Current Mood

No Thanks

Oh, dear. NO THANK YOU,  Amazon ads. 

Good Lord. 

Email

 Every couple of weeks, I log into my lovely Dad's emails to double-check that nothing important has arrived.  He has two accounts -- one, an ancient AOL account, and a second, a more up-to-date email service provider -- which, when I first took them over, received varying amounts of spam messages.  I've weeded carefully over time, and now the AOL account only receives a handful of messages, with the other email account receiving slightly more (I'm still working on that). 

The hardest part, is the mental image I get when I sit down at my computer to open up the email -- I see in my mind's eye, him sitting at his computer, opening up his email.  It was quintessential Daddy, to sit in front of the computer, sorting his email, doing Mysterious Computer Things.

I miss him, viscerally. Such a good man. A quiet man of genius. And I think about how every now and then, he would ask me if I was doing OK, and how I would always get a lump in my throat when he asked. That rare question, that told me I was Seen, and that would be Heard if I chose to speak. 

I hope you are resting well, Daddy. I'm doing my best to take care of all the paperwork things Earthside, on your behalf. 

I miss you. 

Do Not Flush

Seen in a restroom. 

Hmmmm. 

The Gift I Do Not Want

 Anger is a Gift.

There are days when the rage boils up, unbidden. 

I have spent so much time trying to understand the roots of my anger.  Introspection, rumination, reflection, on why I am triggered by certain events, feelings, words. And I do understand why I am the way I am. I know what I need, what I want.  I understand the things I yearn for, the things that would soothe the primordial beast within. 

The hardest part is knowing that some of those things, will never be within my reach. And that I need to grieve them, and let them go. 

It is the grief, and the letting go, that kindles the rage. 

There is that kernel of hope -- pure, beautiful, futile hope -- that continues to live, and prevents the fullness of grief. 

The hope that if I ask, just one more time, that I will somehow magically receive. 

And then I become ashamed of asking yet again for my needs and my wants, and can no longer voice them aloud. 

So I resort to hoping that perhaps, if I silently wish hard enough, my needs and wants will be recognized, and I will still receive. 

And then, because silence never yields results (as I well know), I am angry at myself, both for hoping, and for being unable to speak aloud. And also, angry at the knowledge that hoping alone is futile.

Let go.

Let it all go.

I breathe through the day -- one breath at a time, incrementally, as the hours tick by -- until the fire burns itself out into the embers that remain. Then I can move forward, until the fire flares another day. 

The anger does not help me. I do not want it. This fire is messy, smoky. It is not purifying. Yet.

Perhaps it still needs time. 

Let's give it time. 

Thirty-two

Happy anniversary!

"In every good marriage, it pays sometimes to be a little deaf." - Ruth Bader Ginsberg

Trust No One

Beloved Husband and I took a rare weekend away this past weekend. It was very nice to get away from It All, and to spend some quiet, enjoyable time together. 

At the rest stop where we got gas on the way home, a man held open the door for me to go in before him. I thought he was being polite, until he said, "come on in, pretty panties" as I passed by him. My "thank you" for holding the door just died in my throat.

I made a beeline for the restroom, which was fortunately at the other side of the building (which had a Subway sandwich area - and which therefore meant there was a second exit to the building on that side). I took that second exit after using the restroom, which was prudent because the Creepy Man emerged from the first door shortly afterward, clearly looking around for me and clearly disappointed to see me already getting into my vehicle. He'd been waiting for me to cross back through the store to go out the original door. 

Lock the doors, please. I said to Beloved Husband.

Ugh. 

This is why I won't actually ever go camping by myself: because women can trust No One. There I was, in broad daylight with other people around, fairly modestly dressed (a long sleeved shirt over a tank top and a nearly knee length skort), still the subject of a revolting man's crass comments, and potentially more, if I hadn't been circumspect enough to take an alternate exit. 

We are once more reminded: It's not where we are, what we wear, or what we are doing. It's People. Specifically: Men. 99% of Men cannot be trusted.

I need mace. And an apocalypse, in which men meet with ever-so-swift, public retribution for their misogynistic misdeeds, followed by exile amongst their own kind. 

That's a movie I would most definitely watch. With satisfaction. 

Hare

Middle-o-Nowhere, NM

Luck

Yesterday evening, in a valiant effort to make conversation despite his dozing off, Beloved Husband asked:

How old are you now? Fifty-seven? Fifty-six?

Fifty-six. 

It's just a number, really. To me, the number means nothing in particular. 

The hard part this year, was not having my Daddy call to say Happy Birthday.  

People were kind throughout the day. There were thoughtful gifts from my siblings and from Cherished Friend. There were texts from extended family members and friends, and well wishes from Facebook Friends, and cake with co-workers (a vast improvement over last year, when the birthday cake was in the office and I was at home with COVID). I ordered lunch for myself and Beloved Husband, with enough leftovers for dinner, too. It was all fine. 

I find it difficult to be the object of that level of deliberate kindness; it is uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. Fortunately, I will go back to flying under the radar today, so all will be back to normal. 

My fortune cookie from lunch did bode well. (Provided, of course, that the luck is Good Luck, and not Bad Luck.) 

We shall see how the new trip around the sun unfolds. 

Fifty-Six

Just One

Sometimes, we have a simple wish: 

To be able to have one drink with a far-away friend.

Wouldn't that be outstanding? 

Yes. Yes, it would. 

Heat

Trying to run errands, but it is SO DARNED HOT.