Anxiety

 Dear Will:

I’m going to the city that we shared in joy for fifteen years … or at least we were joyful until our last trip during which you had a visible stroke and then shit yourself on the way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I had so much grief then.  So much grief right now. I’ve been crying off and on since yesterday afternoon when I went to visit your grave.  Your coffin is probably gone by now but your carcass, full of formaldehyde as it is, is probably still lookin like yourself, floating in a dirt bath.

Right now I’m sitting in the RDM airport and there is NO ONE around me.  I’ve never flown a red eye in the states before.  It will be interesting. I decided not to take a nap at the hotel when I get in but go to breakfast and then to a fancy schmancy church.  And then in the afternoon I’m seeing Elizabeth McGovern as Ava Gardner.  Very excited for that.  And then I’ll either crash or pick up one more play.

I’m going to move from Bend, sooner rather than later.  I’ll be leaving your grave and our house and all our Bend memories behind. Bend is so different than it was when you settled there. I miss our regular life together so much.  I miss your body so much.  But I am so grateful you left me with enough money to pay people to touch me and listen to me, even if I’m saying things the other person doesn’t want to hear.

My recent work with Sarah has been very powerful. I can talk to her in ways I’ve never talked with other therapists, telling my point of view of what’s going on based on my understanding of communication theories. (Ie, I sometimes deconstruct the appointment as we’re speaking). We worked on your negging the last time, worked on how you insulted my body, especially that one time, and how you never told my I was beautiful or even pretty or attractive. Because I was fat. You built on my family’s stated perception of me.

Reminds me of the Kandor and Masteroff song, “So What”

When I had a man, my figure was dumpy and fat
So what?
Through all of our years he was so disappointed in that
So what?
Now I have what he missed and my figure is trim
But he lies in a churchyard plot
If it wasn't to be that he ever would see
The uncorseted of me
So what?

For the sun will rise and the moon will set
And you learn how to settle for what you get
It will all go on if we're here or not
So who cares? So what?

Sarah asked if you’d ever shot off your mouth rudely and critically to others.  I told her the Dorothy story and the Bob Barber story.  We did EMDR around that particular remark about my boobs and how hurtful it was (in the fucking middle of making love). Maybe that’s why you told one medium that you were mean to me and you were sorry about that.

There was so much that, in contemporary thinking, wasn’t working in our mid-Century relationship but what did work worked so very hard, worked so very well, that I can’t stop missing you, loving you. Fortunately, the pain of your absence, while continual, isn’t always at the same level. My love for the dogs, my delight in being a fan girl, and (of course) weedy weed all raise the temperature of the ice cold weight of you gone. I will have lots of fun in New York. It will be interesting to see Lee and Jay, that old married couple.  I’m not doing their kind of thing this time just to hang out with them.(the offer was a play about Jane Austen or a drag show.  Blech.  Never read Austen.  And while I admire drag performers, I don’t like most drag humor — except the humor of Pantomime Dames.) I’ll go and see them at 2:30 on Wednesday.  We don’t eat at the same time so I won’t be required to eat with them (which has often been a huge pain in the ass, especially when Lee has been in charge of dining).

I didn’t go to the women’s lunch today nor will I go to the women’s retreat as I just can’t keep explaining that “I’m in this group but I don’t identify as a woman or man.” There’s no queer group at church.

I’m taking the doll that represents you and Barry Fox. And some Snickers.

Thundershower

 Dear Will:

Photo by Rioji Iwata on Unsplash

Big thundershower happening right now. I am remembering one of our few trips to Nebraska when a big storm was going overhead. I think it may have been when we went to Bill's funeral. I couldn't remember when that was and I was shocked, after searching Ancestry, to see that it was in 1994.  Bill was five years younger than you. That was a sad time. A big funeral and so many greasy casseroles after. And one night we were there a big storm blew through. The televisions were on in two rooms of the house through the night, with worry about tornadoes. And I held you and counted the moments between the bright flashes outside and the big booms. Gradually the time between shortened and then the giant crash that came along with the lightening. And then the storm slowly moved off in the other direction and the count got longer and longer. 

That was over thirty years ago. And your longest lived brother Sam died in 2009 at age 87. You decided that you would live to a greater age than he did. And you accomplished it, by four years.

I was really scared of that Nebraska storm. It was so comforting to have you there to hold. Like a thundershirt. 

The new dog, unlike Princess Birdy, doesn't need a thundershirt because she isn't as frightened of loud noises outside as Miss Birdy was. But it does make her anxious. Mr Winston is just annoyed he has to pee on concrete. The cat is in the study on her thousand dollar chair.

I met with a friend whose spouse's funeral was week before last. She is a writer and reminded me about how healthy writing is.  I'll restart my morning pages tomorrow. 

I feel like the past three days have been getting me ready for Eugene. 

Last Day at The Haven

What I haven't seen since last September 26

 Because of the puppy, I haven't been going into The Haven in the early morning and the afternoon just isn't the same thing.  It's really been a waste of money since September and even though I cut back to $165 month, I still wasn't getting my money's worth. So I had Hosanna close out my account this afternoon and I'm typing and having my last free beer.

Carrie and Scott  (owner-founders) have fled Bend for Seattle so I no longer feel a personal connection to the place.  I need to find another spot to write and look at the river.  I've also been having more luck writing in the house these days.

My mind is already getting ready to leave Bend, no matter how much I love my house. 

My life hasn't turned out how I thought it would. I never expected to live past 30 and now here I am age 71 and by myself without any intention of being in an intimate relationship again when until December 26, 2021, being in a love relationship was the most important thing in the world to me. 

I'm not capable of a healthy, loving relationship with anybody else but the dead one. It took us 17 years to work out our best life together. I don't have that much time left. 

I've been working on the memoir as well as transcribing my handwritten "sex memoir" I wrote back in 1995 (I had wondered if I'd counted my "conquests" correctly and, yes, I had).  I'm also having fun with a group called The Narrative Method which is an online project by an art therapist. So I'm trying to be a writer again, and not just a dog walker. Doing my best to make and keep working commitments to myself.

Now I need to go home and put all the things that are scattered over countertops into their proper places so that I have a spot to put this laptop as I crank out the memories, sacred and profane.
 

Deer napping outside The Haven on my last day

 

 

Fun Pun

 For some reason my church decided to say good-bye to the summer with a Hawaiian themed service. The 13 year old boy who lives in my head (alongside Todd from Scrubs) was vewy, vewy pleased.

 

 

The tree of leies in the meeting hall