It should be no surprise to anyone when I say "Hey, I haven't blogged in a while". Yes, we can all look at the last post and see that time has past.
I've put my pen down to focus on a full-time job, (only until I get my feet wet there, believe me, I have not given up the dream. Nor will I ever).
I've abandoned Facebook because I have nothing witty or sparkly to say, I haven't even spent enough time on Twitter to figure out how it really works.
And life keeps moving forward.
When a friend of mine told me that her heart went out to me (back in September) because she knew what I was going to go through in six months, I have to admit I was very put off. By nature, I know I can plow through anything when its given to me. I can handle the things put on the table, and blow through them, always trying to give it my all. But the aftermath is what gets me.
Welcome to the Aftermath!!
Anyone who still may be following this blog after my hiatus (thank you btw) probably knows the upheaval of my life at this time. Getting divorced is hard, but it is not really the getting divorced that is hard in my case. It's the finding my feet beneath the pool of dark fog around my waist. Each positive step thins the fog out, right?
No. That is not the way that life works.
I am sitting with myself, only myself, but I am not me which is okay because it is what I need to be right now. But let me tell you, it sucks.
And just when I think that I have it under control, life, the little devil she is dumps some more freezing ice into the bowl and the black fog rises until I can barely see. I'm flailing away through it though, because what else can I do? It's not about strength, it's about doing what we have to do when we have to do it. Finding some sort of peace within myself.
No one will be able to help me but me, though disheartening, more times it is empowering.
The hard part, the hardest part, is allowing myself to be crazy without allowing myself to be crazy. Or judging the crazy, or listening to the crazy, or holding the crazy's hand for a wild night out and waking up in the morning with it next to me waving at me laughing because when I look in the mirror, I don't see myself anymore.
There really is no point to this post, I just needed to do something with my hands.
My grandfather died this week, Pio Zone. He passed away in a chair after a rigorous four week battle with doctor's having to open and close his insides again and again and again. He was 88, born in 1923, he was in the Navy and loved his wife more than life itself so much so, that when she passed 14 yrs ago, and his dementia set in, all he would say was "Where are my cigarettes?" and "I want to be with Chickie". Pio loved to travel, live life, and gamble by cards. He was a fantastic grandfather and just let us be how we wanted to be without judgment, which, in turn, was a gift all in its own.
Today, I sit back and wonder why I need to write this, post this? Tomorrow, I will know it is because I wanted to do it, for me. This post has nothing to do with writing, it is a blanket statement of hidden things in my head, coming out in weird ways -- ways that don't really have anything to do with what is really going on, but they are helping me get over the greater issues. One day at a time, one step at a time...but what happens when your legs wobble and you can no long walk? You take a break, cry, eat bagel bites, watch mindless television, read a book that was said to be "so you and helpful", only to turn out that the lead character really wasn't like you at all and the end was a bust and you get angry now every time you think about it!!! (Oh, and by 'you' I mean me), you go shooting for the first time ever, plan to do things because you need to, do it with ease, (bc nothing is as hard as we make it out to be) -- but still everything is delayed, everyday drags on one million years into the next until you're to the point of exhaustion where your body can't even remember what function your nose has for your face (alright, I'm exaggerating, but it makes sense to me and maybe to some lonely traveler wandering the bloggoshepre, who has gone through a similar experience). And then get to a place where, "I don't know what to do anymore," seems like such a defeating but honest statement that you can't help to listen to the OTHER voice in your head that says "Yes, you do".
I am staring at the inky fog, only seeing black, but I keep going. I believe anyone would do it in my shoes, I don't believe it is strength, I don't believe that it is survival, I believe it is human.
We are, first and foremost, always alone. Numbers...having numbers is great -- but when you sit back and think about those hard times in life, the ones that never seemed to end, the one which puts so much stress and strain on your shoulders you feel as though your neck is going to pop, we were always alone. We had to work it out for ourselves, in the way only we knew how. And if that is by focusing on the small stuff while you process your way through the big stuff, then so be it. If it is taking a gun to the shooting range to murder a little paper man ("Target," Larry the shooting range owner corrected me, "Target"), then that can help.
Even when I was surrounded by people -- husband, boyfriends, friends, family, coworkers -- I still felt alone. Only now, I really am alone -- able to do whatever I really want to do, and yet, life...life, loves to throw shit at you (in a fun, monkey flinging poo kind of way, of course that monkey thinks its hilarious), from every direction.
*This post, is a part of my quirky way of processing things. I obsess about random things because I can not fathom the larger scale issues all at once. Stop by my brain sometime, trust me, you'll have a blast and leave through the crazy door with parting gifts in the shape of a giraffe.
**Dedicated to my Poppy...he lived a grand life and he was happy.
