touch

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.