Sometimes with and sometimes without occasion / I write what's uppermost, without delay ... (Lord Byron)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Another four-hanky song
I can't help myself ... but this too shall pass. I must be very kind to myself and remember that it's only been 11 days since my unhusband left. Music helps to sustain me ... and right now it's jazz. Oh God, it is jazz ... my first musical love ...
He and I used to delve into 70s prog- / arena / symphonic / classic rock ... and I find myself moving away from it. For the moment, I can't bear to hear it ... Hurts too much. My sternum -- my breastbone -- has ... how can I put this ... crunkled a half-dozen times or so during these 11 days ... It's like a crack shearing open in the mantle of the Earth ... under the crust, stiffening soil and freezing trees in their tracks. Tremoring beneath the sea, curtailing for now a thrust from the deeps that I fear will shatter the bone ...
This is a depth of heartbreak I've not experienced before. It's also surreal ... A big part of me is still in a suspended state of shock. I felt this way after my mother died; on the thirteenth day postmortem, I was at work (I was an administrative assistant at the time), coming to an awareness that I was sitting in my chair in front of my computer, holding a file folder in my hand. I think it was blue. I looked down at this blue thing, turning it over, opening and closing it, not knowing what it was or what I was to do with it. A file folder. Nothing seemed real -- intact, whole, stable. Everything seemed to be something else ... or nothing at all: nonsense; meaningless.
I'm going through most of the motions right now. Making sure my home is at least nominally clean. The cats are always fed and tended. The dishes get washed; the floor gets swept. I baked a batch of muffins tonight and I've eaten four. I had to. They're my favourite: oatmeal orange chocolate-chip. Urgent comfort food.
I'm cocooning; in retreat. My home is my center right now. My two kittones keep me grounded ... and I keep an eye on them. The stress of their loss is showing in aggression, barfing, constipation, wandering and yowling. They've lost their daddy. My unhusband and I brought them home (both rescued and fostered) when they were kittens ... They've been ours all along and are now into their fourth year. Some of their primary comforts, and their other primary human bond, are gone; they can't understand it ... They only know the absence.
... About that word crunkled, I didn't look it up; perhaps I invented it. It sounds right and it feels right. Take that, Sarah Palin and the Oxford American Dictionary, which chose her permutation of repudiate -- "refudiate"-- as its word of the year -- Hey! My spell-checker has underlined refudiate in red -- and we all know what that means!
The Oxford English Dictionary wouldn't dream of including such a word in its lexicon. All hail the OED!
... which reminds me: I was once in love with someone whose glove box contained a pocket-sized OED ... If that wasn't a sign, what was, eh ...
Oh no -- getting morose!
So there, Sarah Palin -- I can make up words too, eh! And I know my North Korea from my South!
Speaking of Sarah Palin ... Does anyone know what kind of music she listens to? -- Nothing that I've read about her gives even a hint.
Take a boo at the blog; you'll find me there, in one of three guises: Pushing Fifty Gently... is where I sass, opine, and worship my cats. The Quoteable I Ching is here to honour a wisdom tradition that I follow and revere ... and A Post-Cynical Seer chronicles one soul's deeper currents and journeys. Otherwise, I'm likely to be upending my home in search of my glasses, tripping over cats as I go, and spilling my tea. I'm no longer pushing fifty ... Fifty's pushing me!