And then there are days like this one

 

Lots more of them, actually, than any other kind. The day begins with me and my crusty, tired eyes wishing we could keep from having to see the light of day. But the threshold of when sleep becomes more debilitating than restful has already been exceeded. If I don't get up now, I will just get more depleted of energy, and I may never get up again.

I compromise. Without even raising my head more than an inch, I open my eyes and grab the bedside keyboard and mouse to check my Facebook, blog and email for any signs of activity. Even one notification can stimulate me to engage, however remotely, the world of people.

There are several things to respond to. I have been busy lately, commenting and responding to comments and even reaching out to long lost people with messages and friend requests. I got one back from my old high school girlfriend's sister, Tex. We exchanged a few messages and discussed our memories of the early '80s and Ilene, her departed sister. It was a pleasant conversation, but also another painful reminder of the impermanence in our lives. Some things are just gone.

It is raining, so my outdoor plans would have had a decent enough excuse for procrastination, if I actually had any plans, that is. All I have is a vague sense of guilt that I'd "better get to doing something" before too much time goes by and my options become limited. Things like planting a garden before spring turns into summer. Or weedeating the areas my lawnmower can't get to. Or tidying up virtually any of the areas within my visual field, all of which have fallen prey to some form of entropy

The deck seems stacked against improvements being made. I settle for just doing my basic exercise routine, eating breakfast and watching TV. I become even more tired than I was when I first woke up. I struggle to find that "one thing" that I can do in a day to keep myself in the game of life. I am still struggling to find it at the moment. This blog certainly isn't doing it for me right now.

I'd be content (poor descriptive word choice) to just flatline and let my time run out, like they do at the end of sporting events whose outcomes have already been decidedly determined. But an ambiguous gnawing tells me there is more. I'm still alive, there must be a reason.

Last night I fell asleep listening to some voice message recordings of Sharon and I (mostly Sharon) arguing and fighting about my crappy attitude and caregiving. Most of these things I had heard in real time, some I had not. There were "notes to self" she had also recorded, to bitch at me later, in case she forgot why she was mad at me.

Maybe that's why I was so tired when I woke up. She had been bitching at me literally all night. I couldn't help it, though. I really wanted to hear her voice.

In my grief group yesterday, we were asked to share what legacy we wished to keep from our time with our loved ones. "Her nagging," was my response. It sounded callous, but it was true. Of all the things that she did for me to show me she truly cared, her nagging and motivating me to do better had the greatest impact on my life. And it's the thing I am needing the most right now.

Without her here, the role of Director of Daily Activities has been abdicated. No one is telling me what to do or when to do it, and I'm finding myself adrift without anyone giving me the precise, clear-cut instructions that only she could. I need her to be the voice in my head telling me to get off my lazy ass and do something with my life.

My little LED stopped illuminating once the voice recorder messages started playing, and it hasn't been on since. Maybe I read too much into a silly electronic anomaly. Possibly I'm just that desperate or insane. But there are still hours of unfiltered audio recordings of Sharon's bitching (and crying and begging for me to improve myself) to listen to. I guess, in that way, she's still around, and her voice sounds more alive than mine does.

(later)

OK, I forced myself to go for a walk. When I got back, I took some 12 year old seeds and distributed them in the backyard garden rows I had rototilled a few days before. We must have bought these seeds when we lived in Paradise still. It will be a miracle if anything comes out if it. Afterward, I came back in the house and fell asleep on my chair. I was so exhausted I couldn't even lie down. But my little LED is back on.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, and I will go shopping. It occurs to me that these little bite-size activities are what is keeping me alive. I will have survived another 2 weeks from my last shopping trip which, at the time, I felt might just as well be my last. Tiny things to look forward to give me a reason to stay in the game for one more day. I don't know if I can commit to a whole month yet, much less a year. But I've got something to do tomorrow, so I guess I'm good for another day at least.

My long-time Squirrel's Club pen-pal Lori has kindly agreed to scan and send me some of our old  correspondence, going back to the '80s. I'd messaged her and told her of my project. She messaged me right back, knew exactly where they were stored and even attempted to photograph them for me. The fact that she did all this so readily lets me know there are people out there in this world who do actually care about my existence. I feel a bit of a weight of responsibility to not let people down who take an interest in my well-being. Thanks, Lori.

It's these little tendrils of interaction with people who have woven themselves into my story over the years that make me even have a story. If I existed all alone, without these friends in my life, I am guessing I would really have no life. The more I isolate, the quicker I wither up. The more I put myself out there, even if I embarrass myself, like I did with Dream Girl a couple of weeks ago, the more I know that I am alive.

Gee, I hope all my friends either don't read my book or have thick skins and a sense of humor. I want to be as open and unfiltered as I can. Writing for an audience tends to mute that. Writing for myself alone gives me freedom, but I might tend to say things that I could wind up regretting. I don't want to make anyone feel bad. Ultimately, it is me who would feel bad, for alienating my friends by being too blunt or uncensored. At the very least I may be too embarrassed to ever look any of them in the eye after that.

This blog is good practice. It is public, but not read by many people. Those who do read it must be awfully loyal fans, extremely bored or have really strong eye muscles to read through this stuff. Maybe they think there will be a prize given out or possibly an Easter Egg that I've hidden in here, if they just read far enough. Nope. Just more onion skin. When you peel back all the skin, at the center of the onion is--nothing. Yet somehow this "nothing" center is generating all of these external layers that make up a whole complete onion.

How blatheringly fascinating, I'm sure.