CHESTNUTS ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE, JACK FROST (THE LIL BASTARD) NIPPIN' AT MY NOSE

Lo and behold, it's that time of the year again. Christmas. Ready or not, it's a-coming!

I don't do Christmas very well. The reasons are the usual (don't feel the joy, sadness, depressing, blah, blah, blah) and I know a lot of people go through the same thing. I get through it one way or another, then it's over. I'm thinking about buying myself a really kick ass gift this year. I mean a really, really kick ass EXPENSIVE gift. I never spend money like that on myself. And you know what? I think I fucking deserve it for once. So I am.
Merry Christmas to me! Falalala lalalalaaaaa.

I was thinking about Christmas stockings the other day (I really have no control over where my mind will swerve to next). Actually, I was thinking about what my mom always put in our stockings at Christmas compared to what kids get now.

Here's what was in our stockings: nuts in the shell so you had to crack them open and dig out the meat; an apple; an orange with cloves stuck in it (the best smell EVER); candy and maybe a little toy of some kind. That was it. I thought they were the bomb. Seriously, I loved digging through my stocking every Christmas! I always knew what would be in there but I loved opening it and finding out for sure. Those are some good memories, right there.

Here's what kids get in their stockings now: money, gift cards, jewelry, cds, video games, ipods, cell phones, and cameras. I'm pretty sure all those things count as gifts so why aren't they wrapped and under the tree? Maybe it's just me, but I think it's pretty ridiculous to put stuff like that in the stocking. Isn't that kind of like overkill? If you put stuff like that in the stocking, you damn sure better ante up with the big presents. Way up.

My dad, man. My dad was a FOOL for Christmas. As in buying an artificial tree that made it's own artificial snow and waking us up at 4 a.m. because he couldn't wait another minute for us to get up and see what was under the tree, kind of fool. Every year. (Have I ever mentioned I have a gimpy stomach? Like, I can't eat anything early in the morning or I will get sick. Yeah. It started then. Up at 4? Throwing up by 6. Every year.) Piles of stuff under the tree. Baby dolls, baby furniture, sleeping bags, racetracks, telescopes, bikes, tape recorders, record players, bb guns, easy bake oven (still one of the best gifts EVER), music boxes....not all in one year of course, but still. I come from a large clan - lots of brothers and sisters. But by the time I came along - and certainly by the time I was 6, 7, or 8 - there was only me and three brothers left at home. So, there was more money I guess and less kids, which equaled a pretty nice Christmas for us. My brothers would tell you my pile of gifts was much bigger than theirs. And it probably was; there was one of me and three of them. But, you know, you could buy three dolls, a dollhouse and the easy bake oven for what that telescope cost. Or the really big racetrack they got one year. (Back then kids were concerned with quantity. Hey, I only got three presents and she got five! What did we know about cost? Nowadays, kids can compute to the dime how much more (or less) their gifts cost. Sad, very sad).

I remember the joy of those Christmases and the excitement. I also remember coming home one Christmas Eve night from somewhere - I was about 6 or 7 - seeing Santa across the street at the neighbor's house. I was absolutely hysterical, thinking I had a) either missed him, no presents! or b) screwed up the whole order of things by SEEING him, no presents! My mom and dad tried to tell me it was okay, it was only the guy that lived there. But that made absolutely no sense to me because, wtf?? Why would their dad dress up like Santa? Or.....WAS THEIR DAD SANTA??? It was a rough time that night, what with all the running around, getting the cookies and milk out (he's right across the street! hurry!!) and trying to get into bed in time. I was one stressed out little girl. Everyone else though, over the age of 7, thought it was hilarious.

So, when I think about the Christmases of my childhood, I remember the joy, the excitement and yes, the stress. And it's good. Good memories.

But you know what really says Christmas to me? A stocking filled with walnuts and pecans and apples and oranges and candy. Yep, that's Christmas!

But I'm still getting myself a really big present this year.

FOR CHAD

You left me a year ago today. You left me and you were so sure you would never leave me. You were convinced and you convinced me. We both thought if anyone left, it would be me. We were wrong.

You left me a year ago today and it feels like yesterday. This pain in my chest comes from the little pieces of my heart moving around at every thought of you. Little pieces, all that's left after it shattered a year ago today.

You left me a year ago today and I remember screaming. I remember screaming and crying harder than I ever thought possible. I remember hurting so bad I did not think I could bear it. I remember getting in our bed and crying for you and I remember how wrong it felt to be lying there without you. It still feels wrong and I hate that bed now. I hate it because you're not there.

You left me a year ago today and I know that is not possible because I can still remember our last kiss, our last kiss that was six kisses, three kisses for I love you and how we looked at each other, smiled and kissed three more times. I remember our saying I love you and how you turned around to look at me before I drove away.

You left me a year ago today and I can see you sitting here next to me on the couch. I can see you watching me while I am messing around on this computer and when I look at you, you smile and say God, you're beautiful. I can see me smile back at you and shake my head because I am many things but I am only beautiful in your eyes.

You left me a year ago today and I still miss you holding my hand. I never thought much about hand holding before you, I could take it or leave it and really, it sometimes felt a bit awkward. But it felt right from the very first time with you. Holding my hand was the most natural thing in the world to you; you even did it in your sleep. My hands miss your hands.

You left me a year ago today and I remember the last time we made love and it breaks my heart remembering your "I love you". I never appreciated the difference between sex and making love before you. I knew there was a difference, theoretically. I just didn't believe in it until you showed me emotion trumps chemistry every time. (and now you've made me smile through my tears)

You left me a year ago and I remember our last phone call. I remember the love and I remember the guilt. It seems I can't have one without the other so I will carry them both.

You left me a year ago today and I remember everything. I was so scared I would forget and I haven't. I remember some things more often and some things more clearly but this I remember vividly: the entire last week before you left me. I remember everything about it, all the things I've already said and so much more. That week is frozen in my mind and maybe that is why it does not seem like it has been a year since you left me. Everyone has moved on, as people do. Not me. A year or a day, the pain is the same. I have learned to hide it better and that's okay. This pain is mine, this grief is mine.

You left me a year ago today and I went to visit you yesterday, in that godforsaken place your mother put you. I let myself get angry at you, for the first time. I said the things I've never said and you know what? They didn't help. The sadness and the pain far outweigh any anger. Also, I find it remarkably hard to fight with you when you can't fight back.

You left me a year ago today and I have some regrets that hurt because I can't do anything about them now. The biggest regret I have is not marrying you. I was stupid, silly and stubborn and I'm so sorry. You called me your wife anyway. You made me smile every time you did that. I'd like to think the wedding band I put on your finger, before they took you away from me forever, makes it right. I love you, husband.

You left me a year ago today and I'm supposed to go on without you. I have no idea how to do that. The past year is of no help, because I've only been pretending. I'm really, really tired of that. Sometimes, I think it would be easier to just move away. Go somewhere there are no physical memories of you and just start over with the only the ones in my heart and in my head. How did you manage to imprint yourself so completely in my life in such a short time?

You left me a year ago today and I am lost without you. You gave me such love, such beautiful, wonderful love, that the whole world feels empty without you. I am, at the same time, incredibly grateful for and absolutely devastated by that love.

You left me a year ago today and I miss you terribly.

You left me a year ago today.







Forever and always.

I love you.

Your wife

One Toe At A Time...

Soooo.

Here I am. This feels so strange, does not feel familiar or easy. And THAT is what feels strange, I think. I have been blogging (of sorts) for years, writing to (and for) myself for most of my life. It has always been easier for me to write it than say it; I'm more concise, more articulate.

And yet, here I am. I just don't seem to have the desire for it anymore. That is so very weird. So very different. Even in my darkest days, even in the depths of this stupid, ongoing depression, I always wanted to let it spill out here. All the rage, the grief, the blackest of moods, the happiest of times, the thoughts, the ponderings....they all made it on here. It's not like I don't have any of those any more; I do and I "write" them in my mind every night when I am trying to sleep and my brain just will not stop. I "write" them every day when my mind fills up with them, between times of forced verbal and physical interaction with other people.

But that's as far as it gets. I don't feel the need or the desire to get out of bed and blog and I don't feel the need or desire to come home from work and blog. I don't feel the need or desire to blog.

I still read other blogs. I read a lot of other blogs. Some of my old favorites and many new. I've been reading a bunch of decorating blogs because some day, I need to do something with my humble little abode and make it a home. And other blogs I stumble on some how and keep reading for some reason or another.

Do I miss blogging? Well, yes. I miss it in the same way I miss cleaning my house or taking regular showers (depression: it ain't pretty) or coloring the gray in my hair or wearing makeup (really. it's not pretty) or spending more time outside of my home than in it. I miss all of these things in a slightly disinterested, abstract way. I am trying to bring all those things back to "normal" - including blogging. I feel like I am going into a cycle where that may be possible. I hope so.

So, yeah. One toe at a time, this process. I don't want to let go of this blog and that's a good thing, I think. I want to clean my house on a regular schedule and that's a good thing. I want to take better care of myself and get out more and gather up those relationships I've let slide and that's a good thing.

Consider this a dip of the toe. Total immersion of the toe might take awhile, but I figure the foot will soon follow.

Or I'll lose the toe to frostbite. It could go either way, man.

TAP TAP TAP

wonder if this thing still works?

i don't know, it's awfully dusty in here.

i'm coming back.

it's time to get my house and my blog in order.

famous last words?

JOKERS TO THE LEFT OF ME, CLOWNS TO THE RIGHT

****okay, I wrote this around 5am when I couldn't sleep and all this came spewing out. I didn't post it then, just saved it. However, after reading it through tonight, I realize this really is how I feel so I decided to go ahead and post. All I can say is,, at least I "act" nicer in public.****

Hello, anyone out there? Ha, I just realized if I had typed "is there anybody out there?" I would have had two lines from two different song lyrics. Oh well, it was interesting to me.

So, yeah, I'm still here. Thanks for all of your messages and emails. I have not blogged in so long because I just haven't felt like it. The urge to write (type?) wasn't there and when it was I wanted to write about Chad and yet I don't always want to be writing about Chad and doing the whole "woe is me and I miss Chad so much, boo hoo hoo" bit. It gets old, I know. I live it, I know it, trust me.

Having said that, woe IS me, I do STILL miss Chad so much all the time I ache from it and I CONTINUE to do my fair share of boo hooing. So here it is, over 6 months later and nope, it's not any easier. I find it hard to comprehend how time continues without him. This is not helped by the insurance company insistence on fucking me at every turn by refusing to cover the anti-depressants my doctor prescribed. Any of them. They did, however, have helpful suggestions on the ones they would like me to try. Apparently, without me realizing it, they have actually met me, listened to me and feel completely comfortable with diagnosing and prescribing medicines for me. Perhaps this is possible; as spawns of Satan, they may have some special power that enables them to do this. I grew weary of that fight and now just take a twice daily dose of fuckitall. Seems to work about the same.

My health is horrible. From stroke eminent blood pressure (despite four, FOUR! medications) to teeth problems to skin issues to sleep disturbance (cause I can't) to intensified pains and aches to...well, you get the picture. Yes, I do hear that tiny violin playing and thank you, I believe I will have some cheese with my whine.

I find myself becoming increasingly more irritable. You know, the I want to really slap the shit out of people irritable. With that in mind, I'd like to give a shout out to the following:
*to the woman SITTING in the aisle at Wal-mart: really???
*to the parent in front of me at the store: you are an idiot. you are trying to REASON with a 3, 4, 5 year old CHILD. you seem to take their increased shrieking and howling as affirmation they understand you. you are wrong. i want to run over your head with your own grocery cart and give your kid the spanking he/she deserves. yes, a spanking. this kid is beyond the point of negotiating and is ready to learn about consequences.
*to the sullen bank teller: maybe there's a reason why you give me such attitude. i don't know nor do i care. whatever shit story of life you've got brewing, i'm pretty sure i can top it. please increase your speed from sloth to turtle.
*to myself: why are you watching shows like "i'm a celebrity, get me out of here!"? these people are not celebrities, they are train wrecks of humanity. turn the tv off and walk away. now.
*to my next door neighbor's mom: i can not believe you continued to put poisonous insecticide on your daughter's plants after i told you my dog has to walk right by there. the outlook is not good for the plants.

So, that's what's going on here. I keep on keeping on. I've been spending more time on Facebook because I find it easier to write a one line status "report" than a blog post. (Also, it's easier to pretend on there.) I still read my regular blogs (but rarely comment, sorry). I am toying with the idea of starting a new blog, where I review books I've read - just for me, not for pay although that would be cool.

I expect I'll get around to posting more sometime. Perhaps when I'm less irritable, hmm?