I just solicited budget feedback from all the VPs in my company. I made the information due back to me on Friday, November 13 – Friday the Thirteenth. The old me wouldn’t have done that. The new me hopes they’re all super disturbed by the whole Friday the Thirteenth thing.
Another busy week, hence, the Thursday “deeper thoughts & random happenings”. Here goes…
So AB and I are confused by this ADA sign. It’s like, “Uhhhhh, ya think?!” It’s more like the ramp’s gone – not closed. And is the sign necessary? Because there’s a fence. And a huge freaking hole in the ground. I mean, are there really any questions here? Or maybe there are so many…
AB emailed JVB and me a picture of this horse she rescued. One year ago, he was starving – death was knocking on his door. Today, he’s a healthy, happy boy. AB’s basically a saint. But when I opened the email, all I could think about is what a difference a year makes for me – a pretty damn big, sad difference.
I recently attended an hour long meeting with our accounting software provider, and I don’t remember one thing we discussed. I just tried to nod in agreement with whatever was said. I think it’s weird people are under the impression I have the capacity to think about accounting software.
As I’ve mentioned, Mark is on a health kick because he’s witnessed the fragility of life. He’s cooking us healthy dinners, which he weighs on a food scale. He’s obsessed with bison meat, because it’s less caloric and more nutritious compared to beef. I just eat it, because I don’t care about food now (beyond whether it’s healthy or not). But is bison gamey? I’m worried it is. Mark claims a bison is identical to a cow, except a bison can jump higher.
The other day I worked out in the basement as Mark turned on his “workout mix”. The contrast among songs was amazing. During my workout, I could hear any of the following phrases:
- “Bless the Lord O my Soul, O my soul, Worship his holy name”
- “I went to the moped store, said ‘Fuck it’”
- “I fell in love in the back of a cop car”
- “For the joy of the Lord is our strength”
- “Girl rev up your engine, I’ll push start your ignition”
After Matthew died, I started following some yogis on Instagram. Not too long ago, one of them posted a picture of “compass pose”. Processing it was like a total mindf*&%. So I decided to try it.
I went to coffee with my new friend, NL, and we talked about how we’re both Debbie Downer in our social circles. I admit, it must be hard, sometimes, to deal with me. I’m always like, “You never know when your time is coming,” or, “Tragedy could be just around the corner,” or, “It’s so stupid to ever think about the future.” Wommmmmp, wommmmmp… Thanks to all who’ve stuck around.
Mark called a company to seek advice on gaining corporate sponsorship for not-for-profit organizations. The operator put him on hold, and instead of hearing the typical elevator-type music, he heard sexual discussions from an erotic talk show. He told the operator when she returned to the line, and she was so embarrassed.
A co-worker whom I don’t know so well gifted me this angel statue – she said it reminds her of Matthew. It sits right by Matthew’s picture in my office. It’s a comforting image. She’s one of the good ones – that co-worker.
Mark reads a lot of my blog posts before I post them, because he’s supportive like that. Let’s just say he censors his language more than I. Every time we have the same convo – something like this…
M – “You don’t really have to say the f-bomb here, do you?”
C – “Well, yes I do. Because I was thinking ‘fuck’. And a good blog remains relatively uncensored.”
M – “But why are you thinking those things all the time?”
C – “I’m not all the time. Just when I’m writing and thinking about what happened to Matthew.”
M – “I just don’t think people are going to like this.”
C – “Well, it’s my blog.”
I usually change a couple things but leave most of it. And then, IT NEVER FAILS – I receive a comment or an email from a reader telling me he/she LOVED the exact f-bomb Mark was questioning. It’s happened like five or six times now, and I pretty much love it every time it does, because then Mark must admit I know best, which, he will.
Throw-back Thursday to the time I found this fortune stuck to Mark’s shoe. I love the well-placed shit-colored stain.
So the vacuum man from my office is super creepy – he looks like a ghost. One time, I tried to take a picture of him to send to AB and JVB, but my camera flashed, and he saw me, so I think he hates me. The other day I worked after hours, in the dark (still do that), and he opened my door and came within two feet of me, before he noticed me. I thought he was going to murder me (I’m paranoid everyone is going to die now), but instead, we just had a super awkward conversation. Then, I took another picture of him, but he didn’t see this time.
For the past 3.5 months, my OB has served as my therapist, seeing me once a week, then once every two weeks, then once every four weeks. A few weeks ago I saw her, and I was basically a disaster. She handed me the number to a therapist. Think she’s trying to tell me something?
Can anyone tell us (AB, JVB, and me) why the basement button on the elevator says “C” instead of “B”?
I am dreading Halloween for obvious reasons.
My blog helps me learn geography with the stats map. I wish someone from Russia would read, because then a huge area of the map would light up. But shout out to my Pakistan reader – I feel like you’re a loyal follower, and I love it.
Does anyone know what a furry is? My neighbor just told me, and I was shocked. So I told AB and JVB, and now we want to plan a girls’ trip in conjunction with a furry conference – preferably to Vegas. We’d do a typical Vegas trip, but we’d have the added bonus of observing the crowd in the hotel lobby. I know this sounds strange, but if you’ve read my Storage Wars post, you know I like distracting myself from my grief in unique ways.
My friend MB recently indicated it can be strange to read about Matthew and my neighbor’s crotchety underwear at the same time. I agree with her…
A loss mom with a similar story recently found me on Faces of Loss and reached out via email. She sent me her cell number, so I texted her, and I received a reply telling me I had the wrong number. I rechecked the number like 400 times, and then I decided someone must be catfishing me. Or that someone was trying to steal my identity, which WHY would anyone want MY identity?! But it ended up being just a typo. She was actually very lovely, and I enjoyed connecting – hey Tammy!
I ran into a random lady from my building in the elevator. She asked me about Matthew, and I told her he died. She was very nice and apologetic. But it was heart wrenching to watch her react to my tragedy. Sometimes, my tragedy starts to feel “normal”. Not because the excruciating pain has lessened, but because I’m living it each day. And, I’ve connected with several other loss moms, so it’s started to feel like everyone loses a child. But there’s nothing “normal” about losing a child, and her reaction reminded me of that. I almost had a heart attack. And then I cried in my car.
A fellow loss mom and I are super frustrated with the medical community and would love to become maternal fetal medicine specialists as a way to honor our lost children and make a difference in this world. It’s super unlikely – it’s like 10 years of school. But, I’m still daydreaming about it 😉
A stranger commented to tell me she thinks of Matthew when she sees blue jays. It brought just a little light to my day. If you’re reading this, Sarah, thanks! Words can’t express how much that meant to us and our families!
Mark visited Matthew’s grave without me. It makes me sad to think of him there alone (though he had Howie with him). We haven’t been to the cemetery together in a while and need to go soon. It’s so sad – to be visiting a cemetery at age 30, or at any age for that matter. But we need to leave Matthew a pumpkin or something – I just wish we were dressing him up in an adorable Halloween costume instead.
At work we’re in the thick of budget season and headed into interim audit time. For all of 2015 (until July 13), I marked Matthew’s impending arrival by precisely these job responsibilities. I knew I wouldn’t be available for budgets and audits – I’d do what I could from home. It all feels so wrong now – to be working on the same things I did at this time last year. It’s all the same. Yet, everything’s so excruciatingly different.
It still seems as though the whole world should stop, because I’m still frozen in my grief. I need time to catch up. I’m drowning.