Hey, where y'all been?

Since I'm finally forcing myself to stay in bed and try to get rest—which is killing me, because that damn garage ain't gonna finish cleaning itself, and the god-forsaken rock-garden/weed-patch/debris-collector/ugly mofo landscape nightmare that lines my front yard keeps getting uglier and uglier (gardening tip of the day: river rocks as landscaping material=worst idea ever, in the history of landscaping. Don't do it.), and dead pine tree branches, desperately needing to be shorn, are waving, like long, gnarly arms with nasty bony fingers, taunting and teasing me to just try and mow under them again, this time, without getting my hair all tangled up in the branches, the gutters are practically dripping debris, and—I decided this might be a good time as any to revisit this blog and maybe write a new entry . . . between the narcotics and coughing fits, let's see what happens . . . 


First of all, a little disclosure/apology/catching up/I'm not sure what . . . I've had to step back from this blog for a while (and a lot of things, frankly) and re-evaluate what the hell the point of any of this is, if there is one. There was a real point to my other blog (The Sofa King) when Bob was here—it was truly the only connection we had to the majority of family/friends/colleagues/neighbors/strangers during that 19 Month Nightmare. But after his death, I just felt like the circus freak on display here at this new blog, attempting to share this indescribable grief journey with anyone, and becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the whole deal as it unfolds. 


Since I'm feeling merciful today, I'll spare you the gory soul-searching details and cut to the chase: I've decided I do not want to be airing out my gut-wrenching personal shit out here, for all the world (yeah, all four of you) to ogle at, gasp at, to judge, roll eyes at, try to empathize with, or feel sorry for, or give pats on the back for, or whatever. Because that just ain't the kinda gal I am. But I also don't want you to go and get all, "Atta girl, because Bob wouldn't want you to be that way, either!" on me, because you don't know what Bob would have wanted for me. Maybe he would have. Maybe we had a talk before he died, as far as you know or don't, and maybe we decided that I would turn our house into an ornate shrine in his honor, playing Elvis and Stevie Ray Vaughn and Bob Mould 24/7, redecorate in red velvet and animal prints, complete with a life-size cut-out of him, that I dress every day, talk to all day, serve meals to, watch Criminal Minds with, and beat at Scrabble . . .


My point is, with that ridiculous paragraph-with-no-point above, is simple: we are all on our own journey here in life, and can only do things our way, no matter how f'ed up it appears to others. And guess what? We're all doing it right, the best way we know how, with the cards we were dealt with. We will all experience immense heartache, pain, suffering in life, and we will all react to it in the only way we can, based on who we are, what we feel is right at the time, on our backgrounds, on our experiences, on our perceptions, relationships, views on the world, and a million other factors. We try one thing, if it doesn't feel right, move onto the next thing. And the next, and the next, till we find something that does seem to feel a little more comfortable. At least that's how I work. But I can't really share that process with anyone. It's too complicated, changes far too often and too quickly to keep up, and I'll drive myself and y'all nuts, trying. I also don't need to try to prove that I loved my husband more than anyone else loves theirs, or that he was the Best Husband Ever, In the History of Husbands, or that his cancer was Worse than Anyone Else's, In the History of Cancer, or to constantly beat people over the head with, "I may be smiling outside, but I am STILL SOBBING HYSTERICALLY on the inside, DAMMIT, AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT!!!" (All of that is true, btw, but then again, it's true for most each and every one of us, or at least a variation on the theme . . .)Believe it or not, I am usually pretty tight-lipped, as far as my personal "shit" is concerned. Just ask Bob. Oh, wait, you can't . . . but, you could come over and ask the life-size cut-out . . . 


But guess what else I learned? That even if you do nothing at all, if you just lie in a fetal position all day and night, for many days and nights, and cry, or stare blankly or do whatever you want to do in the fetal position, the sun still rises and falls, and life will still drag you along, like a pebble under a glacier. I learned that The Hard Way, too. Doesn't mean I won't be at that place ever again, either, and wanna know another thing? Sometimes the only way is The Hard Way and sometimes that is okay, and very necessary on this f'n journey. Otherwise, all those "lessons" parents have been trying to pound into the thick skulls of their offspring, going way back to when God was a kid, to prevent them from doing things The Hard Way, would work, dammit! But they don't!


Because so much of this f'n journey is intensely personal, yet occupies so much of my mind, I was afraid I was going to start having seizures again (true story), but I really miss writing on a regular basis, so instead, I've decided I'm just going to tell stories here. I have lots of 'em, and they're all kinda starting to fight inside my head, like a bunch of dirty, bratty kids stuffed into a 1972 Impala heading Up North, to the cabin, with their mother and the babysitter, who is already freaking and arms are flailing because somehow a big fat bumblebee got into the car and she can't tend to the baby, who has stripped off her diaper and is flailing it out the back window, causing a construction crew on the side of the road to erupt into a cacophony of catcalls (another true story). Along this f'n journey, during Bob's ordeal and after his death, I have experienced intense, insane lows of the likes I've never experienced, and will likely continue to experience. But those don't make good stories. Well, maybe good horror stories, but I've already told y'all I don't want to be the proverbial train wreck. On this f'n journey that I never asked for, never wanted and would trade back in a heartbeat and everything I own times infinity, if given the choice, I have also experienced/felt/seen/though of things along this f'n journey that can only be described as awesome, absurd, glorious, hysterical, shocking, beautiful, odd, wondrous, inspiring, hilarious . . . and that's where the stories are . . .