Just when you think

Just when you think it's over, that it finished almost sooner than it started: it begins again. Sometimes that's a bad thing. This time, it was a good thing. And it's not that I don't have reservations - of course I do! But I am leaving my heart and mind wide open for whatever will happen, to happen.

Compatibility is important, it really is. You can try to think other things will be enough to compensate for the deficits, but usually, you're wrong. And it doesn't mean it all has to line up 100%. If it did, wouldn't we be bored?

I like thinking about him. I think he likes thinking about me. I don't have a clue where it's headed or for how long, but you better believe I'm going to enjoy the ride.

Double-u. Tee. Eff.

How in the modern world does a guy get fired from a tabloid news show for being a party to a conversation glorifying sexual assault, when the guy who actually TALKED about sexual assault is not disqualified from running for President?

How is it a rule that a person being a natural-born citizen in order to be our President, but it's NOT a rule that they have to have some semblance of decency toward their fellow citizens?

How are women defending a man who thinks it's ok to do whatever he wants to him "so long as they're attractive enough"?

It still makes me weep. There are so many, sooooo many good men in this world to choose from. Men who I might not agree with all the time, but nonetheless are worthy, smart, capable men. And the one who is allowed to let people vote him into the highest job in our country is a joke of a horrible human being who I wouldn't work for, let alone want as the leader of an entire country.

Why are we surprised?

Why are we surprised when people we care about, but who have hurt and disappointed us, continue to act in the manner they always have? Why do we keep hoping for better, different?

I'm not crushed this time; at least I have that going for me.

But I'm still disappointed because I wanted to believe it would be different this time. This Charlie Brown is finished with that particular Lucy.

Losses.

I stop to count them sometimes, just so I don't forget that there's a reason I'm sad and anxious more than I'd like.

About a year and a half ago, I suddenly lost my dad.

A year ago, I lost my marriage. Six months ago, we made it official.

A few months ago I lost another relationship I'd begun to enjoy. It wasn't love, but it was something.

Right after that I lost my beloved grandmother who raised me.

Both my older sons needed major surgery; one, an emergency appendectomy. The other, to fix a badly broken wrist (and then stopped working. And stopped living. And now I'm catching him while he falls).

And now I'm just alone, and a little bit broken. I have to admit that sometimes, as much as I want to believe I'm completely ok.

I'm not. But I'm getting through it.

Before and after the shakes.

It was 9 years ago today that my son had his first seizure. In a way, August 15 is a massive marker on our timeline. It's before and after epilepsy. He doesn't remember much - but I do.

I remember being able to watch all my children run and jump and play and do all of the things that little kids do, and never once worry it would end in a seizure that broke his skin or his arm or his body. I remember not living in a world of twice-daily medication, of wires glued to his head periodically, of lighting-quick thinking because there were no meds to slow his cognition.

I remember the few problems he did have at birth, things that were totally manageable and nothing near life threatening. I remember the frustration of dealing with those, but never did I feel the fear that epilepsy brought into our life.

August 15, 2007 changed all of that. We've never been so innocent, so carefree, so normal as we were before that fateful morning that his right arm started convulsing spontaneously, scaring us both half to death.

I will never, ever forget that day. And I will always wish it hadn't started what it did.

Staples Strange

So, on Sunday afternoon I decided to get off my ass and go buy some school supplies at Staples (despite my proclamation on FB that I was waiting). I mean, it was tax free weekend. Not that it saves me a hell of a lot - 7% on $50 worth of shit isn't much (just notebooks and stuff). But also, I sort of wanted to be around people, too.

Anyway, as I was ambling through Staples, one of the employees stopped me. He noticed the tshirt I was wearing, which has a sort of Rosie-the-Riveter style picture on it, and the words, "Fighting Epilepsy Every Day - It's not for the weak." And he stopped to, well, kind of proselytize, but also sympathize and encourage. He was probably in his late 50s or early 60s. He told me that when he was a baby, he was very sick (part of the problem was seizures), and doctors told his parents he was definitely going to die - to the point that they gave him last rites. But he recovered, and had no seizures for many years. Fast forward to his army career. He was a medic, and of course came across seizure disorders in his job there. In fact, he had a grand mal himself while serving. He said that while talking to his supervisor afterward, he felt a hand literally reach inside his head and touch him, and heard a voice tell him that he would never have another seizure.

And he didn't. And he proceeded to tell me it was about faith, and that it's inside us. He didn't seem to be pointing to any one religion except to say there is a God and he does things. At the time I was thinking, "Did it ever occur to you to ask why he let you have seizures in the first place?" But as usual, I didn't feel like making the situation uncomfortable (it was already feeling a bit strange).

Now, you all know that I don't believe in god (still don't) but the whole exchange did make me think. If nothing else, having another human notice something about me, and acknowledge more than just a cart full of paper and pens, was touching. Strange, of course, but touching in a way that stayed with me.

Weary.

I am, at this moment (and at several moments lately) freer than I have ever been in my life. I am not bound by the constraints of religion or parents or children. I'm just me - working, reading, playing.

And in a very strong way, I feel paralyzed. Who am I, without her? Who am I, without them? So much of my identity was wrapped up in the woman who raised me, in the children I raised. And while my children are still growing, and only temporarily absent, the fact remains I'm very close to them being grown up and independent. Much closer to them being completely dependent and by my side the vast majority of my hours.

And she - she is gone. For good. While I no longer have to live with the fear of her judgment and her disappointment over some things, I no longer get to live with her presence. She loved me, she cared about me, and she talked with me. I had a 93 year old best friend, and I made sure she knew it. I want to hold her and love her and be with her again. I can't help it. I miss her like crazy some days and I want her back.

I know who I am, and mostly what I like, but the fact is, I am tired. I'm so very, very tired, so much of the time. I find it difficult to pursue things that interest me. I would rather curl up and read a book or watch a movie or TV show than just about anything, because it requires so much less energy. When I do something different, it always feels good. But getting motivated to do it? Oh, it feels, sometimes, like I am trying to move a mountain.

I'm trying to give myself space, a break, room to just be. Not do, every second. But I am keenly aware that I'm in the 2nd half of my life and what I want is TO do. To experience and know and create.

I must find the desire that is stronger than the tired.

Old new love

I don't think I fully appreciated (or appreciated at all) how difficult it would be to fall in love in middle age. It used to be so easy - it smacked me in the face; I didn't see it coming. Sometimes it happened when I didn't want it to.

And now, now that I know what it is and what it can be, I don't know if I am capable of it, even if I do find it (which is feeling more and more questionable).

I find myself starting to accept things I normally wouldn't, just for the possibility of maybe being in love some day. And then I catch myself: if he's not going to put any effort into it, why should I? I have far more respect for myself than to be someone's option, or his backup plan.

I'm not above pursuing him; no, I won't give in to the sexist notion of a woman needing to be pursued. But the pursuit should be mutual. If he's worth it, than so am I.

Ignore me and eventually I'll forget about you. It's that simple.

And it's ok if it means I'm alone; I happen to like me.

At the edge.

I don't know why I am writing this; at least, writing it here. But here goes.

I am in Phoenix. He lives here. We had a fight, over a week ago. I was supposed to come visit the weekend before this; he had to cancel because he had to work. The argument on the phone culminated in him hanging up on me, and I have not heard from him since. I have called, emailed, sent text messages. Not a lot - no more than once a day. But no response.

He had said, just a couple of days before that, he could see making a life with me. And one fight changed all of that? How? Especially at our age? One day you want to build a life - the next day, one argument, and it's completely over?

So...here I am. Staying in a hotel a few miles from his apartment. I will soon get dressed in the outfit I wore on the first day I met him, and I will show up at his apartment. He may refuse to see me. I'm prepared for that.

If he does refuse, I've got plenty to keep me busy. Books, movies, I can write. I've got the hotel until Sunday, and if nothing else, it's good to get out of town for something besides a funeral. It's good to get out of my house for a bit - my normal walls, my normal life. It's good to be away, and just...be.

I don't know what the next 48 hours will hold. Maybe nothing in my life will change. Maybe everything will.

You can't do it alone.