SO MUCH TO DO

Notwithstanding my earlier post about Barbara, I feel reasonably well. I did go through about 45 minutes of a "what the fuck is up with my life and what I am going to do" panic attack. Surprisingly, a short doze helped allay that for the moment. I got up and got back to work on getting my house back in order.

And while it took two beers to accomplish it, I do feel better about what I have in mind for projects, where the materials are, and even an inkling of how to get started on some small things. Again, not done, not perfect, (after all there are some silks and velvets not stored immediately with their own kind), but getting there.

I have been kind of emotional? vulnerable? sad? something along those lines all day, but, again, not outrightly depressed or bummed except for that brief pre-doze down. I also watched The King's Speech, which was actually as good as the buzz. I was quite moved by it. If any of you liked that film, I have to recommend Pat Barker's RegenerationTrilogy. Barker deals with the trauma and treatment of soliders and dissidents in WWI England. At least one volume was made into a movie awhile back.

My lesson for today was that I might be making more progress than I think I am. I did keep at it. Pillow views of Cooder.

Cooder looks either like a satisfied Dutch burgher in a Hals painting or Jabba the Hut. And be nice, she is my kitty.

And post post script. After I posted, I did the dishes, emptied the trash to the downstairs bin, flossed my teeth, and made two batches of tea to steep tonight to be iced tomorrow. So there.

SOMEONE ELSE ON SUICIDE

Barbara's memorial is this weekend. I wish that I could go. In my current financial state, it is just not possible. Folks are signing up and leaving messages on the FB page Denis and Erik made for her.

This is an excerpt from another's blog entry. I highly recommend reading the whole danged thing.

"Of course, it may be possible that some could commit suicide to hurt people, or due to some madness or mental illness other than depression. ... it is a choice that is, not just personal, but profoundly private. I cannot adequately convey what my despair feels like. It is fundamentally ineffable. Pre-verbal. It simply arrives unannounced as an immense, non-negotiable fact, and it speaks the most uncomfortable truths imaginable. The pain of others is, I must assume, as much a mystery to them as mine is to me, and beyond my understanding.


Here's the link to the blog. 

DARKNESS WINS AGAIN?

How does it get so late?

I worked on my boxes of "stuff" today, pulling out some things with a mind to sell them. I organized my sewing and craft supplies much more than they have ever been. I am still not quite done with the little odds and ends and putting them away, but that should be accomplishable tomorrow.

I had to take this one to the vet tonight. She wasn't meowing at me nor jumping on the bed nor chasing Cooder nor any of her usual hi-jinks. She was sleeping under a chair and not very interested in anything. Thanks to Mom for covering Miep's bill. Results tomorrow night. 

This poem was posted on Friends of Barbara Sue Beaver. She is still on my mind. And I often think of her standing on the bridge and wonder what she could have felt.

for Barbara

scratch and scream your feelings raw
give the scab its due

rant and rage against this earth
that feels more pain than you

piety and platitudes
nothing real is said

keen and keening intercede
for living, not for dead

beg and bargain, plead and moan
as all believers do

preach against this hollow hell
as if you had a clue

fear and fright and friendlessness
hopelessness and pain

how dare you give a flying fuck
when darkness wins again


- Arturo Galster

DEATH WILL LEAVE YOU STANDIN' AND CRYIN'

I admit it. I am stoned into silence by shock. There are so many disparate thoughts and emotions roiling beneath my stunned heart.

Without a doubt, this is a "there but the grace of ..." moment. KarHu (as opposed to KatHu) had called me a couple of times in the past week, but I was too deep in my own tsuris to answer until this evening. KarHu sounded strangely wooden and I asked if she were angry with for me for not responding sooner. After a moment, she told me that a friend had jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge a week ago.

BSB was another aging single woman who had struggled with depression for many, many years. In the last couple of years, she had lost a job she loved to a younger, non-compassionate, ambitious younger boss. BSB had been a book rep for Chronicle Books and she loved her job enough that I saw her working while we were browsing at a Barnes and Noble while waiting for a movie. Although it took a few years for her to succumb, BSB never really recovered from that loss. That was not her reason for choice, but she just didn't ever seem happy again.

Tonight would be a good night for some single malt. I had to make do with butter and a baguette. And a listen to Mozart's Requiem. I keep thinking of the blues song, "Another Man Done Gone."

Death Don't Have No Mercy in this land. But I do think Barbara Sue feels better now.