Notes to Self - Under Glass

It sounds a bit maudlin, but I can identify with Sylvia Plath somewhat. I never see it descending, but at some point I realized that the bell jar is already covering my existence, creating a distorting view of the outside world. My experience of life is skewed, voices are muted through the thick, bubbled glass of situational depression.

One event that hovers outside the jar is an upcoming vacation. We're just going to the trailer on the Cape, so no airline weirdness or strange climates to consider or worry about. But still, clothes need to be washed, other details need to be attended to, and we have a whole bunch of new items to bring this time, with all of Tom's tube feeding paraphernalia. And there is still, a great deal of paperwork to take care of in the next few weeks. But the whole idea about getting ready to go seems like something not quite within my grasp. Like maybe it's an episode on a TV show that I stumbled onto. Mildly entertaining, but no identification with my real life.

But since I know that our departure is in the short future, I'm trying in my muted, bubbled over way - to make lists of things to do. Lists upon lists, and notes to myself about what to bring and what to do before we go.

Sleep is something I need to do, because health and a cheerful attitude is something I need to bring, not only on vacation, but with me everywhere.

Tears

Tears for the peony flowers, heavy on the stems from too much rain - now muddy and trampled. If my mind was present, I would have cut them and brought them in the house. But my heart is muddy and trampled and so the flowers languished in the rain and no one but God saw the blooms.

Tears for the U.S. mail. I cry when I open a bill, I cry when I open a document that asks me for more documents in order to get the process going where we'll need no more documents. And I cry when I open a card for Tom and feel the love rising from the goofy cartoons and sweet sentiments.

Damn laundry. Enough said.

Tears for the immeasurable kindness of the staff from Lakeview Jr. High. They made difficult things a little bit easier.

Tears for the words not spoken, the thoughts not expressed, and the stories not told.

I ache from the silence, I drown in the tears shed, I choke on the tears inside still.