What am I, five weeks past surgery? Hard to keep track; all I know is time is racing by, and it's November, and I think yesterday was my one-year anniversary of employment at The Current Place of Employment. I was telling a friend yesterday that it's so strange the way things keep going forward without Jerry, and I do things and see things and discover things that he'll never know I did and saw and discovered. What would he make of this person who watches football and basketball and listens to Beyoncé and is obsessed now with a Robyn video (actually, I think he would have liked the video. Done in one take, by the way!)? This person who's had the fortitude to end "friendships" that were bad for her and not worthy of the name, something she possibly couldn't have done in the past? This person who... okay, this person who in many ways is stuck, not able to get herself together yet to sell the house and decide where she wants to be? And this person who would give the rest of her life for five minutes with him as he was, healthy and lucid and the kindest heart I've ever known?
Yeah, I keep going back to that. I still haven't gotten to the point where missing him is background rather than main narrative. So many people talk about "a year," as if 365 days after the love of your life dies things will magically change and you'll be fine. I know it's different for each person, but my attachment to Jerry was so all-encompassing, and our lives were so entwined, that it's probably more difficult for me to detach than it might be for others. I guess readers of this blog might be saying "Uh, yeah, we've noticed."
So, what else is new? A second week at work is over, and yesterday I stayed until 3:45 working on edits to the next newsletter (my Lord, some people can't punctuate. Or write). Discomfort varies from day to day, hour to hour, and it wasn't too bad staying that late, except that I'm worn out at the end of a workday, no matter how long it lasts. The day before I left at 1:00, and soon the tire light came on and I had to stop at what Illinoisans call an "oasis" (and sane people, uh, sorry, I mean New Yorkers call a rest area) and put air in the tires. Note: the air pump at the Des Plaines Oasis is free. (I'm old: I remember when all air pumps at gas stations were free. I was shocked in August when I had to do this and discovered I needed quarters to feed the thing.) Now my thigh muscles are sore from my being diligent and squatting to fill the tires rather than bending at the waist.
The furnace is still making noises, although possibly not as loud. I'm not motivated to call the guy back here to deal with it.
I replaced the flush mechanism on the upstairs toilet. Go me! I think Jerry would have been proud. Yeah, I know, it's a fairly mindless replacement and doesn't even require any tools, but hey, I'm a pretty unhandy person, so this is an achievement.
Bye week for both Auburn and the Panthers, so that's eight hours of my life I'll have to figure out something else to do with this weekend.
And tomorrow my father, who turned 71 last month, runs his fifth NYC marathon. Go Daddy! I do spend marathon Sundays worrying, and am always relieved when I hear that he's finished and no ankles have been twisted or falls taken or other bad things occurred. I can't remember if I mentioned that back when I was running in the spring and he and I went out for a run together, I felt like I should be wearing a t-shirt for other people on the trail to see that read "I'm the one slowing him down." Running... yes, there's nothing like enforced idleness to make a person want to run. I'm looking forward to the time when I'm cleared for exercising again, although I may not be up to it even when that happens. And by the time I am ready to work my way back from walking to running, there will probably be snow on the ground. Of course, my desire to exercise will fade away again as it always does, I know this. But it's there now.
November. Guy Fawkes Day. Still here.
