I know my sick boy needs to be quiet and to be entertained, but, for me, that always involves way too much television. I could have left the room today. I did for a while, but we somehow ended up in the same room together anyway. Later, I sat with everyone and watched the movie Mike put in, but I played Scrabble on my iPhone the whole time because I couldn't just sit there. I suppose I could have pulled out a quilt to stitch, but I think my poor vision limits how much I want to do that. I almost drew pictures in my notebook, but I even felt too tired to be a little creative. I've been struggling with sleep, since Nick's nights are much more difficult for him than his days. It's just the way it's always been for him. At night, I'm up, listening to him breathe and cough, listening for problems. How can this be frightening and boring at the same time? I suppose that the days are boring and I'm slogging through them, only half-awake, because the nights, with his poor breathing, are frightening and sleepless. Last night, I fell asleep after midnight, listening for his cough, and had just enough added adrenaline to wake me at 3:30 as if I'd had too much coffee. I couldn't go back to sleep again until 6:30 even though he was sleeping relatively quietly. It's hard to get through the day on three and a half hours of sleep, even with a nap.
I forgot to take my vitamins. Yuk. I hate taking vitamins, needing to choke down too much, needing something hearty to swallow them with but not being hungry. My grandma used to be able to swallow five or six pills with one swig of water. How did she do that? I have trouble taking vitamins with just water. I need food to do it. Why did I admire that in my grandma, as if it made her brave or something? My grandma was brave, but I'm not sure it was all that evident in the way she took her pills. She lost her only boy when he was just thirty-seven years old and didn't lose her mind. My grandpa and my mother lost it, but grandma stayed true and was still there when I needed her. She lost my grandpa within two years of that because he gave up and just died and she was still there for me. How did she do that? How did he do that for that matter? How does a man just give up and die? He didn't drink. He didn't do drugs. He just gave up, shriveled up, and then died of a heart attack. People said it was unexpected, but it didn't seem that way to me. To me, it felt as though he committed suicide, though not in the usual way. I can tell you that it takes less than two years to die of grief if you don't hurry up the process. Is this what I came here to talk about?
I took Teddy to his puppy training without Nick today. I asked lots of questions, but these people don't like me. I can feel it. The woman nearly sneers when I ask her a question. The guy treats me as though I'm an idiot. At least he treats most of us as if we're idiots. Okay, we don't know how to train a dog. That's why we're here. Show us. Stop talking and show us. Don't use a well-trained dog to show us. Use an untrained dog, but when you use my dog, try not to make me feel like an idiot when it works perfectly for you and not for me. Okay, I'm not enamored of these training people. I can just try somewhere else when this class is finished. I can stop complaining now.
I've been listening to 'The Historian' by Elizabeth Rostova. It's a strange mixture of history and classic vampire lore. I know, I was mocking it before, but after 15 disks, I'm still listening and thinking about the story while I'm doing other things. I like the interweaving of stories, the changes in perspectives. I like that, in all that volume of words, I may have retained some small thing about the Turks and the Ottoman empire in 1477. I'm not so thrilled learning about Vlad the Impaler. I suppose it's important to learn about these people - Hitler, Ivan the Terrible, Vlad the Impaler, the ones who were incredibly cruel and shockingly powerful - but I don't want to read more about people's cruelties. Yet what is a story without some form of cruelty or confrontation?
I can hear my boy in the other room with Mike, crying because he's tired and congested and feels like crap. I've been trying to ignore it, but have failed miserably. Can you tell?
Wow, is there a theme here? Fatigue, fear, grief, cruelty.
I'm going to go lie on the couch now and listen to my boy cough. I'm going to send Mike to bed with earplugs in so he can get up with Nick tomorrow. It's my job and I may be too tired to play and be cheerful tomorrow, but tonight, I'm here if he needs me.
Thank you for listening, jb
I forgot to take my vitamins. Yuk. I hate taking vitamins, needing to choke down too much, needing something hearty to swallow them with but not being hungry. My grandma used to be able to swallow five or six pills with one swig of water. How did she do that? I have trouble taking vitamins with just water. I need food to do it. Why did I admire that in my grandma, as if it made her brave or something? My grandma was brave, but I'm not sure it was all that evident in the way she took her pills. She lost her only boy when he was just thirty-seven years old and didn't lose her mind. My grandpa and my mother lost it, but grandma stayed true and was still there when I needed her. She lost my grandpa within two years of that because he gave up and just died and she was still there for me. How did she do that? How did he do that for that matter? How does a man just give up and die? He didn't drink. He didn't do drugs. He just gave up, shriveled up, and then died of a heart attack. People said it was unexpected, but it didn't seem that way to me. To me, it felt as though he committed suicide, though not in the usual way. I can tell you that it takes less than two years to die of grief if you don't hurry up the process. Is this what I came here to talk about?
I took Teddy to his puppy training without Nick today. I asked lots of questions, but these people don't like me. I can feel it. The woman nearly sneers when I ask her a question. The guy treats me as though I'm an idiot. At least he treats most of us as if we're idiots. Okay, we don't know how to train a dog. That's why we're here. Show us. Stop talking and show us. Don't use a well-trained dog to show us. Use an untrained dog, but when you use my dog, try not to make me feel like an idiot when it works perfectly for you and not for me. Okay, I'm not enamored of these training people. I can just try somewhere else when this class is finished. I can stop complaining now.
I've been listening to 'The Historian' by Elizabeth Rostova. It's a strange mixture of history and classic vampire lore. I know, I was mocking it before, but after 15 disks, I'm still listening and thinking about the story while I'm doing other things. I like the interweaving of stories, the changes in perspectives. I like that, in all that volume of words, I may have retained some small thing about the Turks and the Ottoman empire in 1477. I'm not so thrilled learning about Vlad the Impaler. I suppose it's important to learn about these people - Hitler, Ivan the Terrible, Vlad the Impaler, the ones who were incredibly cruel and shockingly powerful - but I don't want to read more about people's cruelties. Yet what is a story without some form of cruelty or confrontation?
I can hear my boy in the other room with Mike, crying because he's tired and congested and feels like crap. I've been trying to ignore it, but have failed miserably. Can you tell?
Wow, is there a theme here? Fatigue, fear, grief, cruelty.
I'm going to go lie on the couch now and listen to my boy cough. I'm going to send Mike to bed with earplugs in so he can get up with Nick tomorrow. It's my job and I may be too tired to play and be cheerful tomorrow, but tonight, I'm here if he needs me.
Thank you for listening, jb
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