Normally I’m here more than this, and I know this, but I’m still not quite ‘me’ yet. I really want to be though, both ‘me’ and ‘here’. And I’m happy to report that yesterday morning was the first time I woke up at 6 a.m., a ‘me’ time. Since being back, I’ve been sleeping until after 9 a.m. and waking groggy from the sleeping pills (not that I like pills, but they were the only thing that was stopping the tossing and turning because counting the sheep that are gazing outside my window hasn’t even helped). And sleeping in until 9 a.m. messes with the head of an early bird, routine freak like me.
So let’s see… I spent the first two days back sleeping. That was nice. I felt exhausted and so I slept, with ease. And then it was like I slept myself out, and couldn’t sleep anymore, so the tossing and turning started, and then the groggy mornings. And the groggy mornings turned into strange wandering days.
It’s a weird space in time. It’s like, my world stopped because my daddy died, but the rest of the world keeps spinning, and if you don’t find away to hop back on, you get left behind. So that’s been me, trying to hop back on, I feel like I’m the girl next up on double-dutch. I’m watching the jump ropes spinning spinning spinning, and I’m pacing the rhythm, and ready to jump in, but I can’t quite get my timing right, so I stand watching, and waiting.
Most of my days I’ve spent walking in circles around my house, not able to sit still and let my mind rest, but not able to focus on any one task. Except for ironing and vacuuming, that’s been easy (how very fun for me). It’s been warm here and the wrinkly warm weather clothes have all been unpacked and ironed while I re-watched seasons one and two of Real Housewives of New Jersey (that Danielle is coocoo for cocopuffs isnt’ she?). And since Fifty has decided to take off his winter coat, the non-stop vacuuming has been keeping me busy. It would be really nice if he would just unzip it and hang it up instead of taking it off in furry pieces and leaving it all over the floor. We’ll have to work on that for next year.
But I haven’t been a complete walking around in circles hermit. Le Petit Village has come out of hibernation so there was a BBQ at The Honey House where Mr Honey tut-tut-ted at the Spanish wine I brought (only French wine for Mr Honey you know) and a BBQ at Brother-in-Law’s where I got to give La Petite her bath, which definitely has been the highlight of the last few weeks. And guess who she looks like… Papa! That’s who.
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