Monday, August 3, 2015

Melancholy Monday

Today's blog is probably going to be all over the place, because I'm feeling kind of all over the place.

First of all, yesterday I got my Mimz tattoo.  I've been planning on doing it since she passed away back in January, but I knew it was going to be an emotional experience and I wasn't sure where to go since I've never gotten a tattoo in Augusta, so I just kept putting it off.  I kept looking at fonts and I couldn't decide what I liked or what represented Mimi best.  Then one day B and I wandered into a tattoo parlor next to a restaurant where we had had lunch and spoke to them about having it done and everything in my brain just screamed "NO NO NO NO" so I just left and put it on hold.  But August 12th would have been her birthday, and I wanted to have it done before then.  Yesterday I was suddenly struck with the feeling that I NEEDED TO GO LOOK INTO IT, STAT STAT, so I grabbed B, found a sheet of paper on which I wrote her name myself, and headed to a tattoo parlor I'd never even been into before.  I planned to just talk to the guy there about setting up an appointment, but when I went in the door, his puppy ran out into the room, which kind of seemed like a sign.  Then, "Sweet Child of Mine" came on the radio and MIMZ LOVED HER SOME GNR, so that was it.  It was over.  It took only a few minutes, and James (the tattoo artist) was very sweet and supportive and gave me a big hug when it was over.

I'm glad it's done.  I'm glad it's in my handwriting.  I'm glad that whenever I look in the mirror when I brush my teeth or put on my makeup, I see it.  It makes me happy.

On to today.  Today feels like one of those days where the Universe just keeps throwing me roadblocks.  I got up and went to Boot Camp at the gym, but it literally almost killed me because for whatever reason, my blood sugar was about 200 points higher than it needed to be and for anybody who has diabetes, you know that high sugar makes you feel sick anyway.  Throw in an hour of Boot Camp and, hello, welcome to Hell.  When I got home I showered and dropped Belly off at a friend's house, then tried to take Sutt to get the last of his school supplies (which he had already thrown a fit about having to do and was pouting hardcore in the backseat) when we were detoured by a broken down train in the middle of Augusta.  I don't know my way around Augusta all that well yet, my GPS is a magical mystery to me most of the time, and everywhere we turned there was another detour (IT WAS A BIG DAMN TRAIN).  I finally found something I recognized, gave up, and just came home.  Then I baked lasagna for dinner tonight because we have two school open houses and a doctor's appointment to attend from 4:30 on so I won't have time to cook later, and realized after I had it in the oven that I had completely left out the mozzarella cheese--that's, like, one of the main ingredients.  Just totally left it out.  While it sat on the counter and mocked me.  Awesome.

On top of all this, I'm just sad.  A friend of mine lost her younger brother last night to cancer, and it just BREAKS me.  I didn't know him, she and I are not close, but she is lovely and wonderful, and very close to her brother.  I learned from losing Dad that when you lose someone you adore, NOTHING can make it better.  There is nothing anyone can do to fix it.  And I hate it when someone I know, regardless of how well I know them, is hurting and I CAN'T DO A DAMN THING.  I hate things that don't make sense.  I hate when I can't do anything to help.  Seeing her family go through what they have the past few months has really made me think.  When her brother was sent home from the hospital and told he only had a month left, her family was amazing.  They celebrated Thanksgiving and had Christmas and did all these things for him and with him that were SO positive and SO loving and really worked hard to make the time they had left together joyous and memorable.  I admire that so much because I don't know how you pull together that kind of strength.  When the doctor told me that my Dad didn't have much time left, he lived another 6 weeks, and during that time I think I only cried and desperately looked for any magical pill, drug, herb, diet, or cure I could find.  There was none.  And deep inside I knew that.  He just slept and suffered and watched a lot of tv.  He was nearly silent, and I couldn't make him talk to me.  I wish so much now that I had had the wisdom and composure and TOUGHNESS to take that time and make it as happy as I could for my Dad, somehow.  Done SOMETHING for him to bring him joy.  It hurts to think about.  I fucked up and there's nothing I can ever do to change it.

Sometimes, the world just pisses me off.

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