Rockets

I keep hearing explosions - it's not the actual holiday yet, but people around here love to set off firecrackers at the slightest excuse, and they've been doing it for days now.  I actually remember a large firecracker going off the first night Jerry was home in hospice - later realized it was at the moment the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup.  (Actually, it sounds like some people might be doing fireworks displays a day early.  Jerry and I would always hear the fireworks and try to see them out the window, but we have so many large trees around the house that we hardly ever could.)

So: another day ending.  I didn't get out of bed this morning until after 10: I'd stayed up past 1 a.m., and right before I went to bed I tried a "sleep aid," a store brand of basically whatever the ingredient in Tylenol PM is that helps you sleep.  I woke up at 7-something feeling zonked but alert enough to remember to take my thyroid medicine, then went back to bed, woke up several more times but kept falling back asleep.  When I did get up, I wasn't as groggy as I'd have been with something like Nyquil, so maybe if I can't sleep at some point and take that sleep stuff at an earlier time, I'll be able to have a decent night's rest.

Anyway... I spent a bunch of the afternoon hauling my books up from the basement, typing in ISBNs on the Powell's website to see if they'll buy any of them (looks like about 20 they might buy, if the condition is okay, so far), and stacking the rest in the dining room.  Still a bunch left downstairs.  I'll call the local library next week and see if they can send someone to cart these away for their book sales.  I don't know if Goodwill takes books.  If neither of those options work... they may end up in a dumpster, which I wouldn't like - I always want books to have a good home.  But I'm in no mood to search out more options.  And there's just too much stuff in that basement.

I also made reservations to go to Lookout Mountain in August.  I'm scared about going without Jerry, though: every plan I've made, every reservation, is for somewhere I've only ever been with him: the flights, the car rental, the hotel, even the parking lot at Midway.  How can I do these things without him without it hurting too much to bear?  I can't not be at his memorial; but how can I actually go?  The only person who could make it better is Jerry.  You see my problem.

But anyway, reservations can be cancelled.

Another round of fireworks.

A DirecTV tech came to the house in the late afternoon, moved the satellite dish down a bit on the side of the house, cut off a few branches on one of Jerry's dogwoods, and said there wasn't much left to do if the reception isn't better, with the aforementioned large trees blocking so much of the sky around our house.  But the reception should be a bit better now.  And even if it's not, I'm not paying for it at the moment anyway... Boguslaw, the tech's name was.  Wore his wedding ring on his right hand, I noticed.  I envied him his living spouse. Of course, I'm still wearing my wedding ring and don't plan to stop, so theoretically Boguslaw could have been a miserable widower still wearing his wedding ring and hiding his grief, and I had no cause to feel envious.

It would be really nice not to be having all these insane thoughts.

And another day comes to an end.  God, I miss you, honey.