141210 Curiosities served
2016-10-09 11:21 PM
Awful old shite, not worth a glance
Previous Entry :: Next Entry
Read/Post Comments (1)
So I just realised I'm in one of those times where it's tough enough living through it, without revisiting later to write about it and then again, in years to come, when I reread this blog, in my old age. I mean, I'm not living in the agony, I'm working like fuck to keep myself out of it, as it does no one any good and totally disables me, so I try to tread a path of distraction whilst avoiding denial, and that's made up of walking, meditation , art, being angry with Bloke, yoga and other stuff I can't remember now. [Later: Photoaday - thank fuck for #fmsphotoaday - I can't do any more links]
Tomorrow (Monday) we have an appointment with an anaesthetist - ach, I can't write about it. And she's here now, my girl, isn't she? Round the corner. Ten minutes away. And I'm here, having a wobbler, drowning under a sudden onslaught of grief. This description of grief From here matches my previous experience of loss:
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too.
That's how it is, with the waves now, man, sometimes I'm drowning with the loss of my girl, my precious darling daughter, but fucking hell, we ebb and flow like the most cuntish cunt in a land of fucking bastard cuntery. When she was in hospital, within the space of three days we had:
1. she's not going to make it through the day, gather together and prepare for her death
2. it was kidney stones and septicemia, we can cure those and she'll be far healthier than she has been for ages
3. He said what??? He shouldn't have said that - this has been major and will have big consequences for someone as frail as her, even if treatment is successful, which isn't certain by any means.
so that was the point at which I experienced overload and my brain went into neutral where it has remained ever since. Unfortunately, this has coincided with my phone updating itself into bastardry, jouranlscape fucking off, the internet being full of rapey shit about just grabbing what you want - yeah, fuckers, I remember that from when I was a girl, being grabbed, in fact I'm having therapy about it all over again just now, that's how much fun it was. And here we are fifty years later and still it gets defended.
I don't know what I'm going to do about a new blog home - I suppose I'll find out when journalscape vanishes - end of October. I feel as if I CANNOT BEAR any more changes - Bloke is Doing Stuff around the house, a mere year since his last burst of it.
Anyway, I'm going now.
I feel this entry is unbalanced and not good but I just can't right now, I just can't. But I needed to write - I was finding myself getting into scrapes on facebook by having to fucking say something all over the place - I mean, what do I really care if a load of Americans refer to their president as 'leader of the free world'? They're just dicks and getting it laid out in no uncertain terms from me isn't going to change their minds, although there is something in that phrase that makes me want to unfriend America in its entirety, if I wouldn't have to lose half my friends, none of whom are any part of this stupidity. The other one is 'the most important job on the planet' - er, no. Most of us aren't American and don't give a shit. One person I got into it with argued that people in all countries said that kind of thing, that it equates to patriotism. Er, no, darling, sorry, it's just you guys. Brain-washed, pledging allegiance to the flag, for fuck's sake, what's THAT all about? And yes, I know, I know, what a shower of cunts the British establishment is, what a disgraceful history of armed robbery on an industrial scale, all over the world. I'm not - ah well, I don't know what - there you go.
OK, bed. I am grateful for: free firewood washed up on the beach; frozen blackcurrants, saved earlier in the season, just as nice as fresh given you always have to sweeten them somehow; other stuff and more and more again, I am grateful, honest, I know it could be worse, but it's hard to feel it - but no, I do have a bed, a home and an overdraft facility that is not yet exhausted, and for these things I am grateful. Om gum ganapatayei namaha.
Read/Post Comments (1)
Previous Entry :: Next Entry
Back to Top
© 2001-2010 JournalScape.com. All rights reserved.
All content rights reserved by the author.