The past several days have opened a new chapter in my life. Is it new or newly re-discovered? Don't know, and don't really care. Through force of her spirit, my friend D drew me into this group of women for a fundraising project. One and done, I thought. I don't go out, not anymore, and need cave time to save up energy for a week of teaching. LOOOOOONG photo shoot for a terrific cause. Ups and downs, it comes to fruition. A preview party; (I missed it, had grading); launch party, big deal. Missed it; on vacation. These women somehow value me and I 'm confused. All I did was show up at this shoot and help out. They called me tonight after the event, and each one wanted to talk to me, they missed me. And I them.
What is this? People I normally wouldn't hang out with in my previous life--musicians, professors. I am finding personal comfort with these women after meeting them once. There's a dynamic that creates happy, positive, energy. LIFE. What I've been missing for so long. All busy professionals in their fields, all with complicated personal lives...making time for each other. It's beautiful. And they want me to be part of it, too. Again, I ask myself, why?
I missed the big launch party because my husband had planned a long weekend up north at a resort on Lake Superior. Planned it long before I'd gotten involved with this group of happymakers. And so we're here. First we were in one bedroom, together: Karl watching sports (gah) talking to the television , humming to himself, and generally providing a one man show while I was trying to read. I left into the other bedroom where I could read in peace. The other room became quiet. The women called from the event, and I was suddenly energized and happy--my annoyance instantly abated. Since our original bedroom seemed quieter, I came in with my book, and then the channel surfing started again, baseball, baseball, college football I, college football II...then some random old movie with awful 1940 american screen accents, and he was back to the filterless drivel he with which he has driven me crazy for 20 years. "Oh I have a cramp. Damn I should go back to the gym. Oh! Go Brewers! Hey did you konw michigan state is playing Michigan tomorrow? And on and on. And the television was on this dreadful old movie. The channel we agreed we wouldn't watch if I also had to watch sports.
So now we have switched bedrooms again; he is in the room without the television, but he is watching stuff on his computer.
This all speaks to the changes in how I see life, what "means" life. I am too tired by life to do it all the time. I don't want a "romantic weekend that involves Karl watching sports or old movies all weekend. There is nothing else to do here. We're in a little tiny box of two bedrooms. This is not romantic. I don't know what romantic means to me anymore. Thank god for that second bedroom. Life doesn't include romance for me any more, or at least not now. Not interested. I need alone time more than I ever knew. Trapped in a hotel room does not count. I don't want constant humming, filterless yammering, sports on television, whistling. STOP. Be quiet. If this is supposed to be relaxing for me, let me relax! See what that looks like NOW, after everything we've experienced. I have changed. And it's not a phase, it is the new normal writers talk about in their books on grief. This idea of romantic weekend, at the moment, sounds like a 24-7 entanglement with very little silence. Romance to me is personal --giving myself the time I need to feel rested, enough solitude to spend time in my head, or with my journals, or on a bike ride. I am much, much quieter than I ever knew. Drivel exhausts me. Annoys me. Repels me. It does not serve me. In my new normal, I cut out things that no longer serve the highest good. Unfettered sleep. A bed to myself. Romantic means a style of decoration, colors that soothe me, or make me happy.
Hope tomorrow's a more peaceful day. And flows as we each decide. Not stuck together at the hip. It's not like that anymore for me. I'm too busy in my head, making sure my root chakra needs are being met. I feel like only I can do that.
About Me
- Catherine
- In this blog I have created a haven, a place I allow my deepest emotions to go and sit. I can write easily about what I’ve accomplished. This biography I can recite in my sleep. But I’ve always written poetry and in diaries since I was a teenager. I continued to write poetry in my journals, and not until 2006 did I show them to anyone. I generally write every day, at the present in memoir form. I haven’t written poetry since my mother died in January, 2007. I didn’t write at all between her death and the death of my father three years later in January, 2010. On my father’s birthday in March, 2010, I began this blog, to honor my father and to help me grieve. But I also desperately needed to write, and this stream of conscious style emerged. I needed to find my organic voice.
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