I Can Type Through Closed Eyes
How can someone, let’s say me, go from a woman who was thrilled only a night ago when Alsaid he…
This is the fourth night in a row I am not getting any quality of sleep. Quality, an interesting word, I think.
Quality of life, quality of living, quality of spending time together. Now suddenly this seven letter word can’t seem to release itself from my pointy tongue this morning.
I am not usually awake at 7am but here I am. Sitting here with a half-empty cup of coffee. A smoldering blue line of smoke rising from my ashtray. My pink long-sleeved nightgown with Christmas gifts for its scene. I think this is to remind me that it is truly the Christmas season we are about to enter into.
As I look out through half-slit blinds I see the first ray of daylight peeking through. Another night has come and gone. Al has just gone to sleep and I am sitting here bitchy inside. I know I am tired but I don’t know how to fix it.
Yesterday Al went to the Day Program. I had an appointment I had to attend to and then I scurried to the grocery store; like a squirrel going after nuts to store for the winter. Except I was replenishing our kitchen cupboards and refrigerator.
Grocery shopping has become a chore more than a pleasure. Maybe a lot of you don’t see pushing a noisy, wire, gum stuck on the wheeled cart down the aisles a pleasure, but I always did. It was a chance to look out for people I know, a chat here and there, looking for the bargains.
But anymore it is do I have everything I need for Al. Will he be able to eat this meat or not? Do I have the apple juice, prune juice, the kind of snacks he eats. Which by the way the latest rage in our house is Little Debbie Star Crunch or Kellogg’s Pop Tarts. Do I have his yogurt. I hope I have enough macaroni and cheese since he can eat this pretty easy. Do I have enough pancake batter? Oh that reminds me, do I have enough chocolate chips left at home for the week? We have to add the chips to the batter.
Ever since Al has become worse he extremely enjoys chocolate and sweets. Oh crap, I didn’t check the amount of chocolate ice-cream. I better pick up another box. Can you believe I take a list with me also?
This is how scatter brained I am it seems lately. In between the list I need to be home running the washer, which will be Al’s bedding. I really should be sweeping and dusting his room since he is gone right now.
Have I changed my own sheets this week? Oh forget that, change the sheet on the couch, because this is where I have laid my head this past week. A much shorter walk to Al’s bed then my bedroom.
I feel like my life is out of control. It is spinning but never stopping. I look at that empty couch and dream of my head on that pillow but also realize that the helper will be here in less than an hour and I am still not dressed. I haven’t touched my hair or brushed my teeth.
I did manage to give Rhino fresh food and water. Saving the cleaning of the cat box for when my eyes are more awake. That fat cat is in on my comfy bed, sleeping on my extra pillow. Al has finally drifted off to sleep, and so here I sit, the wicked witch of the west.
Feeling sorry for myself, pouring my tired thoughts out to you. Obviously looking for a pity party. It is funny as I look back at what I wrote. A grown woman, full of love and compassion. Empathy is my middle name and yet I am definitely green-faced and cat claws are showing, just like the photo above.
And all this is from a silly thing called lack of sleep. Do you think I will turn into Dorothy’s worst nightmare and remain this way? Lord I hope not. When the caregiver comes and breakfast and medications are over, I am going to find my pillow and we are going to meet somewhere in the middle. I don’t care if it is daylight or not.
How can a person who has what they need in life be so emotional? I woke up this morning
early to the bell jingling from Al, letting me know he is awake. I have never done this before, but I told him it is so early, couldn’t he just go back to sleep for a tad longer? He said nothing but the room got quiet and he did not get up for another forty-five minutes, so I lay back down in my bed and snuggled up under the warm blankets.
I lay there, but immediately my mind started doing the same crap it does so many times when my body is not physically busy. It spins, it won’t settle, it starts going back in time and moving quickly, like watching a tornado come your way, to the front and center.
I hate it, I hate it so bad. I never go back in time too early. I never revisit my childhood. It always goes back to the time when dad was ill. I relive the wonderful times that I was privileged to take care of him while he was sick. My mind goes over the mean woman, that went from nice to meaner than the wicked witch of the west from the Wizard Of Oz, when she found out he had bone cancer. I relive every word, every action she did and I watched my father fall between the cracks with her, while I tried so hard to remind him that he could leave her clutches and go back home, that I would care for him.
I then move up to five years ago when I started caring for my brother. The guilt that I carry because in the beginning, it was not the special love I had for my dad that would keep no one from doing what I was doing for dad, but now I was caring for my brother, because he needed me.
There was never a great bond between my brother and me growing up, and I can not feel guilt over this, as we were taught not to bond, to just sit and behave. Now four years later, I will do anything to keep my brother happy and safe, even tell dentists off!
How can I sit here only being up two hours and want to cry my eyes out? How can I feel this way when I have my bills paid, and Al is confused but in good spirits, and there is food on the table, and I have so many good friend. How can I be so darn selfish?
It is a pity party, isn’t it? Sometimes I believe it is, and other times, I am not so sure. It seems to be something that just pops up out of nowhere. Maybe it is the holidays coming, maybe it is the stress of wondering how I am going to buy groceries for the Thanksgiving meal, or get the items needed for our new make and bake Christmas.
I worry too darn much, but can’t seem to quit doing it, and I get so disgusted with myself, I want to just go hide under my blankets and go back to sleep. I have no right nor reason to feel this way, but here I am, ready to sob but can not force the tears to come.
I am doing a load of laundry, and I have gotten Al through his breakfast and medications. I even have my favorite television running in the background, The Golden Girls, and I have changed Al’s wet bed and have emptied and cleaned the commode, but inside, I want to sleep.
I have so much to be thankful for, so where is my smile. I so wish I would knock this crap off. I am mourning, I am mourning for the loss of my parents, the loss of a once close sister, the loss of all that was once so common and familiar.
I can not change it, I can not bring back what once was, and I know as I sit here, life will never be the same. I just want to stop, pick up my heart, lift the corners of my lips into a smile, and get excited about the day, but so far it is not happening.
So if I know what I have, why am I allowing this to happen. Hopefully, it will change before noon arrives.