I haven't been much with the content-rich posts here lately. This is because I'm still feeling all out of sorts, and daily updates would look a lot like this:
Day 1: Grumpy and despondent.
Day 2. Irritable and melancholy.
Day 3: Snappish and morose.
Day 4: Not too bad ... oh, wait a minute, crappy.
And so on. I mean really, who wants to read that?
Anyway, life goes on no matter what sort of mood you're in, and you've just got to go along with it. And I have been: I go to work, G goes to school, and we meet at home for a few hours in the evening before going to bed and getting up to do it all over again. I'm trying to get G's day camp lined up for summer -- she's not attending every week, but probably for four weeks out of the seven weeks it's offered. I was tempted by a cool-sounding "zookeeper" -themed camp that she would have loved, but part of the session was an excursion to the San Diego Zoo, and I'm not prepared to send her 80 miles away on a bus to tour a huge attraction with a mob of kids. If she were 12 or 13, sure, but she's eight. I can barely keep track of her at the zoo.
As for myself, when I'm not thinking up synonyms for negative emotions, I've been continuing to get rid of clutter. Yesterday I tossed out a big box of P's leftover vitamins and medications that I'd been hanging onto. It was harder than it should have been, considering that P hated all the pills he had to take, and would not only have joyfully thrown them away, but probably would have jumped up and down on them and run over them with his car a few times for good measure. I hesitated for a moment over the Imitrex sprays, which were a huge part of our lives for years, but then I reminded myself that P isn't going to have migraines anymore and doesn't need them, and I threw them into the dumpster. I suppose I ought to have felt a sense of freedom and relief as I was walking away, but the sun beat down on me, and all I felt was hot and tired.
I also had to wash the quilt from my bed because Catherine kindly greeted me the other morning by horking up a hairball on it while I was still underneath. This was P's favorite quilt -- he even used it when he was taking a nap on the couch -- and I hadn't been planning to wash it well, ever really. (Okay, eventually, but not just yet.) But if P were still alive, the idea of continuing to use a quilt that a cat had thrown up on would have killed him, so I stuffed it into the washer. Now it's clean, but it doesn't smell like P anymore. Slowly but surely, he's slipping further away from this world. Soon all the ties will be unbound, and there won't be anything left of him at all.