I'm sitting here waiting for the movers to arrive. My world is nothing but towers of cardboard boxes. I'm already worn out, and there's a long day ahead.
Maybe the movers will be cute?
I'm sitting here waiting for the movers to arrive. My world is nothing but towers of cardboard boxes. I'm already worn out, and there's a long day ahead.
Maybe the movers will be cute?
Hi. It's me again. Happy belated New Year to you, fine readers of WoolGatherer. I hope 2012 has treated you well so far.
This day finds me relaxing at home, looking out over the pond and lake--a view that I've loved for the seven years I've lived in this house. The weather is nasty, drizzly and cold, but I don't mind. Hudson is on my lap, the fireplace is burning cheerily, and I've got a Harry Potter film to keep me entertained.
I'm also surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes, evidence that I won't be here much longer. In fact, in five days the movers will come, and I'll be setting up home in a rental townhouse a few miles south of here. So, this is my last weekend here by the pond.
I'm sad, of course. Very sad still, that Darren walked out on Hudson and me, sad to be leaving the house I thought would always be my home, sad to think of Darren moving back here once I've left. How differently things have turned out than I ever expected or wanted.
Over the last six months I have been very angry and resentful to have to leave my home, but that anger has mostly faded. At the moment, my focus is on getting through the move and setting up my new house. The place I've found is nothing special, but I think I can make it homey. Besides, it's just a year lease. If I don't like it, I don't have to be there that long.
I know that the move is healthy for me. I know I need to start building new, happy memories in a setting that isn't permeated by memories of Darren and our life together.
I still don't know what to do with those memories. I find no joy in them, only resentment, pain, and sorrow. I hope that will change over time. I spent a third of my life with Darren, after all. I don't want all of those years to be poisoned by how coldly he treated me at the end.
My friends and family are, to a one, excited to see me start this new chapter of my life. I can't say I'm excited precisely, but at least I'm no longer suicidal, as I was for months over the summer and fall. There were some truly dark days, and I'm glad to have them safely behind me.
So, next weekend, I'll be snuggled up with Hudson in a new home. I'm scared, but I'm also open to being happy.
Darren is gone.
Fine.
I'm still here. I still kick ass.
And I'll be okay.
Two years ago tonight, I fell on the ice outside my house and broke my ankle and leg.
Much has happened since then, both good and far too much bad.
Here's to more of the good in the year ahead!
I like where this is going...
Let's start the year off with some BEEF.
Man of mystery...
Yum.
I could pretty much stare at him all day...
Hi there. So, Thanksgiving is behind us. I had two lovely days with my family: the first on Thursday, when nearly my whole family gathered to celebrate and gorge ourselves, and then, on Sunday, when I enjoyed a second round of Thanksgiving with my sister's family.
Much as I did at the first Thanksgiving after my mom passed away in 2004, I shed quite a few tears over the holiday weekend. I couldn't help but think back to last year, when I was still so happy with Darren, even though I know now he wasn't happy with me, and the end was rushing towards us.
Probably the hardest part of the weekend was being alone while checking into a dumpy motel in my hometown on Thanksgiving night. It was a dumpy place when I stayed there last time with Darren, but at least then we had fun laughing about it before snuggling up together.
This year Darren couldn't even bring himself to reply to the email I sent him wishing him a happy Thanksgiving. I can't blame him, after some of the things I've said. But it still hurt.
I honestly did have great time with my family, but every few minutes I'd be hit by a hollow feeling, the same feeling I've had almost contantly since Darren left. I'd see everyone laughing, having a good time, and I'd ache with loss.
I know. Look forward, not back. Everyone tells me that. My family, my friends, my therapist. I tell myself that. But the holidays are loaded with memories and nostalgia. It's impossible not to look back.
Christmas is next, and that's "the big show." I'm melancholy at Christmas at the best of times, and these are definitely not the best of times.
I'm forcing myself to go through the motions, to decorate the house, at least the parts where I spend my time. I still feel hollow inside, but the lights are cheery, and I think I deserve some cheer. It turned out okay, even if I'm at 30% power.
I'm working on filling my December with events to keep myself busy and distracted. This coming Sunday I'm taking my nephews to see A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie Theater. It's probably the sixth or seventh time I've seen the play performed there, but I think it will take on fresh life for me as I watch Ian and Gavin enjoy it. I look forward to buying them cookies and hot chocolate and the intermission, outrageously expsensive as those items will be.
Looking for a new place to live is also taking up a lot of my time and attention. It's a stressful and unpleasant process. (Yes, exciting new starts, all that crap. I'm not there--it just plain sucks to leave my house.) Finding a place that isn't a complete shithole, isn't 20 miles from work, is affordable AND accepts dogs is a daunting task at best. I've come close a couple times, but in each case the home was rented before I could apply. Keep your fingers crossed.
Meanwhile, I'd really like to spend the night with a handsome man.
I need to meet someone like this...
Hi. I'm reappearing, much the worse for wear. I have nothing happy to blog about yet (well, okay--yes I'm walking, and that's great), but I owe this one to Darren, whom I've treated horribly in many ways since we split up in late June.
In the past months, I've seen myself become vengeful, cruel, and vitriolic in the way I interact with Darren. I've taken what was a sad situation and succeeded in making it truly ugly.
Darren, I'm so sorry.
I'm sorry that I've taken what was a hard decision for you and made it easier in retrospect. I can't blame you for wanting to be rid of the person I've become in these last months. Despite my deep sorrow and anger, you deserved better from me than the shabby the way I've treated you.
I'm sorry that I've taken for granted the kind gestures you've made to lessen the financial impact I suffer from our split. I do appreciate your generosity, and I thank you for it.
I'm especially sorry for things I have said online to denigrate or mock you and the new life you've chosen for yourself. And most of all, I'm ashamed of what I said about the man you've started dating. My grief isn't an excuse for the things I've done, and I don't know how I can make this up to you. Perhaps I can't.
Nonetheless, I do ask you to accept my apology. It is heart-felt and sincere. I don't know what, if any, relationship we will have once the house is sold and we each go our own ways. But for the sake of the love I shared with you for so many years, for the shared joys, tears, laughs, and sorrows, I ask you to forgive me. You're right, I'm better than what I've become.
I'm sorry.
- Sean
I think he needs me to knit him a proper cap.
Then we'll see what else he needs...
He can drive me pretty much anyplace he's going...
Wet hunky goodness!
Good news on the leg front. Sugery back on August 31 went extremely well. I went from this:
to this.
The surgery took about 90 minutes. My surgeon took a little piece of bone from my heel to help fill in the gap in the fibula. I was home by 10:30 the morning of the surgery.
My sisters and friends took care of my those first few days. They kept my spirits up, kept me fed, and made sure I didn't overdose on narcotics. The pain was never very bad, thankfully, and now all that's left is annoying nerve shocks that may last a few more weeks.
Today was my two week post-op visit. The surgical cast came off, and I was sent home in an Aircast boot. I only need to wear it when I leave the house. I can start driving now, but it's still too soon to doign any walking, even with crutches.
As the surgeon said, I have "the mother of all incisions."
They took out 25 staples, including four in my heel, at the site where the bone was harvested.
I guess I have to give up my dream of being a leg and calf model, huh?
Some slippery morning fun...
Hi. Going to keep this short today, because I'm up to my ears in alligators at work and elsewhere.
Today is the seventh anniversary of my mom's death. It's always a sad day for my family and me, and this year I miss her more than ever. Since Darren left me, I've so often wished I could talk to my mom, have her say something to comfort me, help me feel that that things will be all right again some day. I know, despite how bleak things look right now, that I'm going to be okay. But I'd like to hear it from her.
In other news, tomorrow morning I have my third ankle reconstruction. I'm dreading the surgery itself, but I'm so eager to put this whole nightmare behind me. My friends and family will be tremendous help these next few weeks, and I'm grateful to have so much love and support.
I've also had encouraging news regarding my post-op schedule. I'll be in a surgical cast for two weeks, but then I'll be switched to the Aircast boot. This time there won't be 6 weeks in a nasty, scratchy fiberglass cast. Better still, I can start driving once the surgical cast comes off. I'll be glad to be less dependent than I was after the first two ankle surgeries.
So onwards. First we heal the ankle. The heart is a work in progress. Bones mend faster. (Well, at least they're supposed to.)
Once I'm off the good drugs, I'll post an update. Or maybe I'll post one while I'm high as a kite. Can't really vouch for what narco-WG will do.
Gotta love a hot man with a big clock...
Woof.
These lovely happy boys almost take the sting out of Monday...