A couple thoughts inspired by a dresser

I am writing a lot of poetry right now, which feels quite good.  My mood swings are even hard for me to keep up with.  I wonder if I am cramming things in because school starts soon and I have to go back to work...I don't know.  I had help cleaning up my room today.  By cleaning, I don't just mean a regular adventure in "let's fold and put this away".  When we got married, one of the things John and I bought was a bedroom set.  We got a king size bed, two dressers, and a night stand.  I have been emptying his dresser, bit by bit.  I finally decided it would be good to go ahead and actually use it for my stuff.  Strange that something so simple could be so awkward; a bit like putting a clamp on your heart. 

I laughed today.  A few times, at a friend's house.  And I heard myself as if from the outside.  It was like an echo from someone I have deep inside.  Then, on the ride home, I saw just my eyes in the rear view mirror.  They look so old.  I don't mean to say they are particularly wrinkled, just, well, tired.  Worn down.  Sad.  Almost beaten.

Another interesting thing:  at my friend's house, we were talking and I mentioned how I loved the smell of Hyde Park in Sydney Australia because of all the eucalyptus trees.  I have known her for a couple years, but she had no idea that I had ever been to Australia.  I told her the octopus story from my SCUBA adventures and talked a bit about my trip through Europe.   I remembered how often I felt pushed aside when John was with me.  I just let myself fade to the background and watch the kids because he was talking.  That was something that bothered us both.  He hated making me feel that way.  I hated letting myself fade.  It isn't something either of us tried to do.  It just happened.  Now, I find myself wondering if this is one of those things I might be grateful for.  Although I feel like being grateful for anything that happens as a result of, or in the aftermath of, losing him is a betrayal of sorts.  I know that isn't the case.  It just feels that way. 

I am sitting here trying to think of a good ending.  Then I realized this one is just an entry, not a poem.  So...