect sense, no? You’re right, of course. It make no sense whatsoever. But, hey, that’s Lola logic.

So I bathed the dogs, all three, administered flea medicine, cleaned ears and tried to put medicine on Alfie’s sore. Then I came back to the computer only to find that I could not get this post to appear on the edit page. It was there on the preview page when I clicked Preview, but as far as making it appear on the page I need to continue writing? Not so much. Well, not at all, actually.

I rebooted. I closed windows and reopened. Logged out. Logged back in. Then I played a few games of Spider Solitaire. Then I gave up. Obviously, the computer was having some type of virtual seizure, and nothing I could do would fix it. I convinced myself that it would be better tomorrow. Only . . . not.

Today I worked on it some more. Then I played some Spider Solitaire. Made myself a fruit smoothie. Gave the dogs treats. And finally, turned off the computer. This is a measure of last resort as I am not at all certain that once I turn it off it will come back on. But it did, and I have my edit page. And life is almost good.

“Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.” ~ W. S. Merwin, from “Separation”

So where was I? Who knows? Let’s just move on. Shall we?

Now that the much-anticipated shower is finally in the past, I have nothing on which to focus all of my nervous energies. We have about four or five weeks until the baby is scheduled to make its appearance; although, I think that she will be about one week early. Just a feeling.

Glow of Life, Rhododendron Gardens
by rchevalier (cc license on deviantArt)

So without all of the shower stuff to keep my mind occupied, and with this latest bout of very limited mobility (cannot turn my head to the right past 45 degrees), I have finally realized that I really want Corey to come home. I mean, I knew that before, of course, but I was able to put it out of my thoughts, able to focus on other things. But now? It’s time. Past time.

He’s scheduled to be home by the end of the month, which is actually not that far away, and I know that I can wait, but frankly, I’m’ tired of waiting. I miss him terribly, and truth be told, I need a bit of coddling (not cuddling, but that too). It’s hard work, this single parenting thing. I haven’t done it in ages. It’s not just the parenting, it’s the whole household thing. Corey really is my other half in so many ways: We complement one another in our strengths and weaknesses. And having to be strong and responsible 24/7 is taxing.

Am I whining too much? I know. It’s not at all becoming in a woman of my age. And it’s not that I need a man in my life. No. It’s that I need Corey in my life, and that’s a big difference.

You know what I miss the most? Talking to him. Hearing his voice.

Listen, when you are fortunate enough to find the one person in the world who genuinely completes you, it’s not something to be scoffed at as if it’s not a big deal because it is, a very big deal, that is.

“When one dreams of another,
Are both aware of it?
We’re apart as darkness is from light
My dream soul exists only for you.
True, nothing can be gained from dreams,
But without them how would I see you?” ~ Yüan Chen, from “Three Dreams at Chiang-ling”

So my dreams of late have been filled with people who are not here. Last night I dreamt of my m-in-law, and I was at her house along with Ann and one of my nieces, and we were going through a lot of her personal belongings. My m-in-law was showing me keepsakes from her childhood as we were moving her back into her house.

Greenfall, Olympic National Park
by rchevalier (cc license on deviantArt)

There were a few changes in the house. For one, the front door had been moved, which was really strange. But I told her that perhaps it was good that things had happened in this way because all of the things that were wrong with her house had been fixed, and now she could move back in without having to worry about leaks and neglected things falling apart.

I’m sure I dreamt that last part because I’ve been noticing more the things around my own house that really need work: plaster, tiles, the back door (of course), to name but a few.

Aside: When I was in Costco with Alexis last Thursday, one of the sample ladies asked me if I had a dishwasher, and I started to say yes, only I remembered that the dishwasher has been inoperable for well over a year, so I replied that the only dishwasher I had was my hand.  Let’s add plumbing problems to the list of things that need work . . .

“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.” ~ Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Just remembered—last night I dreamed that I was writing a romance novel. Yep. Went there.

Oneonta Gorge, Columbia River Goge, Oregon
by McD22 (FCC)

I really hated it, but I figured (in my dream) that I could sell it to Harlequin and make some money. I really don’t remember anything about the plot except that I had named the male protagonist Kenny, even though Kenny didn’t sound like one of those romantic leading men.

I can honestly say that I’ve never read a Harlequin romance, but I worked with this woman at the medical school who loved them. She called them her “history books.” I remember her name was Cassandra, and she was saving her money to have a breast reduction. I have no idea where that particular memory came from, but it was in my dream last night. Cassandra, her green shawl that she wore around the office, and her histories. Too funny. Anyway, in the dream I thought about naming my heroine Cassandra for her.

Don’t think that I’ll be writing that romance any time soon, but I do have to say that it almost wrote itself, at least in the dream it did.

Hmm . . . things that make you go hmm . . .

More later. Peace.

Images are from sources cited. I’m in a verdant state of mind.

Music by Christina Perri, “A Thousand Years”

                   

Love Song

I lie here thinking of you:—
the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—
you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west!
~ William Carlos Williams