Monday, April 21, 2014

The Disappearance of Sunday-itis and Other Randoms

Holy shit beans, everyone - I apologize for not writing in nearly 2 weeks!

Oops.

I hate when I let life overtake me.  Words need to be written, people!  Write, DM!  WTF?

Well, here's the thing: I am really fucking busy.  In the best way possible.

And sometimes, when I let myself contemplate what to write about, I start thinking.  And the grieving of my brother in law seems to creep in when I start to think.  Sadness - even when appropriate - feels like a disease to me, like it seeps in and starts overtaking happy cells like the fucking cancer that took Jeff away.  And than I end up blocking it.  I don't think I am handling my brother in law's death appropriately, at all.  Why would I write such a seemingly senseless sentence?

  1. When I start to feel sad, I hear the voices of several, nameless people in my head state: "Imagine how your sister feels." (Because, yes, people have said this to me, out loud, on the few occasions that I dared saying anything.)   And than I get an overwhelming sense of guilt.  (And my head knows how wrong that is - it's truly one of those *I'm smarter than this* things.  Yet, clearly, I am not.) (I can also literally SEE TWM reaching for his keyboard - RIGHT NOW.)
  2. It doesn't seem to help - acknowledging the sadness and *feeling the emotions* the way people tell me it's necessary to.  It doesn't bring him back.  It hasn't eased the pain.  And it's not getting easier for anyone, not really.....
  3. Crying gives me a headache.  I'm not kidding - this is reason enough for me to avoid it at all costs.  The few times I have let it in, it's all night event that leaves me with a swollen face, squinty eyes, and a migraine for the entire next day.
  4. I cannot face the thought of how hard this summer is going to be.  After yearning for nice weather, cursing the polar vortex, staying inside for 6 months and gaining a good 20 pounds - the sunshine and spring weather stirs up every good memory I have of my time living with Huband and Wife One.  My favorite days in that year were the days of gardening with my sister, smelling Jeff start the BBQ.  Hearing Husband stroll onto the patio while Bex and I were weeding and planting, just to state "That's right - my bitches working like they're supposed to."  We always laughed, it NEVER got old.  
So I decline to go there most days.  If I talk about it, it's almost robotic, like I can feel my heart harden, my voice change, and everything is completely devoid of emotion.  At work, some people try to ask me about how I'm doing and say "you never talk about it...it's not good for you."

I don't want to talk about it.  How are things?  Do you really want to hear??? Shitty, really fucking shitty - my sister wakes up every day without her husband.  I can't imagine the pain, and watching her suffer is pretty much the worst thing that has ever happened to my family?  Ok?

So, let's move on and talk about the shit that makes me HAPPY: my kids, my husband, and my work.  Let's NOT talk about my family.  OK?

The Kids
Emerson is about an inch and a half shorter than me.  He likes to torture me by counting down the months until he gets his driver's permit.  His voice cracks, and when it doesn't, it sounds nothing like the little boy I have heard talk my ear off for nearly 14 years.

Damn, I love that kid.

Riley went on his first trip out of town with a friend.  He is on girlfriend number 6 or 7 - this year.  He's in 5th grade.  When I finally asked "haven't you *dated* - a term I am using EXTREMELY loosely - every girl in your class by now??"  
"Oh no, Mom.  Not even close."  
As if that's his GOAL.  Or a challenge I just threw out at him.  Fucking apple seed.

Damn, I love that kid.

The Man
Matt went to Church with me on Easter Sunday - this stirred up topics that deserve actual blog posts of their own.  He'd never been to Church before.  WHAT???  How is that even possible!?  Yep - some very interesting conversations .....

And I'm not really a church goer, or into organized religion, but I was invited by a coworker that I very much like.  And there was this feeling inside me that I was supposed to accept the invitation.  I'm not sure why, but I like to follow my instincts when I feel them that strong.  It was just something I had to do.  The reason will become clear in time, it usually does.

The Work
Or alternatively referred to as The New Awesomeness. In my head anyways.   Literally, the only things I don't like about work right now are:
  1. The fact that I can't write about it in more detail.  It really, really bugs me.
  2. It keeps me so busy, I rely on Ames to book our photography appointments, rarely have time to write, and barely keep up with things like my kids' homework, or even schedule for that, sadly honest matter. 
BUT - yesterday, before I even left my family's Easter dinner, I had already started looking forward to the week.  As in: I was getting excited for Monday.  As in: Sunday-itis has disappeared.  As in: I am clearly doing the job I was meant to do - who the fuck looks forward to Monday??

Work is so full of The Awesome, I should probably put The Awesome on my business cards, right next to my name.  Sarah Doyle, Banker Extraordinaire/Owner of The Awesome.  Ok, the shit is getting deep.  I'm starting to annoy myself.  But it feels really, really GOOD to be SO GOOD at something.  (Ok, I am really, really good at a lot of things: writing, smartass comments, not killing my kids, sex...the list is long.  What I meant was: it feels really, really to be good to be so good at something that pays me MONEY.)

Perhaps if I didn't use the word *fuck* so much, I'd actually be able to write more about my work.

But than I wouldn't be me.  And my writing wouldn't be as honest as it is.  Fair trade?  I actually don't know.

It is what it is.

Just sayin.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Some Things I Have Learned

...like when not to hit the publish button.

I did write, and damn did it help me.  But at the end of the post, it wasn't fit for consumption because parts of it could be, well, misinterpreted.  And some things were very straight forward - interpreted correctly, and that was just as bad.  So to not create any emotional drama, I let it stay in the draft pile.  At least it's there for me to look at - I guess I consider those *diary* entries.

Of course, there have been some posts in my writing lifetime that HAVE caused drama, hurt, or some other so-called negative backlash, but I can honestly say two things:
1. I have always written in a spirit of trying to be as honest as possible, both with myself and my readers.
2. Any controversial post published in the last two years were deliberate - not to cause pain or anything, but re-read and thought carefully about whether or not it should be posted.  Sometimes, I just feel the need to lay it out, whatever the consequences.  Because sometimes, I just need to be heard.  

ON A BRIGHTER NOTE:

Matt is home.  MarKo is home.  What a long ass, painful, lonely, thoughtful, introspective (how many ways can I describe *overthinking?*), educational time in my life.  I literally wrote the man every single night.  EVERY.SINGle.night.

And I am glad I did - I love him.  He needed it.  I needed it.  I wrote MORE WORDS from March 5th to April 7th than I had in the entire months of December, January and February combined. And what do I have to show for it?

Well, a very happy husband for one.  A cherished record of the roller coaster ride that is *the jail wife's life.* A much, much deeper understanding for the spouses of those in the military or some other occupation that keeps them away for long periods.  A record of all the tiny lessons and *A HA* moments that occurred in the last month.  AND many, many pages of stories - memories, mostly.

I tried to stay positive, and remain honest, throughout.  So if I was feeling really down, I would think of a cherished memory that I shared with Matt over the years and wrote about it in detail, in my story telling kind of way.  Now that I think of it, I have never been so grateful as I am right now for my drive to write.  I have given myself and my love a precious gift - that's kind of cool.

So, enough about me, right?  How is the man, the love of my life that drove me to write quite so much??

He is wonderful.

When we first saw each other, there was a weird shyness between us that I was totally unprepared for and hadn't expected.  He looked way better than he described, physically, anyways.  But for the first 12 hours, the look in his eyes had me really, really, worried.  Physically he looked the same, especially after he shaved, but his eyes?  I could tell they were weary.  And worn.  He swears he never doubted me for a second, but I would swear I saw a tad bit of fear in his eyes along with the sadness and exhaustion.

Lunch was odd. Neither of us ate much.  And although I talked a lot (I do that), it felt like there were a lot of moments of us looking at each other in a searching way: *Are you really ok?* *We ARE going back to our love story, right?* and more of *Are you really ok?*

It was like we both just kept wanting to reassure each other without wanting to keep asking.  His eyes were just so....well, they weren't the eyes I was used to, I hadn't seen him ever look so...different.  My goofy, crazy, hysterically fun, and easy going man was in there somewhere.

By dinner, I saw that man again.

And than I began to breathe.  We had kissed, obviously, but it wasn't until we got here, to the apartment, to our home, to the place we transformed from best friends to lovers, than facebook husband and wife (yep, still counts) that the palm of his hand rested on my face and I could tell he was back.

We started to laugh again. We held each other tight, too.  Tighter than I've ever been held (well, save for the embraces my dad has given me during really tragic moments in my life...) And I gave him the remote, fully accepting that I had once again lost all control over that.  (Not that I care, I'm usually trying to write...) I told him the sheets were clean - and not as a hint that they should be soiled, lol - but because I know that he loves the smell of Gain laundry detergent and after sleeping in jail for 33 days, I wanted him to smell home, feel home, relax and be loved.

And my master mechanic still has a job.  I don't know what makes him so good at what he does, and I gotta admit, I may have sometimes thought he exaggerated his extreme mechanic skills, but when we walked into his work yesterday, they acted like the king had returned.  No joke, I was stunned.  Actually, I was like REALLY?  The man went to JAIL, guys.  You all really don't care, do you?  You are that happy that he is coming back tomorrow??

I was proud.  Who knew I would feel pride in a man that just spent over a month in jail.  That's irony for ya.  Later in the evening, when he was feeling a little down, like he had let me and our family down, I said to him:

"There is no other way for me to point out what kind of man you have become except this: you left for over a month.  You went to jail for 33 days and EVERY single person that means anything in your life couldn't wait for you to return, loved you every moment you were gone, never judged or questioned your character - not once.  Everyone - me, my family, the boys, your family, your friends, even your employer, NEVER doubted you.  If that's NOT the picture of true character, babe, I don't know what it."

And with that we started having really good sex.

(That was for you Bump....he he he)

Just sayin.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Tomorrow...

I think tomorrow, during the day, when I am not lonely or tired or overly emotional, it is time for me to write about my feelings about...

well, mourning.
my family.
how things have been for me.
why I can't talk about it much.
or rather, why I have refused to talk about it.

But, it's time.  I wake up every morning feeling slightly better, than go to bed an emotional mess, worried about everyone but me.

So its time, but not when I am emotional.  I don't want to publish something I will regret.

Just sayin'.