A Very Bad Thing...

I am guilty this evening. Guilty because these are the words I shouted in a moment of despair, at my warring children,"When I am trying to find good reasons to want to keep living, you guys doing this are not helping!" and I made my son cry, and my daughter flip out. And it was just one of those moments (of many) that I hit that wall really hard again. That was yesterday. And this is today. I still don't feel any better about my life. I still wish that time would speed up, sometimes, to my dying day so I don't have to do this anymore.

I just can't. Today I can't do it because it hurts too much. I took exactly 4 naps today, just to make the time go by faster. The wound burns. My head hurts. And I just don't want to.

But I will, because I have to.

I wish like anything that I could take those words back.

I wish like anything that I was typing something quickly, happily, before I shut off the computer and joined my husband and our dear friends in a game of cards.

Lucky

I was watching Good Morning America this morning and the Spice Girls were on. Side note: Did anyone else think that Posh almost looks like she doesn't want to be there? They were talking with one of them (excuse me that I don't know the name because I am lax in my Spice Girls Nameology...but I know Posh) and she said that they were lucky. Lucky in their families, lives and their show. That their life, basically, is very charmed. I felt the familiar pangs of jealousy/sorrow again. I really was lucky. Super lucky. The kind of sick to your stomach lucky that rarely happenes. I remember looking at my wedding ring and thinking the mushy, gushy stuff like,"I belong to somebody..." I remember looking at his picture and thinking,"How did I get so lucky?" There is that word, lucky. Trying to tell oneself to be happy with that. With those 15 years of "luck" is hard to do. I am so very guilty of wanting more. Of realizing that I took that luck for granted and now it is gone. Replaced by jealousy, sometimes, over the luck of others. Replaced by the endless plodding of days. Days that I can't even get one thing done in. Days of memories that I try so hard to push to the back of the shelves of my mind because they aren't doing me any good right now. Walking downstairs and almost shading my eyes against the brightness that are the photographs on a board against the wall.

We were lucky.

Rest in Peace, Heath

Wow, has this news of Heath Ledger affected me in an astounding way. It brought back August with such clarity that I felt I was reliving it again.

And I felt for his family. Having to listen to the dirtiest of details, the supposition. Reading message boards where things such as overdose and suicide are stigmatized---You know...I'm really losing it here so I'll try this another day.

Tie a knot, Laura, tie a KNOT

That is what I am trying to do. Find something to hang on to.
I took the kids to the mall today. Well, I took James and we met up with Nicole there. My mother came with us and I took them all out to dinner.
I am, lately, feeling rather inadequate. I just cannot get past the thought of him not being here with me, the memories of how wonderful our life was...and the wishing I had appreciated it more.
Of thinking about looking for houses and wondering, if we had moved, would he still be here.
This is killing me...who I was, who I was meant to be.
As we walked through the mall I saw the spot where we shared our first kiss-right outside of Sears, where Record Town used to be. We were 18 and he looked a little like James Dean in his leather jacket, and my girlfriend was jealous. He was the best kisser.
Tonight I saw someone who looked like him. and then he turned around and it wasn't him. It will never be him.
There used to be (back in the 80's) a D.J. here called MoJo. No one knew what he looked like because, on any advertisements that featured the DJs, he was blur. He used to end his show with the same 3 minute monologue every night. The very last words were, "When you feel like you've reached the end of your rope, tie a knot...and hang on." That is what I am trying to do. I am afraid of slipping.

A Cold Day in H*ll

Excuse my bad language but it is. One it is cold. The 8 degrees kind of cold that makes one regret that they told their father they would drive him to the airport so that he could hop on a plane for sunny Florida... at 5:30 in the morning. The kind of cold that has one's mother calling them sobbing hysterically. So hysterically that one thinks that one's grandma might have died. No. Not that. Their pipes froze. Apparently, in that situation, the correct thing to do is to call one's daughter at 4:30 AM because she might have plumbing skills that one doesn't know about. I am more than a little sad that I seem to lack the ability to even be nice anymore. But, people, come on...

My father just called. It is "only" 58 degrees in Orlando today. I laughed. Only. I would sell a kidney for 40 of that 58.

Today is disjointed and appears to stretch out forever ahead. Today is a "not wanting to do this day". On the widow board that I sometimes read a post was written asking whether we (widows) had purchased a gun,pepper spray, large, black, barking dog for our protection. I was honest in my reply. My husband had a lot of guns but I put them into storage far, far away. Most were WWII historic rifles, but his hunting rifles went too...because I don't trust myself. No, I tell you (and myself) that I could never do that, but then neither could my husband. And, like I said, I still believe him. Why give myself objects to tempt? Yes, indeed, it is a cold day in hell.