Decidedly in, I wish I'd made plans to go out. There was a Dyke Delicious event. Some friends I haven't seen in quite a while had planned to attend.
But I didn't. In I stayed. Afraid I would present as too gloomy.
Much like last year. I went hoping the event would shake me out of the gloom.
But it didn't. Too new. Too raw.
And so, decidedly in. Both son and daughter are working and the early day hope was for art to happen.
But, such has not been the case. All day the simplest task turned into a major production, leading to a mountain of frustration, culminating in my yelling at a customer service rep, telling him to fuck the fuck off. Fuck, fucking idiot.
(Remember way back when? see no. 81)
I am feeling queasy but I'm pretty sure it is the bad beer, not the f-u-c-k word.
Dammit. I should have gone out. I should have pushed through, made the extra effort.
But I didn't. Here I sit, decidedly in, having had my fill of bad beer and decent vodka, about to shower away a tear-streaked face, and trying not to dwell on her birth date near the end of this month.
Here I sit, raw with a realization that I while I am a mother celebrated by her own son and daughter (thank you both for your kindness and thoughtfulness) the overwhelming identity is that of a daughter without a mother to celebrate . . .
in the flesh.
Too new. Too raw. Still. . . . so, no celebration in the traditional sense; no feast, no fuss.
But an honor . . a must.
So, here's to you, to us, to them.
Skoal.
