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...