Holes

I sometimes wonder lately if I have perhaps stumbled into some sort of shit hole -a kind of Alice In Wonderland hole gone bad. There are times during the days when I simply have to stop and take a moment to right myself because the swirl of the shit storm is just too intense. There seems to be a fine balance to it all, and if that scale gets tipped just ever so slightly, then all hell breaks loose and what little stability I have up unitl then mustered slips away.
Just for the record, I’ll go ahead and list a few of the itmes on my shit list. They are in no particular order of importance, they are just listed in whatever order they have drifted into my vacuous head.
1. For the past 8 days or so I have had one of the most vicious migraines I have ever encountered. Such a bitch is she, that I will somewhat recover only to have my eyes explode a few hours later. It is the sort of migraine where I wish the world was devoid of smells and sounds so that I could cacoon myself into a Vicadin corner and sleep for a month. However, since I can never bring myself to go to the doctor for pain medication, I have been taking some pain pills that belonged to my father; they are 13 years old and I question their integrity. But maybe ignorance is bliss here. Today seems a bit better than yesterday on the pain front, but I gauge any day better when I wake up and do not find that both of my arms are numb and I am unable to move either of them -that was yesterday.
2. Mu uncle Mark, who has been helping my mother with a few things since my father died, has gone off the deep end. He is an emotional midget and unable to fathom why I resent him when he kicks me out of the townhome we are getting ready to rent for the next year or so. This was, afterall, my home for over 7 years. This is where I envisioned my dreams and lived my life. This is where I plan to return after our stay at my mother’s house. He has vetoed nearly every single one of my choices and has gone behind my back and changed paint colors, trim, tile, counters. He has pushed, ever so slightly, my children out of his path on a few ocassions. He sighs when he comes into the house and encounters my kids. He blatantly interrupts and conversation I happen to be having with my mother.
He is on a serious, misguided power trip. He is not my father. He was never on any sort of similar plane as my father; not intellectually, emotionally, professionally…. He needs to go. And to add insult to injury, my mother feels bad for him. For HIM. He comes back from Boulder this weekend and although I don’t often unleash my Inner ragin Bitch, she might have to come out and play.
3. On any given day I find the mother gig a struggle. I love solitude. I treasure peace. What the fuck am I doing as the leader of these three beings? I don’t know anything and I am not sure I have much to even offer them right now. Most of the time I just want to run and hide from them.
4. I have recently realized that each of the children will have their own space in my mom’s home in the coming year. Loren will have a loft lair to his own. Cass and Devon will share my own old bedroom. This leaves me…. Where? I surely don’t know. I have been sleeping in my parent’s bed for the past 8 weeks, along with the older two kids. Will I share a bed with my mother? Is that just wrong?
5. And mostly I just miss my father. I miss him so fucking much and it hurts more every day. Had I known that that last night on the patio, drinking a glass of wine and discussing everything from the Last Supper to my upcoming trip, would be our last real conversation, would I have talked about something different? That last morning when he came into the dining room and I looked over my shoulder and tossed out, “Oh, I see it’s Beige Tuesday. That must be the Sensitive Judge look.” He smiled back, struck a little pose in his head-to-toe Docker beige and replied, “Yes, it’s a very popular look in the judicial world this summer.” Had I know that would be the end, would I have done it differently?
That morning he forgot something in house and came back. Devon insisted that he repeat the hugs and kisses all over again and we were all laughing as he ascended the path to the cars. He didn’t know it was his last drive to work. His last day in the courtroom. His last bike ride.
This is the part I hate the most. Last night I sat up after everybody else had fallen asleep and I cried. I sat by the window, listened to the rain falling and cried until my eyes were swollen. If I cry in fornt of Devon he grabs me around the legs and says, “Top Mai-Mai!” So I try not to cry in front of him. And when Loren sees me tearing up, he holds my hand or hugs me and tells me it will all be all right someday. As much as I appreciate this from him, it seems like he should get to be the kids and not the parent. So sometimes it is best to just save it all up and cry late at night.
So that really is all a nice pile of shit, of self-pitying shit. But it’s my shit and it’s my self-pity so I suppose that counts for something.