I Don’t Know What To Call This Post Because I’m Too Sad

23 06 2012

This post is probably going to be dark. Just FYI.

My godmother died today. According to her sister, it was 2:11 PM. (Why she posted her time of death on Facebook, I have no idea.) Since I’m me, my first response was numbness, a few tears, and now I’m back to numb again. There’s two viewings and a service and a burial and I think we’re supposed to go and eat afterwards. I hate all that stuff. I guess it’s more for the people left behind, since the dead person is either in Heaven or part of the universe or worm food, depending on your worldview.  I don’t know what I think. It sucks however you slice it, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.

We’ll go to the service, and I don’t have anything to wear, I think. What the hell do you wear to a summer funeral? Hang on, I’ll Google it. Okay, apparently black summer dress is fine, usual funeral rules apply. Great. …I don’t have a black summer dress. Goody, I get to go shopping. I don’t even have appropriate shoes.

I learned a lot from my godmother, including that you should keep in touch with people. (I suck at doing it, but I learned it.) Also, she always wanted me to take care of myself, so I’ll try my best. I’m glad I got to say goodbye.

I don’t know if I’m handling this right. Sorrow and anger always confuse me. They don’t seem to last the right way in me, the way they do for other people.

The hell with this. I’m going to look for a suitable dress online and not think about why because I can’t do this right now.


Sincerely yours,



I don’t know what to say about today.

14 06 2012

Music of the post: Anna Ternheim’s version of ‘China Girl’. I heard it on an episode of  Without a Trace, and it stuck with me for a while, so I’m just listening. The tone of it, if not the words, fit my mood. If you want to hear it, here’s a Youtube video with the lyrics.

I went to see my godmother today. She’s been sick for some months now, but the last time I saw her, she still looked like her. A little thinner, somewhat frail, but still the same woman I’ve known all my life. Back then, I was sure that she would recover, that everything would be restored to the way it was before, and I would get my fantasy of her and my mother playing with their grandchildren together.

That’s not going to happen. She’s in her bed most of the time now. And when I walked into her room today, I’m not sure I kept the shock off my face. She looks so drawn, like a skeleton with the skin drawn tight in some places and bunched up in others. It was so innately wrong, I didn’t want to look at her, because this couldn’t be the same . woman. And she’s on so much pain medication that she’s in a constant haze, and she reacts so slowly to everything. It’s not fair. That means nothing at all, not in real life, but still, it’s not fair. And she still managed to talk to me, tell me to take care of myself.

Her daughter and her husband are being so strong. It’s admirable, and they talk about it as if it’s completely normal. But it’s like watching someone trying to cover up cracks in a table with a lace table cloth. It makes it harder to see, but it slips and slides. Her daughter talks about her wedding, her dress, keeping the house together, refers to the whole situation vaguely. Her husband looks like he’s just trying to accept it. I don’t know what her son is up to, besides keeping busy. And all I seem capable of is writing her a poem and try to distract everyone a little.

I don’t think anyone really knows what to do. It’s easier to deal with the practical, I think. But I really don’t know. At least I told her I loved her.

I’m sorry this is such a downer of a post.

Sincerely yours,


A Bed Day (That is not quite a bad day)

11 06 2012

I have a pounding headache, I’m in bed and watching television. And I just remembered to take the fish out of the fridge so I have something to eat for dinner tonight. (See, this is how I gained mega weight, not planning meals. Well actually, the first fifty pounds were due to a medication I was taking, the last fifteen (?) were due to giving up and eating crap.) It’s insane how easy it is to eat badly. Oh well.

I’m glad it’s warm again, even if it means I have to wear shorts sometimes. I have no problems with my legs between ankle and knee, but my thighs must be covered, because even eighteen pounds later, my upper thighs are not pretty. I heard that apple cider vinegar can help their appearance, but I’m not sure if that’s true or not, so I’m trying to go the burn fat/increase muscle route instead. Of course that’s the hard way, but what the heck, it’s not like I have anything else to do.(Cue moping about my jobless existence.) 

Oh, I actually broke up with A. Me. I made a decisive move and BROKE UP WITH SOMEONE. I got such a kick out of that, in a weird way. It was a little sad, and I’ll miss the connection, but it was too crazy, I need someone more stable. I feel stronger now that I’ve done it. Everyone out there who feels like their relationship isn’t working out, or isn’t getting what they need, but is still hanging around-you don’t have to stay if you think it isn’t going to work out. You can go. I think I’m going out clubbing this weekend. I want to party.

And on a somber note, because it’s on my mind. My godmother is dying. I haven’t really said it out loud yet, and seeing it on my screen hurts. She’s my mother’s best friend since grad school, and her daughter and I were always around each other as kids, so we’re…not close, exactly, but we’re always glad to see each other, and that’s saying something. I always thought us girls were all going to get married (well, her daughter is already married, he’s a pilot and he’s nice) and have kids and she and my mom would sit together and play with their grandchildren while we all cooked dinner together. I hope we get to do that one more time.

I’m going to stop talking about this now because I’m going to cry. I’m going to talk about my apparently fiercely ticking biological clock. I am obsessed with kids, especially babies. My maternal instinct is going into hyper super overdrive. It’s a little frustrating, because I’m nowhere near ready to be a mother, and I think I quite fancy myself free and full of possibility (on a good day anyway), but part of me wants to be settled with a house of my own and a love of my own so we can have babies and raise them into children and have a settled life. And apparently I’m turning into one of those women who is obsessed with wedding shows, Say Yes to the Dress in particular. And not the one in Atlanta, because between the southern colloquialisms and the lackluster staff and the not as fantastic southern people, it lacks something. I look at wedding gowns online. I am newly single and I look at wedding gowns mostly because they are pretty and I’m all too romantic.

Has anyone seen the commercial for that new Clinique lip stain? What is with the bouncing cubes of gelatin? 

Also, I now admit I really want to watch that movie with Channing Tatum (is that how you spell his name) where he’s a male stripper. A movie that shamelessly panders to the desire for hot almost completely naked men, whoo! (Besides, Matt Bomer’s in it, and I love him. Like, if I saw him on the street I would run to him and ask him to take pictures with me and sire my children. What, he’s gay? …well, I’m still getting a picture. And maybe a hug. He’s just so beautiful. I would eat him up like candy.)

…okay, it’s sandwich time. And Say Yes to the Dress.

                                                                                                       Sincerely yours,