Friday, November 21, 2014

An Elaborate Elaboration

I read over the post I made yesterday (posted just after midnight today, actually), and I wanted to go a little further into those very dark subjects that I touched upon.

No, I shall not be offing myself anytime soon. I have no such desire. But, reflecting upon things, I realize that the notion of self-destruction and personal annihilation is a theme that winds itself through what I have experienced as the grieving process.

Another off-the-wall reaction to Steve's death, even after a year of trying to process it is "You killed him." It's a Harry Potter approach: I should have been able to whip out my wand, wave it with an incantation and made Steve stay here with me forever. So I'm the one who let him down.

With this mode of thinking, you look for all the moments that you could have stepped in and saved the day. Even with something as uncontrollable as stage 4 cancer, why didn't I have the knowledge, that Heloisesque bit of homespun insight that would have rectified the situation ("Inhaling warm peanut butter will remove even the most stubborn tumors!")?

Turn that delusional thinking on its head and it becomes Steve being the selfish son of a bitch who went and left me alone right when our love and life together was blossoming into what we knew it could be. It's thoughtless, just cold, to turn around and die like that. Just see if I buy him a wedding anniversary present this year!

Waking up wanting to die (or with that thought in my head) is returning to the conscious knowledge, each day, that I am alone and I don't want to be. Some kind of magical thinking (which we all share) convinced me that we would be together forever. It was just that good, that rewarding, to share my life with him. And just when I trusted that he was sharing his back, it up and left him. And if that's not his fault, it must somehow be mine. The Western mindset requires someone to blame.

These modes of magical, nonsensical thinking swim through my head every day. As someone who was trying to convince me to accept Jesus into my heart once told me, "If you believe in flying saucers, why can't you believe in the risen savior?"

OK…Let me mull that one over.

There are lots of extraterrestrial-based shows on cable these days. My favorite is Ancient Aliens, where people postulate the most absurd things. They started with the "Chariots of the Gods" premise and, over the decades, have enlarged and embellished upon the concept.

So, the aliens built the pyramids. The aliens drew the Nazca lines. The aliens parted the Red Sea for Moses after handing him the 10 commandments. The Ark of the Covenant was an alien telecommunications device. Jesus ascended to the Mother Ship. The aliens caused the Renaissance. The aliens built Disneyland.

Aliens also supposedly provided us with the transistor, the integrated circuit, Teflon, Mylar, the internet and self-flushing toilets. Why is it humans can come up with an intriguing concept and then turn it into an elaborate silly and stilted belief system that makes them look crazy? And why do these people not accept that humans were as intelligent, insightful and innovative thousands of years ago as they are now?

Give us the time and the resources and in a decade we can go from unreliable exploding rockets to landing people on the moon. Why couldn't an army of workers build a pyramid in a lifetime? People are incredible at whatever they set out to do. Our compassion is just as expansive as our ability to hate each other. We are wonders; it's our choices that get us into trouble.

And what are my choices right now? I'm not sure. Am I using the grief to block my way, or do I have to surmount it in order to continue on? I'm not sure. Part of going through a life-changing process like this is that you just don't have the answers experience provides. Friends, even parents dying is one kind of grief. Losing your spouse is another thing altogether.

I keep falling back on what so many people have told me: Give yourself room, let things happen in their own time, all will be well in the end. I noted today that, having taken off my wedding ring six weeks ago on the anniversary of Steve's death, I still have a dent where it lived on my finger. And I still catch myself reaching to absentmindedly fiddle with a ring that's no longer there.

These things do take time.

Death was nowhere in my mind as I woke up today. I'm feeling good about life. It's more likely that chronic procrastination is my immediate enemy, not self-loathing or self-destruction. Generating distractions to keep me from moving forward is my greatest obstacle right now.

This puts me in mind of my favorite line from the film "Up":

"SQUIRREL!"

Oblivion Is Just Too Boring

Another two weeks with nothing really interesting to report. The time has been taken up mostly with putting together the chamber of commerce directory. It's been a longer process this year, since I decided to forgo working in columns, which means making each spread, each page, a design on its own, and yet congruent throughout the book.

Of course, the directory portion is in columns; kind of hard to create linear, alphabetized entries without having them fall into rows. But the front of the book is all open, with lots of negative space. I like it. More important, so does Paul at the chamber, who signs the checks.

I met with Kelly (the powerhouse of the chamber who seems to make everything go) last Friday. She is heading up proofing the back of the directory and coordinating ad sales (which, thankfully, are closed now, although Kelly slipped a full-page ad in under the wire and Paul added one today). 

At our meeting, I told her that the front of the book would be done tomorrow (the 21st). She called back on Monday and said Paul needed it on Wednesday, so the last couple days have been working like mad to get as much done as possible. I handed off the PDF of the front at 3 p.m. on Wednesday, and Paul stopped by today with the corrections they'd done.

We went over the corrections and revisions up in the office this afternoon, and Paul said he would be more than willing to have me design the book next year from La Crosse (I did not ask; he offered). "We do it all by e-mails now anyway," he said. At least I know this chunk of work will follow me across state lines.

Meanwhile, my mental condition has been going this way and that. I talked with my friend Vena, whose husband died in September. I was on the phone with her last night (Kittie was over there visiting, so I got to talk to both of them), and Vena was very open about us being in the same boat. Talking to her, I realized that I still cry a lot (a couple times a day, though for only a minute or two), that I'm lonely and sad most of the time, and that I am pitifully unable to enjoy being alone. 

And although I don't consider myself suicidal, there are at least two mornings a week when I wake up with the thought "I just want to die" at the front of my mind. On bad mornings I might even say it aloud. Then my eyes open, the cat is sitting up on the bed, waiting for me to rise, go downstairs and get her breakfast. Once I collect myself, stretch out the stiff muscles and head down the stairs, I'm feeling better, focusing on what the day will bring. 

The one time in my life I seriously considered a suicidal thought (a winter evening in 1972 in Ithaca, New York, when I had nowhere to be), I ended up thinking, "Fuck 'em; I won't give them the satisfaction, they're not worth it." In a few days I was in Syracuse, spending the holidays with an aunt I never met, Aunt Kit, who ended up sharing the last few decades of her life living with my mother.

And with all those mornings waking up wanting "to die," I have never expended any mentation on just how I would do it; the thought never goes that far before I'm fully conscious. It was only a week ago that I realized if I committed suicide, I'd have to leave a note, and I would never stoop to write such a whiny, self-pitying or even explanatory tome. 

Then I had a realization about that little voice that grumbled, "I want to die," as I awoke. It was really saying, "I don't want to live." There's a big difference, because you can be alive and never live, but dead is dead.

And that's agoraphobia: being alive but not living. Existing without leaving a mark. That's just fucked up. Steve was the one who always kicked me in the ass when I wanted to give in to my agoraphobia, and that's one of the millions of things I miss about him. Another is doing the dishes after I make dinner. I've gotten good at keeping up with the dishes on my own, so I'm sure, with a little practice, I can kick myself in my own ass.

Working on the directory has really helped me to feel better in the last couple weeks, but sitting in front of the computer for too long is not good for my back, so I have started putting an hour and a half on my phone's timer, so that I don't sit at the computer for longer than that. A ten-minute break is all I need to keep the muscles from cramping up.

I just got the good news that Kittie and Dave are coming down for Thanksgiving, which means I've got to get a turkey this weekend. They came down for Thanksgiving 2012, and that was when David discovered Punkin Chunkin on the science channel (people design machines and try to hurl pumpkins the farthest). After about two hours of it, Steve got irritated and asked Dave to turn on something else. Afterward, he said, "No more Punkin Chunkin ever." It was one of the few times I knew him to be so inflexible, but the stuff really bugged him.

During one of the many times Dave came down on the weekend and helped with the remodel and keeping me sane, I told him that I would rescind the edict. "You can watched Punkin Chunkin as much as you want." So when Kittie mentioned on the phone while with Vena that they might come down, I checked out when Punkin Chunkin would air. I recorded Punkin Chunkin 2013 this evening, and the show from this year will be airing on Saturday after Thanksgiving, so Dave is guaranteed at least four hours of gourd-hurling fun.

And I have a suspicion that we will be digging through the packed boxes downstairs to find stuff that we need to make Thanksgiving dinner, as I packed thinking there would be no holiday celebrations again this year. I'm beginning to realize that the universe happens the way it wants, offering us choices much like Schrodinger's cat got. We're just vain enough to think we're making all those life decisions by ourselves.

Looking at it that way, God seems like a logical conclusion.


Friday, November 7, 2014

Green Achers

I'm sitting here in the living room, watching one of the several films I've recorded on the DVR ("Outrageous Fortune" with Shelly Long and Bette Midler). We're in the midst of another heat wave (yes, in November), the windows are open and the fan is on. In November. It was 88º today, and it's going to be 90º tomorrow, with no real end in sight. But at least the evenings are in the low 60s, so the house has a chance to cool off.

The gardeners were here today (which is normal) and they spread manure over the bare patches of the lawn that used to be bushes up against the wall. So my senses are diametrically opposed: listening to the traffic on the 210 freeway, sounding like industrial white noise, while the farm smells of fresh animal dung waft through the window.

I never heard back from Regina, the cleaning woman, so I called a chamber member (at least they were last year) and it looks like I'll even save a couple bucks by going with them. The woman was bend-over-backwards enthusiastic on the phone, telling me to call on the weekend if I wanted. So I'm thinking I'll call back tomorrow (Saturday) and arrange the whole thing. And they do windows.

Looking around, there's not that much to clean (floor, kitchen, windows, carpets), but little stuff, like cleaning out the slots the windows slide in and getting the remnants of wood glue off the floors.

I had my first drink in months this evening, and I have to say, I should be doing more drinking. It's a kind of self-medication, taking away the sinking feelings I get when I think about moving forward and making things happen, moving out and moving on. I seem to be preoccupied with movements.

This sign speaks to me
I saw this photo on Facebook today, and I had to laugh out loud. This is exactly what makes me hesitate moving forward. And when I look at the absurdity of it, I have to laugh.

I am experiencing what Fritz Perls called the cataclysmic expectation: If I make any single move, the world will fall apart. It petrifies, it ossifies, and it has the illusion of safety.

Gees, I'm busting my own balls here. I just need to focus and move. Focus and move. But in the back of my mind, I recall my visit to Wisconsin last March and all the cold and all the snow. I'm thinking that, perhaps, holding off until now to put the house on the market was really wise, looking at the subzero weather that's about to descend on that very same locale this week. Don't want to be driving in that any more than I have to.

Perhaps all my self-loathing at being so unorganized and scattered is really just God making sure that I don't hit the road to my new home while winter grips the Midwest.

Can't I simply accept that things are unfolding just as they should, and that my hand-wringing and personal tribulation are just a way to time things out so they happen in perfect order at the perfect time? In the midst of chaos, can there be a plan?

Could be. Could be. We shall see,

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

He's Got L'Eggs (and He Knows How to Use Them)

The headline is a throwback to the '60s or '70s and refers to a pair of panty hose in a plastic egg. Not being an aficionado of panty hose, I don't even know if they still make them. But, golly, it was mid-Century brand marketing at its best.

And it refers to walking. Moving. Taking care of business. Being able to think about doing chores without adding "if I can stand up" to the sentence. I'm back to making lists. Like today, I was out on the patio with my morning coffee and noted an accumulation of pine needles from the hell tree (a ponderosa pine) in the front yard. They're those long ones, with three needles to a…what?…stalk?

In any case, they get into all the plants and are nearly impossible to pick out without tearing up leaves and branches and such. If the tree did not provide excellent shade to the house, I would try to get the Homeowners' Association to cut it down. So, after a while (and especially after a rain, as we had for Halloween night) the needles pile up on the patio and it starts looking like a forest floor.

Before I went inside, I stood up, picked up the broom and swept the needles into a pile. Wow. It was an automatic thing, and I didn't stop and wonder if it would kill my back. And it didn't.

Waking up stiff now means something much different than it did in my younger days. I get up with a slight soreness in the low back. It starts to complain as I move around, but I just push through it, stretch the muscles and complete my current task. After about an hour of moving around, things loosen up, and I'm walking freely before I pour my second cup of coffee.

Until now, I've been limited to one or two things a day (do the laundry, do the shopping, take a shower, take out the trash, vacuum: pick two). Today I've been up and going pretty much like normal. After something like shopping or laundry, which requires lugging up to 20 pounds up and down flights of stairs, I have to sit down and relax the back. But in five minutes' time, I'm back up and pain free. I still do get discomfort later at night, but that's just tired muscles. When I start walking with a stoop, I know it's time to hit the sack and rest the back.

Halloween was non-eventful. That's the price you pay for living in a gated building. I still buy a sack of candy and put it in the popcorn bowl (just like we did when I was a kid), but there were no trick-or-treaters. I stayed in and watched "American Horror Story: Freak Show" on FX. A very disturbing show, but perfect for Halloween. And you won't see Jessica Lange in a more twisted role. It's definitely not for the young.

So today I did a load of laundry, went shopping, swept the patio and plan to actually cook a dinner for myself (I've been doing eggs and toast or sandwiches up to this point: tonight I'm attempting to make a turkey meatloaf). Standing in the kitchen cooking is very uncomfortable, as the counters are just low enough to make me bend slightly while working.

Standing and working are the bellwether of how my back is doing. Two weeks ago I couldn't stand for two minutes without crumbling into a chair for relief. Last night I stood in the kitchen for almost 15 minutes and got back to the living room without cramping up, stooping over or leaning on stuff. I have decided that tomorrow I'm going to start the daily walk. Nothing else loosens things up like walking.

The directory is hitting its stride, and I finally got the spreadsheets I needed to start actually laying it out, page by page. Paul (chamber CEO) really seems to like the layout this year, and I think it will be really nice once I get everything in place. Between editorial copy, photos and ads, piecing together an 88-page book can be daunting. But I like puzzles.

And another client, Electric Power Group, is putting together the copy for its second newsletter, so that's even more work for me. And since the template for the job was designed last time around, this one should be a slam dunk.

It's so nice to simply react to my surroundings. When the bed sheets need changing, I change them. When the cat needs playing with, I play. This is really the first day I could say that without the caveat of "if the back's okay."

But the biggest relief is that, for the most part, the referred nerve pain down the legs is gone, although it does twinge for a minute or two when I lie down flat in bed. And when I wake up in the morning, I still think "what will happen when I stand up," but it's usually a pleasant surprise at how limber I am after six or eight hours of sleep.

So now I can start doing all those little "outside" chores, like getting a hair cut, doing some clothes shopping, and planning a daily walk without worrying about the back seizing up halfway through. According to my chiropractor, this occurred because of overactivity followed by inactivity. Like my late friend Robert Lee Norton said, "Just keep moving."

When I was working outside the house, I got the daily exercise of commuting on the train to work. When Steve was alive, we were active and would go out and do things together. But since he died, I really haven't been doing much in the way of activity.

My agoraphobia puts the brakes on simply going out for a stroll. Until now, that is. I can override it when there's a good reason. Like pushing through the morning back discomfort, I can push through the anxiety that keeps me from going outside when there is a good reason, like being able to walk. And going up and down the stairs in my house is not enough to be called exercise; that's about all I was doing before this all occurred. One thing is for certain: now I'm going to do everything I can to avoid this from happening again. I really don't need to be an old man until I have to.

Today at the store, the checkout lady (who knows me) gave me a senior discount. She was nice enough not to ask if I needed help out to the car, though. I still have five years until I can retire, and the idea is not palatable to me. I want to keep working, albeit part time, as long as I can.

I have calls out to Regina (the cleaning ladies) and Triple Screens to get the last of the work done on the house before it goes on the market. I know there's going to be one more round of handyman type stuff (carbon monoxide detectors installed, water heater strapped to the wall, etc.) before the city signs off on the house going up for sale.

But for the present, I relax. And now, on to the meatloaf!