A Snippet

"I tired, Daddy."

"Well, go to sleep, son. Sleep as long as you need to."

"For  ever?"

"I'll miss you here when that happens. But I'll see you there someday."

"And then we can RUN, Daddy! Me 'n' you, we can run and run and RUN!"

"Yes, son, then we will be able to run."

The Rhythm

Yesterday's entry was NOT what I meant to write when I started out. It took off in an independent way that surprised even me.
Although, while my fingers were flying and I was wondering what the heck, the words and feelings coming up were true and honest and deeply felt.
That is why I let it stand.

But the faint persistent rhythm I had in mind was the daily rhythm of my life; perhaps my circadian rhythm.

The day begins around 4 when I am finishing up work. Home and playing on the computer, sometimes writing, until 6 or 7, depending on mood, fatigue, and insomnia.
Awake at 8 to make sure Hailey is getting started on getting ready for school. Most days I am mire observer than participant in this ritual, but some days I am fully involved.
Then, if Warren is still sleeping or sleepy, I can get some sleep. Depending on Warren, who loves to play with his mammaw, this can last to anywhere between 10 and 12.
About 2 I start feeling tired again and sometimes can nap, but usually not.
4 is time for Hailey to get home and I try to be awake for that, just so she knows I care.
5 is average suppertime, and time to eat and sleep.
7:15 time to get ready for work, which usually starts at 8.

I have tried to sleep through these days, or sometimes remain awake through them so that I can dramatically collapse at work or in the middle of a store, but I'm a darned failure at that type of self serving drama. The confounded infernal, persistent rhythm takes over and keeps me living my (somewhat boring; somewhat routine) life.

I don't like it.
Don't want it.
But there it is.

Blessed, Beautiful Balancing Sleep

I have been sleeping a lot the last couple of weeks. It's so much better than dozing and waking. It's a wonderful place to be, asleep. No worries, no demands, no unsolvable problems to solve. Just being.

Not that there are no problems in the sleep  world. There are.

In the lovely half-worlds between awake and asleep, and between asleep and awake, there are many many things. Thoughts, memories, wishes realized, dreams not dead, stories to be told unrolling.
Punishments exacted for sins known to the dreamer, be it willful, accidental, or circumstantial sinning.

But at least the dreamer knows.
Unlike life, or a so-called loving god, in the dream state of partially self-inflicted tortures, the dreamer knows what the punishment is for. Knows the why. Knows the how. Knows the when and where. Even knows that the way to end it is to rouse to wakefulness.

There is something soothing in knowing why pain is inflicted.
There is something beautiful in punishment balancing sin, even when the so-called sin was minor and the punishment is angry and excessive.
There's a reason for it.

In waking life, there is no reason.
There is no why, no explanation, no lesson learned.
God, the 'loving' father,seems an abusive irrational parent.

Any decent parent knows to tell their child why it is being punished. The child may not understand why something merits punishment, but knows that x(wrongdoing)= y(punishment). It's pretty basic.

Someone should tell god, maybe.

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.

As I lay dying (or so I thought)

Yesterday I thought I was entering my final illness, persistent cramping diarrhea. The pain was worse than childbirth (except for the actual birthing). The effects of dehydration were debilitating, as you can imagine. My sister and my nephew had both commented on bellyaches, so I thought there's probably just something going around, and it was nothing major.

As the day wore on, I changed my mind about that. If there had been gas in our car I would have had my husband take me to the hospital, even though I have no insurance and every test, every procedure, every help would have to be paid for by us. At that point (about 3 in the afternoon) even the IV for dehydration would have been worth the cost. Because I was afraid to drink anything, even warm water.

Instead, I went to bed.
While in the bed, I reviewed my life. It's the first time I ever did that when I wasn't contemplating suicide, so it was a novel experience in its way. The results of the review were more satisfactory this way, I have to admit, but there were some things not so satisfactory.
Of course.

I wished I had played more with my girls when they were young. More walks, more pushing on swings, more silly talk, more books read together, more time. Just more time to enjoy them. But pushing swings is boring after the first couple of shoves to get them going, and neither of my daughters had any great interest in books when they were young. We did walk, from time to time, and the walks nearly always had that 'special' air. I suppose that's a good thing. The regret over not taking enough walks is partly because it indicates a lack of special times, so if the times it happened were special -- well, there's just a balance there, so that one is probably okay.
I hope.

I wish I'd had more patience at some times in some of my jobs, but I have no big regrets over any of those. I gave every job I ever did everything I could, everything I had. Sometimes I didn't have much, and sometimes I hated the work, but I gave it my all. Sometimes my all was more, often less, but it was what I had and I put it into the work.

My writing? I have four completed novel manuscripts on top of the bookcases. I have three of those novels on floppies, which do me  no earthly good these days, but maybe somewhere, someday... someone. I have various writings here and there. It would be nice for my family if I could become posthumously famous, so that I'm not leaving my family nothing but a hole in their hearts.
I hope.

The good-bye letters I wrote a few months ago worried me a bit. I thought about tearing them up before I died, but decided I'd just leave a note with them. Don't remember if I dated them or not. Probably not. I wanted them to be generic, any time. I have letters written to Tracy and to Rex and, I think, to Jean. I haven't been able to bring myself to pout anything in writing for Tammy-and-Hailey. No good excuses for saddling her with my responsibilities, which she would be the one carrying the brunt of the load after the dust settles. No good excuse, no reason.
Anyway, I decided to just write a note, or maybe I'd get a chance to tell Jean before I expire in the hospital. "Hey, never mind those. I wrote them for Christmas last year, or maybe the year before."

It was a different thing to look back at my life this way, from this new angle. I didn't have no instant conversion to wanting to continue living in spite of all its pain, which I have seen happen. I wanted the pain to stop. I wished that I had done some things differently, but feel that I did the best I could at the time.

That's what we should all be doing. The best we can, with what we have. The what we have can be time, or energy, or even interest. Money of the lack thereof is a partial excuse, not a good one.

Be the best you that you can be.

Do the best you can with what you have.

Watch and work and learn and live.

Then,  you can contemplate death with equanimity. Is there any better way to live?

still a cold

This is a nasty one, and it's going through the inhabitants of this house like crazy. It was Hailey who started it, and then me. Now Rex has it, and Hailey's mommy and daddy are both sick. Tam's working in the window in the snow and cold, too, all while washing dishes she tells me. And they are here, for now. Can't throw them out ,sick, in the snow. Although in one case I am extremely tempted.
At least she can get medicine if she needs it.
If Rex can handle it, he can get medicine after the first of February, when his Medicare Drug Plan kicks in. Before that, I guess we'll muddle along as we usually do. It's less then three weeks.

Me, I get to survive on thera-flu and chicken noodle soup. So far it's working, and Hailey and I seem to be feeling better. She's a handful, running me ragged -- which isn't hard to do these days. The overwhelming symptom of this nasty cold has been a need to sleep. Except for Hailey -- she's two. Nothing makes her want to sleep.
If it did, I'd have her at the hospital downtown, you can bet.

Anyway, she's healing, I'm rebounding, and everyone else is expecting me to wave my magic wand and make it all better.

Situation Normal. You know the rest of it.