And It All Came Tumbling Down
Tonight was the last gathering of the clan before the California members head home. I started out the day rising later than I'd wanted due to staying up far later than I'd intended, as has become my habit of late. By the time I got to bed last night, around 3 AM, I'd already decided to skip a trip to the diner and make the nearly two-hour drive to Reading with Wawa food and coffee. I mean, one needs at minimum 5 hours of sleep, no?
Well the proverbial feces hit the fan on that drive. I couldn't get comfortable. I'd left so little time that even a trip to Mickey D's was out of the question so it was Wawa coffee (better) and a Wawa sandwich (much worse) on the road for my brekkie. I had to take my jacket off, had the heat on with all the windows cracked because my face was so hot and flushed, needed to change sunglasses because they were uncomfortable, was annoyed by NPR on the radio yet equally annoyed at the silence.
For most of the past month, I have survived on 6 or less hours of sleep per night, far more comfort food than a 49 year-old's hips can reasonably bear and have subsisted on the "Eens," caffeine and nicotine, along with the comfort staple, chocolate. I've gone out of my way to prepare my mother, son and brother for what some part of me could not deny was my father's impending death. I made peace with my dad and with myself in regard to him. I've been separated from my home, my usual surroundings and my rhythm, my routine. I've nursed and analyzed and forgiven and asked forgiveness. Thankfully, I haven't had to cook or clean but, as I don't do that at home either, that hasn't been much of a break.
What I neglected to do was really prepare myself for this, emotionally. Whoops! Minor omission.
Well, it all hit me this morning on the drive to therapy. Everything since the memorial service has been so surreal. The service was lovely, as I mentioned. But, now that the build-up is over, I seem to have completely run out of gas. I've been told on several occasions that I was running on fumes. Is this what they meant?
I'm heading back to my place sometime tomorrow. There's no rush now because, after my therapy session, I managed to get an appointment with my primary physician to ask for a note for work covering the rest of the week. When I asked, he suggested (rather strongly) that I just take off until April first. I really must look like hell right now! So, I'm going to play hookie for a few days, recuperate, return to my routine, spend quality time with Sadie and generally recharge my batteries. (I like the concept of me as a hybrid so very appealing!) I may just bore you to death over the weekend!
Since the meds are kicking in and I am utterly bone-tired, I'll leave you now. As usual when I'm writing when this tired, I reverve the right to republish in the cold, hard light of the morning...or afternoon, as I dearly hope will be the case tomorrow!
Well the proverbial feces hit the fan on that drive. I couldn't get comfortable. I'd left so little time that even a trip to Mickey D's was out of the question so it was Wawa coffee (better) and a Wawa sandwich (much worse) on the road for my brekkie. I had to take my jacket off, had the heat on with all the windows cracked because my face was so hot and flushed, needed to change sunglasses because they were uncomfortable, was annoyed by NPR on the radio yet equally annoyed at the silence.
For most of the past month, I have survived on 6 or less hours of sleep per night, far more comfort food than a 49 year-old's hips can reasonably bear and have subsisted on the "Eens," caffeine and nicotine, along with the comfort staple, chocolate. I've gone out of my way to prepare my mother, son and brother for what some part of me could not deny was my father's impending death. I made peace with my dad and with myself in regard to him. I've been separated from my home, my usual surroundings and my rhythm, my routine. I've nursed and analyzed and forgiven and asked forgiveness. Thankfully, I haven't had to cook or clean but, as I don't do that at home either, that hasn't been much of a break.
What I neglected to do was really prepare myself for this, emotionally. Whoops! Minor omission.
Well, it all hit me this morning on the drive to therapy. Everything since the memorial service has been so surreal. The service was lovely, as I mentioned. But, now that the build-up is over, I seem to have completely run out of gas. I've been told on several occasions that I was running on fumes. Is this what they meant?
I'm heading back to my place sometime tomorrow. There's no rush now because, after my therapy session, I managed to get an appointment with my primary physician to ask for a note for work covering the rest of the week. When I asked, he suggested (rather strongly) that I just take off until April first. I really must look like hell right now! So, I'm going to play hookie for a few days, recuperate, return to my routine, spend quality time with Sadie and generally recharge my batteries. (I like the concept of me as a hybrid so very appealing!) I may just bore you to death over the weekend!
Since the meds are kicking in and I am utterly bone-tired, I'll leave you now. As usual when I'm writing when this tired, I reverve the right to republish in the cold, hard light of the morning...or afternoon, as I dearly hope will be the case tomorrow!
posted by Cheryl at
3/23/2006 01:01:00 AM
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