For the first time in months, I had a little energy to do things, and do things I did:
- I washed, dried, folded, and put away four loads of laundry.
- I changed the sheets on the bed, because I decided I was going to sleep in our bed last night (mission... accomplished-ish).
- I washed and dried the sheets and the blanket, because the pets decided it was their bed during my extended absence, and I'd rather not sleep with a blanket that smells like dog.
- I baked the sweet potato and cooked the rice for the black bean burgers I'm making for dinner tonight, so I wouldn't be rushed later after work.
- I swept the living room, removing approxmately 2.5 Kelloggs of fur (yes, a Kellogg is now my default unit of measure for dog fur).
- I loaded and ran the dishwasher each night, and emptied it each morning.
- I did a few hours of Java training (yes, I'm trying to learn Java for work), and a few hours of training on the data governance software we use (since I'll be training other users, I need to really know it).
- I made a batch of DIY cold brew for the week.
- I cleaned out the fridge to make room for the groceries that were delivered.
- I put away all the groceries.
- I cooked dinner Saturday night.
- I got the leftover salmon labeled and into the freezer.
- I highlighted my script for the stage directions I'll be reading for a friend's streaming theatre experience next weekend, and attended a rehearsal for that.
- I read the next two chapters of Just Mercy in advance of Tuesday's book club meeting.
- I wrote.
- I got in 30 minutes of VR boxing each day.
By 8:00 last night - in the middle of my zoom rehearsal - I hit the wall. I powered through, because I'm a pro (no, I don't get paid for acting - or, in this case, reading stage directions - but I pride myself on professionalism). Then, I talked to a friend for a few minutes.
And then, everything crashed down on me. Yes, I had a productive weekend. So the fuck what? I'm getting excited about cooking and eating a MEAL? Y'all, this is all nothing but busy work. None of what I did this weekend changes the fundamental truth of my existence, which is that it's just that: existence.
At group on Thursday this past week, we talked about the roles that our late spouses played in our lives, and how we now have to take on those roles ourselves. For me, there's little in terms of practicality that Doug did and I can't do; yes, we split household labor, but it's not as though he was responsible for, say, balancing the checkbook and I had no idea how to do that. I've been single for most of my adult life; we were both independent.
But when it comes to the emotional side of things? That's a very different story: Doug was my biggest cheerleader, able to encourage me even when I was at my lowest. And he was my most honest critic, willing to tell me the things about myself that I didn't always want to hear. No one is self-aware enough to do those jobs themselves. Most important, though - and I've said this before - Doug was HOME; without him, I'm homeless.
We also talked about the possibility of dating at some point, and... here's where I struggle: I loved (and still love) Doug with a depth and intensity I didn't think I had in me; I like to think he felt the same about me. I LOVED being married to him (and the year-and-a-half when we lived together before our wedding). I was GOOD at it. I was a much better ME with him. We barely got to have a marriage.
And I want that. I want to get to have that full experience of years and years together. But that opportunity died with Doug. and I just don't see lightning striking twice.
Knowing that the only future I want can't ever happen, why am I getting excited about getting laundry done, or sleeping in our bed, or having an empty sink at the end of each day? Is THIS what my life is going to be for the rest of it? Triumphing in accomplishing meaningless tasks, because that's all I have in my life?
No comments:
Post a Comment