I forced myself to stay home on Monday to give myself a chance to process all the stuff going on.
I’m not doing a very good job of it, actually.
I keep thinking about how precious life is, but I can’t seem to get unstuck enough to feel like I’m doing anything useful about it. I want to shop. I want to drink dangerous amounts of coffee. I want to read brain-candy books. I want to cry, but the tears don’t come. I want to hide, but at the same time I want to surround myself with friends and activities. I want magick and I want mundanity. I want to lay on my porch swing and watch the clouds, curl up on the couch with my best friend’s infant on my chest, bury my face in my cat’s soft tummy. I want to run til I collapse, push myself too far on my elliptical, and scream til my lungs give out. I feel like I have an insane paradox-hurricane whirling around in my chest.
All the while, I’m watching the clock tick and the days fly by. I’ve got a wedding extravaganza in three weeks, where a large number of my favorite people in the world will be converging at my house for 4-6 days. I’ve got a honeymoon in seven weeks – a trip to Ireland where it’s starting to look like we’ll be sleeping in the bonny heather for two weeks.
And I care, but I’m just watching the time go by. I’m craving stillness, but also a kind of slowness and fastness. A weird combination of social and isolation.
A week before my cousin died, a friend of mine died. She was the kind of person who made everyone she encountered feel warm and safe and loved. I only spent a few hours total with her, but I wanted to know her better. I wanted to spend gobs of time with her, but we never seemed to be able to be free at the same time – and I admit, I didn’t try very hard. Not hard enough, at any rate, and for reasons that pale now. And now she’s gone, and I’ll never get the chance. And my heart hurts, and I miss her so much. I doubt she even knew how much I cared about her, and I’ll never get the chance to tell her the way I wish I had.
I keep wondering what else I might be letting slip that I’ll so deeply regret – and then feeling so overwhelmed, I can’t be useful.
I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, but I’m too… something… to see past all this fog. Scared, maybe. Overwhelmed? Something.
I have no idea how to deal with any of this. I feel like I’m making progress, but then I feel like I’m kidding myself.