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Jul. 10th, 2009 11:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
altarflameI feel so incredibly heavy and so melodramatic and mortal and...blah.
I drove home from my sister's late last night with this fear that my house would be burning down or full of home invaders when I arrived. Which it wasn't. But instead of feeling relieved and ok, I felt this ironic and bitter sense that it was "still" alright, for now. I was parking the Prius and telling myself that's just a pointless way to think and feel, that I'm being ridiculous, but then I sat there with it off, like...no. It is pointless, but I'm not being ridiculous at all. I'm being realistic. All six of the people I love best will be dead one day, and I have no way of knowing which one it will be. So I came in filled with some mixture of prayer and desperation and dissociating, and before I knew it I was checking Elise's breathing for the first time in...a year?
It doesn't seem at all sad or surprising to me that celebrities keep dying. Farah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Michael Jackson, the Oxyclean guy keep popping up on my yahoo page and it's like, yeah, the world is changing. Everything is in flux, the conveyor belt is moving. Grandpa is gone, Pa is dying, Nana is dying. So much of it is good and beautiful, like my sister having another baby, my oldest children turning into who they're going to be, Elise being a miracle, friendships deepening and people being there for each other. My Dad's family bringing Pa home to die surrounded by family, my kids making him laugh and smile. But it's just. so. much.
Aaron is playing the most perfectly heavy, halting, beautiful sad piano that I feel guilty, like he must feel how I feel or else he wouldn't be doing that. It's just...perfect.
My house is so clean. I feel like that is a part of this. In this new world of mine with nobody under 2 and nobody in diapers, I can keep the floor cleared and the carpet vaccumed and the laundry hanging in closets. I like the cleanness. I like the house. I know it's...pointless? to feel attached to my kozy carrier of three children and the sling I sewed myself and the baskets of diapers outgrown but they sit in this pile in the midst of the clean house like a relic of mess gone by, back when I just had no time to clean.
Aaron actually came in here to tell me he was thinking about how I must feel when he was playing.
Well. I've eaten a bunch of lychees, the very last of the season that we barely managed to find yesterday, and watered our little baby lychee tree so we can grow our own one of these summers, and enforced some chores. Now I suppose I will go work on the Wii Fit and some baking and then clean the deck in awhile.
I drove home from my sister's late last night with this fear that my house would be burning down or full of home invaders when I arrived. Which it wasn't. But instead of feeling relieved and ok, I felt this ironic and bitter sense that it was "still" alright, for now. I was parking the Prius and telling myself that's just a pointless way to think and feel, that I'm being ridiculous, but then I sat there with it off, like...no. It is pointless, but I'm not being ridiculous at all. I'm being realistic. All six of the people I love best will be dead one day, and I have no way of knowing which one it will be. So I came in filled with some mixture of prayer and desperation and dissociating, and before I knew it I was checking Elise's breathing for the first time in...a year?
It doesn't seem at all sad or surprising to me that celebrities keep dying. Farah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Michael Jackson, the Oxyclean guy keep popping up on my yahoo page and it's like, yeah, the world is changing. Everything is in flux, the conveyor belt is moving. Grandpa is gone, Pa is dying, Nana is dying. So much of it is good and beautiful, like my sister having another baby, my oldest children turning into who they're going to be, Elise being a miracle, friendships deepening and people being there for each other. My Dad's family bringing Pa home to die surrounded by family, my kids making him laugh and smile. But it's just. so. much.
Aaron is playing the most perfectly heavy, halting, beautiful sad piano that I feel guilty, like he must feel how I feel or else he wouldn't be doing that. It's just...perfect.
My house is so clean. I feel like that is a part of this. In this new world of mine with nobody under 2 and nobody in diapers, I can keep the floor cleared and the carpet vaccumed and the laundry hanging in closets. I like the cleanness. I like the house. I know it's...pointless? to feel attached to my kozy carrier of three children and the sling I sewed myself and the baskets of diapers outgrown but they sit in this pile in the midst of the clean house like a relic of mess gone by, back when I just had no time to clean.
Aaron actually came in here to tell me he was thinking about how I must feel when he was playing.
Well. I've eaten a bunch of lychees, the very last of the season that we barely managed to find yesterday, and watered our little baby lychee tree so we can grow our own one of these summers, and enforced some chores. Now I suppose I will go work on the Wii Fit and some baking and then clean the deck in awhile.
