9 months and counting. And our first born baby had his 8th birthday this last week. This last week, I also decided I didn't like the cigarettes I was smoking. I also decided I needed to not drink so much. Didn't want to. Today, it became apparent that money is even more messed up then I realized, not tight, just mismanaged and screwed up. And I am in the hole four days after getting paid. And I didn't even let that get me. I was scared about bringing my plans to my boss. And then my youngest lost his lovey, his "bee" the blanket. I looked everywhere. Up and down the stairs three times, already late for work and my knee screaming in pain with each stair. And I started asking John for help- he used to be great at this stuff...of course, he is dead so unable to help. So I started screaming. Like a flat out maniac. Screaming and screaming and blood curdling screams. One thing I did NOT do was punch anything, break anything, or hurt myself. These are strides forward! But then I started crying. And I couldn't stop. And the yelling kept trying to break through.
It was an anxiety attack of wide proportions, my morning. But I got through and taught. And the day was good, with the students.
I don't know what any of this means. I don't know how to handle the disaster scene that is my heart. I have equipment because I have been here before, but it isn't the same. Before, I went in and then out again. I traipsed along the craggy edges. I parachuted in and was helicoptered out. Now...now my plane crashed. I'm here for the long haul, me and Wilson, the bloody handprint upon my heart. I have no single phone call, no life raft, no life line. I have random packages of kindness and irrelevancy, friendship and judgment and advice. And I, well, I am in a bubble: an impermeable bubble that allows me to see and hear and almost interact. But nothing touches me.
And it sure would be nice...to be touched.