I don't know why. I have guesses. My first guess is all the fucking stress of the last few weeks has really overloaded my ability of rationally process things. There were two entries to this blog that I almost posted, but didn't, because they were so inflammatory, they got the "24 hour waiting period" and when I went back, they got the thumbs down for being too unreasonable, and not the sort of writing I think represents my feelings most of the time. There have been a few incidents at home and at work I haven't posted, because making them public without some sort of filter would be... damming. But suffice to say all the blog stuff you thought was pretty heavy in the last two weeks has actually been much worse. In fact, so much has happened so fast, I can't even remember all of it.
So I knew if I had to be at a funeral where all my friends were going, I would have to give them support, because Bobbie's funeral was not about me, it was about Bobbie and her family and friends. I also knew if I didn't go, people would probably get pissed. This was the pressure that kept me awake in indecision until early Saturday morning. The end decision, after agonizing, a little crying, and a whole of diagrams on paper, I decided not to go because I knew I would lose it, and it's better that my friends think I'm a jerk, than me to go and make a scene and prove it. Christine went, and gave a little noncommittal reason to why I didn't go, but there you go. I'm a jerk. I have no other excuse than I just couldn't handle a funeral at this time.
The funeral also reminded me of the funeral Betty and Jim held for Jo-ann, and in the back of my head is Cindy, Jo-ann's best friend, wailing hysterically. I think that had something to do with it, too.
Of course, people got upset I didn't go, and I came off as insensitive, but out of the two possible scenarios, that's the best I can do for everybody. I saw myself being an inconsolable mess, and people having to support me, and that's just wrong. The funeral is not about me, and having some half-crazy psychodramatic ass blubbering like he's the center of attention is not the sort of things people like at a funeral. I wasn't there, and everything was calm and rational. Apparently everyone I have ever known was there, too. And they probably all think I am a jerk, but going back on it, I would make the same decision.
Of course, the ideal thing would be to have this unending well of support and condolence, but I am fresh out. This hull is empty. I have given support to so many people in the last few weeks, worrying about deaths, pets, work stress, missing people, and people just plain having shitty lives that ... I'm empty. Sorry guys, this well of sympathy has gone completely dry. I should have this fountain of never-ending love, support, and affection, but ... I don't. Not by choice, I can't even feel anymore. I know, I suck. This is not an appeal for sympathy, but a stoic and factual apology.
Oh, and BTW, my son really WAS sick, although that's not really why I stayed home. He got a massive skin infection from an infected scratch, and so his whole chest has been... well, he's being treated for it. He was in a lot of pain, and missed school for most of last week. It got so bad, he got a fever, and the very act of moving was painful. But thanks to modern medicine, he's better now. I happened so fast. I hope he's not scarred for life.
So I tried to clean my carpets on Saturday instead, for the party next week? And while moving my dining room table, it got caught in the dirty carpet, and one side totally collapsed. Tore the bolts out of the wood frame and everything. I have no idea how I am going to fix it. I don't have money for a new table. I may have to nail it together with scraps of wood and say, "Sorry, this is no longer an *extendable* table."
Christine's cell phone is on its last leg, the speaker is failing, and I have to get a new one. I don't have money for that, either, but I'll have to find some because her job depends on it. They can't afford to buy it. Hell, they can't even afford to give her a raise since the year 2000. There's always that underlying "fear and doom" of her getting laid off because the company is doing really badly, especially after 9/11.
My main Linux box overheated and died. After keeping it off for a while, it did boot back up, but the CDROM doesn't work, the fans sound horrible (the box is really loud), and it's very slow. I don't have money to replace it, either.
The light in our laundry room died. Not sure why. Changed the bulbs, and the light still won't come on, so now I have to do my laundry in the dark.
One of our big goldfish, a moor, suddenly died. I don't need money for that, but it sucks ass anyway. This morning, another died. Apparently there's a quick fish-killing disease in our tank. Since they aren't showing any other symptons other than dying, all I can do is sit and watch them all die... one by one.
All the last stuff happened yesterday. And on top of this, I have frequent dreams about my childhood, which while not nightmares per se, I don't usually have dreams about my childhood unless something really bad is going to happen. I had a lot of them before 9/11, for instance. I have also had periods where nothing bad happened, so it's a 50/50 kind of thing. I'd try and force myself to believe it's nothing but... [thump thump]... the keg of optimism has also been tapped out. I feel like my optimism is more like hysterical denial. Hell, I'm even doing the phases of tragedy. Denial ("It will be okay"), anger ("Goddamit why is all this bad stuff happening?"), bargaining ("Please God, stop torturing me!"), depression ("God has forsaken me..."), and acceptance ("Screw this, it's hopeless, let's see how bad this will get...").
I try and cling to good news like points of light in a stormy sea, hoping they'll guide me out of this hell. Widget was sick, got better, see? CR was sick, got better, see? Brad looks better, got a job, see? Sean got a job, see? Jen was found alive, see? [sigh]... back to the denial phase. "Stop being so overdramatic," I say. "People elsewhere have it worse than you!" Ah, the anger phase, mixed with bargaining that realizing I have it good will make me happy again. No. It won't. Here comes depression. Then acceptance, because I can't stand to be be all self-pitying, it just makes things worse, which is why I push off symapthy from friends because I am so embarrassed to be this way.
See why I don't drink? Last week or so, some friends tried to convince me to smoke pot, except they couldn't get any. I wouldn't have anyway. It's not like I am afraid it won't work, I am sure it will, which is what scares me the most. They don't know how bad this mess is inside, and chemical outlets would be like suicide at this point, like jamming a sharpened screwdriver in an overpressurized boiler. My only outlet is chocolate so my new way of eating has gone to hell, but I figure better this than suddenly snapping and screaming at work and some precise moment that I would be fired for doing such a thing. I am addicted to sweets, and I have known this for a long time, but at least sweets are legal, and they don't kill off the brain cells. See, I know if I did any of these things, it wouldn't be a one-time deal. My brain would go, "Oh... THIS is how we can erase the pain and misery, okay... we need it ALL THE TIME!" Chocolate doesn't work for more than 20 minutes, but that's 20 minutes my mind can be at ease and try and recuperate for the next volley of attacks.
There is no sigh big enough to make me feel better right now.
This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000420.html