Trip Companions

Bunny, and toast. 

Ottoman

EXCUSE ME SIR. That vacuum-cleaner box is for you. The ottoman is NOT for you. Thank you. 

Caim

This, I need. 

Math-y

 Herself speaks.

The other day at work, I had to do a little bit of math as part of a project: if shareholder A holds x shares, and shareholder B holds y shares, how many additional shares ('z') must the corporation issue to shareholder A so that shareholder A holds fifty-one percent of the total outstanding shares? And honestly, it was the happiest I'd been in a long while, to tackle a word problem like that. Given x and y, solve for 'z' number of shares. 

Ah, math. Math, of concrete answers. Math, my old friend. I hadn't realized how much I had missed you.

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In about a week, I go north, for the celebration of life for my Daddy. My siblings and I will each have an opportunity to speak a few words about him. I've written what I would like to say. If only I can ensure that I will be able to get through it safely. It will be hard. 

One anecdote I'm including, is about how Daddy would write math problems on napkins for us children to solve while we were waiting in restaurants for our table to be ready or for our food to arrive. Math again, a source of entertainment then. It's a very fond memory. 

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Math -- you serve so many purposes. Could you actually be a source of comfort now? Sensible, safe and rational, not requiring tending to your emotions beyond my capacity right now, but rather, safely existing, stalwart and eternal. 

I bought myself a few math workbooks for adults. Because, why not? I'll start with algebra, work myself up to and through geometry, and maybe even into calculus, just for fun. 

At this point: I will find comfort wherever I can. 

Especially, with math.

Buddies

It really warms my heart, how the buns enjoy their companion's company. Our dogs were much more solitary critters, preferring my companionship and never cozying up together. The buns, however, are fond of proximity to one another frequently. Though never with me. (Perhaps that is the trade-off - furry, or human, company, but not both?) 

Good buns.

Questionably-Named Snacks

Tasty, though. 

Migraine Flashback Feelings

One of the few unpleasant parts about this corner of the desert, is the Windy Season. So much wind. Trash cans tipped over, dust in your eyes, a haze throughout the city. And the worst part -- the migraine that precedes the wind: a "what did I DO to cause this!?" sort of headache, a low-grade nausea and dizziness, a deep rooted bodily unease that indicates, something is wrong. It waxes and wanes, for days. It's beastly, honestly. 

One of the perils of the ongoing migraine state, is the fact that Feelings are so much closer to the surface.  (So much harder to rationalize and to self-contain and to move Vulcan-like through the world with migraine.)  It's important for me to be aware that I might be accosted somewhat unexpectedly by Large Feelings at any given moment. It's been happening. And it's been difficult. 

Yesterday, while distracting myself by scrolling through my phone in order to power through a migraine surge, the Google timeline reminded me that six years ago, I'd made a trip to a northern part of the desert. The timeline showed the hotel I'd stayed at, the nature park where I'd taken a walk, the restaurants I'd visited, even the rest areas where I'd momentarily stopped along the way between here and there. It was immediately clear what I was doing that weekend: I had been visiting Cherished Friend. 

It was hard, in that moment, to stifle the Feelings.

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I so miss proximity to my Cherished Friend.

I would give my eye teeth right now to be closer: to be able to go for a walk, to run errands, to play Scrabble; to do the small things; to find relief in just being in his presence, which is always a comfort to me. And the fact that I cannot do so is a miniature grief which piggybacks on the larger griefs that walk with me every day, and its little voice joins the chorus of sadness that fills my ears when the headache fills my brain.

I hope every day, that Oceanside is treating him well, and that he has people there with whom he can spend time enjoyably. I am just sad for myself, that I cannot be one of those people on a regular basis.  

Most of all, I hope that he is finding contentment and the path to his own peace. I wish for that, always. 

Every now and then, the thought crosses through my brain that I should worry he will one day forget about me or he will no longer be interested in maintaining a friendship over the miles and the years. Why imagine such terrible things, though? If a day comes when he no longer has time or brain space for me, I would hope it is because he has found his happiness -- and how delighted would I be for him, to have that?