Amidst the Mists 4

He was back in the fog, back at the rock, back with his friend Mark,

who was chipping at the rock with his knife.

Who was being a bit unfriendly. “You know you should go back, they

still need you.”

“I don’t have to hurry, I can be with you a while.”

“You are, always.”

“You don’t need to sound so happy about it.”

“I don’t want you here. I want you there. With them. Alive. Having

tomorrows.” 

He gestured at the fog. “Not this.”

“Yeah, I prefer sunshine, myself. But you aren’t there. “

“I am. Always.”

“I never see you there.”

“Liar. You see me every time you look into my sons’ faces, or watch them

walk into or out of a room.”

He thought that over for a long moment. “No.”

“No?”

“I see parts of you in parts of them. But they aren’t you and you aren’t them.

I want you.”

“I’m telling you, I’m there. As there as I can be.”

“Then how come I never see you?”

“Because you look with your eyes closed.”

“That’s us’ly the best way to see things that don’t exist.”

“I exist. I’m here, am I not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining you. Hallucinating.”

“If I’m a hallucination, what does that make you, here, with me?’

“If I go back –”

“When you go back.”

“Will I be a cripple? An invalid?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

He shrugged. “When I’m here, it doesn’t,” he paused. “When I’m with you.”

What Am I?

I wonder.

When I lost my Rex, it seems that I lost a large part of my identity.

This wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for the huge chunk of me that I lost when I lost my job and couldn't get another one.

Since then, life itself seems to be chipping away at the essential "me."

I got a job and couldn't do it.
I write but have no way to share.
Shared writing has become more difficult and less frequent.
When I do write by hand, my fingers and thumb go numb, and I have muscle spasms all the way up my arm.

I am no longer a wife.
I'm still a mother, but my children are grown. (One is something of a big baby, but she's becoming an adult at a greatly decelerated rate.)
I'm a grandmother, but I can rarely see or take care of the babies, due to economics  (I'm usually literally out of gas.)When I do have them, they frazzle me, and it's not so easy to just take them home. I don't really want to, anyway.

I'm a writer, but losing the physical ability to write.

I'm a friend, but I have little to offer or share with my friends, when I can even keep in touch with them.

So, I am wondering, what am I?

Playing Games

I just recently started playing games on Facebook beyond Words With Friends and Scrabble, both which allow you to choose your opponents, one at a time.

Now, I have had those annoying posts about someone needing keys and maps and send a chicken and whatever.  I have been over-zealously invited to become an inhabitant of innumerable "--world"s. I've been Facebook notified that I have 50 new notifications only to find 45 are game related. That's so disappointing.

So, before I ventured into the gaming world, I promised myself (and my 'friends') that I was not going to be that player.
That's easier said than done.
I have had to quit  two games because they demand that I make demands on my friends.

I made my brave venture with the Criminal Case game. It's mostly finding objects in a scene, but there are also puzzles and maze-y things and fill in the rest of the number.
The best/most interesting aspect of this game is that they kind of toss you in with people from your own friends list. For the most part, you get to play with people who are already playing, even to the sending of energy and cards and things. Criminal Case has a nice little list of who you know that already play.
Later on, you do get a list of everyone to send requests to, but it's easy enough to edit that list. And it happens at intervals, not after every play.
BUT -- right now, Criminal Case keeps trying to give me free stuff. To get all this free stuff, I just have to give them my banking or credit card information.
How stupid are people?
The game can still be played though, without the incessant nagging to add or invite. I do enjoy playing.

So, I ventured to Candy Crush. I played to level "youneedkeys" and had to quit. I will not send to every single person on the list and I have no idea which of my friends are playing that game and which aren't. Well, I do know 2 of the people. One is a friend, the other is someone I'd rather not play games with.

So, there's an end to that.

The other game that I have almost quit playing is Words of Wonder. Talk about a nightmare!

The game itself is fine, and enjoyable, and challenging, but it has turned into pages and pages of friends sending energy and gifts. These generous givers include absolute utter and complete strangers!
Not only is the game letting people I don't know know something about me (that I play that game), it is still insisting that I send similar generous gifts to everyone on my list (and their lists, too, I suppose, if they come to look at the game.)

Nope, not doing it.
Not sending or accepting anything else, because the game makes that part of it work -- picking and choosing from the donors -- before you get anywhere near the game itself. And then again between levels or chapters or episodes.

Listen, Facebook Game Designers: Games are supposed to be FUN! Not work.

Definitely not work through many lists many times a visit.

If they could all be like Criminal Case --I hope it stays that way. (I'm only at level 20 or so.)
List the friends who  already play, offer the option to invite others only at certain times. If they did that, fewer people would complain, and a few more might even actually play, if they can do so with relative privacy and no nagging.

Then we could all just play the games that interest us, and we could even -- GASP -- have fun doing so!

Sui-sides: My side

When I decide to die, it's not your fault. You are in no way responsible for my decision. It's MY decision.

When I choose to die, it won't be about you. I acknowledge that there will be a feeling that I didn't love you enough to live, and there will be a lot of wondering how could I do that to you. I say again, I can't say  often enough -- it's not about you.

I didn't love you enough?

First off, it is my great, great, overwhelming love for each and every one of you that has kept me going this long. Because I have loved you, I got up from my bed and cooked, and advised,  and even drove all over the countryside  because YOU NEEDED ME.
It is my love for you that keeps me trying.

My love for you has kept me going beyond all reason, beyond all sanity.

Sometimes, in the bad times, I resent that. I don't want held. I want free. Free to live my life  -- or NOT!

How could I do what, exactly, to you? End my life? Lay myself down to  a sleep where I won't have to go to the bathroom, or answer  the telephone, or do any of the many, many things that rob me of my rest, that steal peace from me?
How is that doing something to you? What makes you the star of my death?

I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I'm sick and tired.

I am also in pain. Mental, physical, emotional. Doesn't matter. I hurt.
I hurt, and you can't make that better, although  I know you want to.
I hurt, and healing is too hard. Another chore, another job, another effort.

It's not that you aren't worth  the effort -- you ARE.
It's just too hard, and it hurts too badly.

Finally.
I can't.
I just can't.

Not even you can make it worthwhile.

Give me rest.
Let me rest.

Summer Family Fun.

Today, my sisters are going to a family reunion. It will be the first Schmidt family reunion since my dad died. (I think. I could be wrong about that.) It will be odd  to have his family there and he is gone, but life is a winnowing out process, and the sad truth is he wasn't the first to go.

We have lovely weather for the event today. The heat has backed off, the storms that reduced it to cowardice have moved on to vanquish elsewhere. The sun is shining, skies are blue with puffy white clouds. There will be trees and a lake and restrooms and paths and picnic tables and a playground.

A perfect day for a family to reconnect, however briefly.

It grieves me that I won't be there. I love some of my father's sisters, even though I haven't been around them for years. I love them although I know little of their lives and they know less of mine.

Saturday we will be having another family party. This one I'll be able to attend. This one I will attend. Good lord willing and the creek don't rise -- an apt qualification in this case, since the party is being held near Red Oak Creek in Ripley.

I'll see people there that I know, know of, and maybe a couple that I don't know. New victims to observe, new cadences to hear. All within the safety of a family network, and of course an easy exit in case of overwhelming anxiety.

First week of August is busy with birthdays in this family -- thank goodness they aren't all celebrated individually with parties. A person would be constantly on the run (although birthday parties would be more pleasant running than doctor's visits, hospital tests and trying to get prescriptions filled.)

There are fairs, too, and church festivals. It's my firm belief that the only reason it rained three days this week is because Adams County Fair was in progress. It will rain three days the last week of September, when Brown County Fair is in progress. That's just how it works in this part of the country.

Summer is a good time to catch up with everyone. The hard part is catching up with yourself and your own.
Having family is important, having fun is important too.

Having you is important to me.

Have fun and take care. 

Fear of Phobia

I'm becoming, I'm afraid, a borderline agoraphobic.
No, I have become a borderline agoraphobic.
The becoming I'm worried about is the full blown phobia.

I don't think that will ever happen. I have too many chores and a granddaughter. That should be enough to keep me getting out on a fairly regular basis. And there are doctor's visits for my husband, and going to the pharmacy, and grocery shopping.

Those things should all keep me going, keep me out and about. I'm not so sure they will. Even if they do, I'm not sure that some of those things count. I don't enjoy them. I don't relish going to Walmart after prescriptions. I don't stop at this store or that and peek and poke and just enjoy myself, just enjoy getting out, even though God knows I rarely get alone time except in the car. Maybe alone time isn't really that important, anyway. I can always be alone inside myself. Inside my computer, or lost in a book. (That's not really alone, though. There are people in those books, and some of them are stupider than the ones in real life. Who'd've ever thought that was possible?)

In some ways, I feel I've been heading that way -- this way -- for all my life. I've never been able to easily or naturally speak to other people, sometimes not even those I know well. I have had my electricity and my water shut off because I was unable to make the telephone calls to make arrangements to pay. (Many years ago; not recently.)

But now I leave reluctantly. Not even my writers group holds the same interest for me, because my life has so changed. For a year I had limited contact with the real world.
I had no telephone and no internet. Because of Rex's hospitalization, and his doctor's and medicines, and having to pay other people gas money, the bills got way behind. So there was little talking with anyone, except when I needed something. That doesn't encourage socializing from either party involved. At least I didn't feel that it did. .

No car -- I had to get rides, or arrange rides, everywhere and anywhere. Few trips were worth the trouble. My writer friends were the ones with the most available help, but my sisters were always there also. The writers happen to live and work closer.
But even with their help, I was isolated and alone, and there's too much to handle alone, but I did it.



I did it all, from the safety net of my home.

I'm afraid, often. I'm afraid to leave because I worry about Rex getting sick or falling when I'm gone. Some nights I can't sleep, because I'm afraid I'll wake up and he won't be breathing. I'm afraid to drive anywhere, because what if I'm involved in an accident and get hurt? What will happen to Rex when someone else brings him that kind of news? Who will take care of him while I can't?
My God, what if I get crippled?
What will happen to Rex if I get killed?

Rex, bless his heart, encourages me to go to my group, and to go to family events, if he knows about them. I usually don't tell him, because he won't /can't go. And I don't want to leave him alone for hours at a time. All the what-ifs come alive when that happens.

I can't let this progress. It must not be allowed to get any worse. Even I cannot live that self-contained. There are chores that must be done, errands that must be run. And what kind of example am I setting for Hailey if I turn myself into the Hermit Grandmother? It's bad enough that Pappaw is already that way.

Thank goodness for summer, for the season of picnics and reunions and weddings. Thank God for sisters and friends and other family who will coax me or bully me out of my little blue hole. They, more than anything I can do, are what keeps me straight, keeps me trying. Keeps me on the sane side of the line,

I can thank none of them enough. Ever.