Dear Reader,
I am living between doses of Tylenol right now.
Let me back up, because that’s not the toughest thing. We lost Barry’s spunky stepmother, Mary, and her funeral is later this week. She battled with MS for years, and we are all grateful she’s no longer in pain, but it’s a loss.
I cannot talk about it right now. Word Raccoon has said thank you no thank you, we cannot do grief just now because we are battling headaches. The nasty, can’t write, can’t think kind.
We are grieving, just under the surface. We will join the rest of the family to remember her and I am sure I will have more to say about Miss Mary at a later date. She’s been in my life a very long time.
If deaths were fireworks, I’d say we’ve had a display going off in recent years. Which is not okay with me.
WR and I have been at odds, too. Dealing with lighter topics (because the headache lurks, beneath it all, and I’m trying to run it off with levity), yesterday instead of writing I watched a decluttering video and went through WR’s earring stash. And gave a substantial portion of them away, which enraged her. But what good is it to have so many you can’t find what you’re looking for, WR?
(We came across a lock of my mother’s hair in with the jewelry that hasn’t find a permanent home yet. It was a tender yet too-soon memory.)
This week is stacked, starting with tomorrow’s teeth cleaning and hair appointment. Not together, but an hour apart.
Didn’t I mention something about Spalding’s virtual homecoming? IDK if I’m up for it. Or the last Twelfth Night discussion call.
As I said, we are surviving between headache showers, the acetaminophen as an umbrella that works for a time. It’s either the weather or a side effect of my medicine. But you don’t want a doctor poking around about a headache because that could go in so many directions. Nope. We will continue taking sinus medicine and Tylenol and hope for the best for now.
But it doesn’t make us want to write so much. Or read. It does make us want to watch those decluttering videos curled in a chair.
The next week, nothing will be normal. No one’s fault but WR likes her writing schedule.
Oh, despite (or around, actually) today’s sparkling headache, we finished papering the kitchen accent wall. We put things back on the wall for now.
We prepped the curtain for the kitchen window and then discovered the curtain rod was too short. We cried. Because why not. We looked for one in town and did not discover one the right length.
It is too early to go to bed and if we try to sleep, we will not be able to, but we will watch videos and wish we could sleep in.
I am so glad the sun is shining for now, and yet I’m falling asleep on the porch. Before dark.
Hoping for the words soon. Hoping for a stretch of time with more sun, metaphorical and otherwise. This is getting rough.
Drema