Grandma's shiva candle is down to the very bottom. I know that when I go to bed tonight it is going to go out. I can't tell you how much comfort I got having the candle in my kitchen to look at. I can't tell you how much sorrow the candle extinguishing causes me. The candle going out is another big old shouting symbol. "She's gone!" the burnt out candle says "and you have to move on!" it adds "Time to move on!" If my mom were here she'd tell me to get on with my life. That was one her favorite expressions. She wasn't exactly the epitome of sensitivity.
Today I had a breath stopping muscle spasm in my side back all morning. The husband claimed he could feel the knots in my back. And now I have the rawest of sore throats. I feel like I have been breathing caustic smoke all day long. Can't raise my voice. Maybe all these complaints add up to something viral. That would be just lovely since virus tend to run themselves out unceremoniously. Or maybe not. Because my boob still hurts. I'm tired of the hurting boob. Maybe I have viral areola-itis. And that causes sore throats.
Maybe I have an 11 year old who is like something out of a bad sitcom. Ean is very obviously deep in the hormonal throws of puberty. He contradicts everything out of my mouth including subjective stuff like "I'm sad." Yup, he will either argue that point or forcefully declare my sadness not his fault, because HELLO! the kid will not take responsibility for a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. Even if it is his fault. During lunch I said "Evan, you have sauce on your arm." He shouted "I didn't do it!!" "Ev, just wipe your arm on the napkin." I suggested "It's not my fault." he muttered. I'm crawling into a cave until he is 24.
Tomorrow is dad's last night here. He is going back on Sunday. Now I get to worry about dad long distance. And you don't need to know me well to know that is precisely what I am going to do. I wish he had friends near Stepford and would want to stay. It occurred to me that once the boys all go back to school (on Thursday!) I just might have that 6 1/2 hour a day break that I have been waiting 15 1/2 years to experience. And for the first time ever I will not have to dedicate my time to anyone but me.
Geez.
I am not sure if I know how to do that.
The choices are endless. Do I plan things? Take a class maybe? Do I have unstructured time? Do I dare pretend that this is the year I get my house organized? ppffffft! I amuse myself. The only commitment I have made so far is that I plan on resuming my therapy with the new new undead therapist. Maybe I should book a double (or triple) just to bring him up to date.
Dad thought for sure that scumcle would be calling me about something this week. So far, no scumcle. Could I be scumcle free? Time will tell, right?
It was a big day utopia. Today I got what I had only fantasized about all summer long. Today the guy who does stuff around here finally put the long awaited "tissue holder" (aka: toilet paper doo-hickey) on the wall. Cue the heavenly chorus! No more soggy TP from the window sill in a rain storm, no more rolls rolling under the tub, no more twisting around searching for rolls on the toilet tank. Now all I have to do is look right past my left knee and voila! paper. It's a summer dream come true. Well, that and winning the lottery.
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