Dead fly tally so far this evening: 1.
I dreamt about Jerry again last night. This time he was going to California, planning to carry out some sort of robbery at a hotel. Somehow we got separated, because I found myself talking to some police, who were telling me they knew what he was up to and were going to go get him. And they said I wasn't going to be able to see him. I woke up from that last part feeling panicked, and then of course the reality I woke to was even worse than the dream. I remember having bad dreams occasionally over the past years and waking up and realizing where I was and who was there sleeping next to me, and always being so happy and relieved. No more happiness now, no more relief.
Had to give up on the bulletin board for widows that I'd been visiting - this has happened to me before, where I get involved on a bulletin board and then after some time realize that the people on the board are in general just way too different from me aside from the one thing we have in common that has brought us to the board in the first place, and I feel very uncomfortable continuing to participate in the posting. It's happened a couple of times before, and I think this was the final example that proves to me that in future I'll be avoiding bulletin boards. I've encountered a few people on each of the boards I've tried who have turned out to be longer-term off-board correspondents, and that has been nice, but in general I'll be much better off not clicking on harmless-sounding subject lines and finding that someone's spouse has very definitely been sending her signs through the songs that come on the car radio, or that some famous TV psychic is so obviously the real thing and has delivered news bulletins from people's spouses from the Great Beyond, and all you haters who don't believe it's true are just evil and jealous, or that everyone is assuring the OP that his dead wife is looking down on him from somewhere and smiling and deriving pleasure from what he's doing here below. I hope all those widows are getting comfort from those kinds of beliefs and others, but they're not for me, and it's no help to me to read them. Additionally, my nerdly grammarian brain felt like it was going to explode if I'd had to wade through many more repetitions of "could of," "loosing my mind," and other almost-but-not-quite phrases.
Clearly I'm just a mean and nitpicky person. Then again, I never claimed to be otherwise.
More progress: Steve the Contractor will be here in a week, along with a roofer and a concrete guy and a gutter guy, to evaluate further what needs to be done. OK, I didn't say the progress wasn't glacial. But at least they remember I'm still out here waiting. Still not sure when I'll have health insurance again (don't know if I have to wait until the beginning of next month for coverage to start), but I wrote another check today to supplement the one I gave the insurance agent yesterday - I have to pay for two months at a time, it turns out, or else they're going to want to make automatic withdrawals from my bank account, and I really hate setting up automatic withdrawals, and avoid it if I can.
The cabinet shop lives on for another weekend. Sort of. Seamus needs to finish getting the crown moulding for this last job assembled, and I'll stain and lacquer it on Monday. It'll be picked up (possibly by Steve the Contractor - I think this is a job for his company) on Tuesday. We talked today about having the phone service shut down on Tuesday. Then I guess we take out what's left of our personal belongings and shut the door, and the lawyer moves forward alerting vendors and other creditors that the company has ceased operations. Not sure what happens then. We're sort of curious when the landlords will notice we're not there, considering they don't seem to have been bothered by not having received any rent payments in something like ten months... or at least not bothered enough to mention it.
Again I'm left to wonder how a heart that's already broken can keep re-breaking, over and over and over again.
I completely understand your sentiments about what I lovingly call "the bored." I saw a rainbow -- it's a sign! -- I found a penny while vacuuming -- it's a sign! -- "our song" came on the radio -- it's a sign! Give me a bloody break.
ReplyDeleteBut I'm still there, even though I rarely start threads anymore. I would encourage you to hang around until you feel ready to venture out and meet some of the Chicago widows for dinner. Meeting them face to face, talking and laughing with them, could be the very best thing you do for yourself -- even though the only thing you have in common is widowhood. But I know that you aren't ready to do that yet.
I find that I usually don't finish reading the posts by people who can't spell and who abuse the English language. They may have interesting things to say, but I'll never know. On the other hand, a few gems have entered my vocabulary because of their ignorance. I now have what some friends and I refer to "orange dog" days, thanks to one widow who posted that she was feeling "mellon collie." Yes, she misspelled "melon," but she does get points for even knowing that the word "melancholy" exists.
As to your last question ... I don't know. But one day, you'll start picking up the shattered pieces, and you'll find that you can make a beautiful mosaic from them.
For now, though, I am simply wishing you a measure of peace for the day.
I do realize that this isn't the sense in which the posters to whom you refer hear messages through songs, but your fly issue and the sentiment behind the name of your blog remind me of "Angel from Montgomery" (maybe because John Prine was a mail carrier in your neck of the woods?).
ReplyDeleteI lament the great divide between people who do believe in all that stuff we cannot see (okay, I got that turn of phrase from Mary Chapin Carpenter) and people who don't. Henri Nouwen tried to bridge that gap for a friend by writing "Life of the Beloved" (it's a book, but I don't know how to underline or italicize here), and apparently failed beautifully.