All that Glitters...

So things aren't what I thought they'd be. Almost four months later and we're still not completely moved in to the new apartment. Things are all a mess. It drives me insane. I hate not having things in order. We never had the housewarming party. We never had the birthday celebration either. And of course, now we're fighting. The honeymoon is officially over.

I knew it was going to happen at some point. I just didn't expect it to happen so soon. I suppose I wouldn't mind the fighting as much if I had seen it coming. But it comes out of nowhere. The worst part is the crying. It's awful. My face gets puffy and my lips seem to swell. Then there's the copious amounts of snot. Just dripping. Tissue after tissue. And then my nose is just so stuffed I can't breathe. Plus I look like a fool. And he thinks I'm just being a girl. If there was a way around it I would certainly take it.

Is it selfish of me to want the best parts of life now? I've had so many less-than-wonderful moments that I think it's time to have some highlights. It seems that's not what's in store for me. The typical ups and downs are my destiny. I suppose it's a good thing, though I have a difficult time seeing that perspective. And I'm feeling like there's far too many lows lately. One after another.

For peace of mind, I went to a movie alone. I used to do that from time to time in the past. I forgot how freeing and yet lonely it can be. I saw Julie & Julia. I enjoyed the film though critics seemed to rip it apart. I sat alone in the back of the theater, no one around except for one couple in the front of the second section. Popcorn in one hand, cherry icee in the other, I sat and let my self be absorbed into the film. Amy Adams is so sweet it's a bit sickening. And Meryl Streep is, of course, amazing. It did make me wonder about the life of Julia Child. I remember seeing her show on television and just laughing. She was just entertaining. Now that I'm older and less than gifted when it comes to cooking, I'm interested and in awe. I'm even thinking of picking up a cook book and trying out some recipes. Who'd have thought, me cooking? Something other than Mexican of course. We'll see if I can find taste test subjects.

Life moves on, whether I want it to or not. I was talking with a friend through facebook messages. She and I were both in agreement that life needs to be put on pause for a moment so we can catch up. Where does the time go? Everyone seems to ask that question so frequently. And there is no answer. If only I could catch up to where I think I should be. I'm almost 30 and I can't seem to get settled. Isn't that where I'm supposed to be? Settled? Thinking of marriage and planning a family? Maybe a nice home in which to have 2.5 children? Well, truth be told, that's where I was headed. But there's been obsticales. It's been a tough year. He says that often. And I know it has. I was there to watch it all. Of course, he doesn't let me in any further than that so I can't really tell how much impact it's had on him. I just see how worn and melancholy he's become. Which tears me apart little by little, piece by piece. I can't help him because he won't let me. Maybe I don't even have the power to help him. But he sure won't let me even try. I suppose he thinks it's something he has to do alone. I've done that before, though. And it doesn't work. Everyone needs a little help from those around them, those close to them.

For now, I guess I'll sleep in the other bedroom and try to work things out with him. And keep unpacking a box a day. Maybe by the time I finish unpacking it'll be time to pack up again. Oh well. I have to do something.

At Peace

It's finally over. Even though it's been years in the making it feels very sudden. Mrs. Booth passed late on Sunday evening. We had just been to the hospice facility to get her settled and spend some time with her. We left and had a late dinner together and planned the next few days. They had given us a timeframe. Two to three weeks they said. But I knew better. Her body was giving out. The cancer was winning out. She looked frail and generally beat.

When we were in the hospital the morphine was doing nothing for her pain. They were on to dilaudid now. And to help her rest a dose of ativan. With the combination, she was out. She barely responded to our conversation. I sat there quietly with her alone for a moment. I watched her breathe. It was shallow and regular. Then for a moment it sounded coarse and was irregular, as if she couldn't catch her breath. Her mouth opened but her eyes stayed shut. I prayed for her to take another breath. She did so. Quietly and regularly again. This happened a couple more times while I was with her. I knew in my heart we were nearing the end but I wouldn't listen. Mr. Booth came back and sat with me. Kevin was there too, just getting off security detail. We sat and joked a bit. Anything to take our minds off her poor health. Motown hits played quietly in the background in hopes of helping her find some peace in the hectic emergency department.

That was only hours before she passed. After the call came, we all headed to the facility. It was nice there. Calm, warm and soothing. Just what a hospice place should be. As I walked in, Kevin, Karen and Mr. Booth were all around Mrs. Booth's body. I looked down at her pale face. There was a hint of a smile there. The beginnings of tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back. Mr. Booth rose from the bedside and hugged me. I held him tightly, wishing I could take his pain away. Kevin walked over and bent down so I could wrap my arms around him. I held him tightly, too. I felt his shoulders give in and his tears fell, soaking my shoulder. From somewhere deep inside I felt some strength. I knew I had to be strong. I couldn't cry along with him. Not now. He finally let go and we talked. To her. To each other. Mostly, I listened. That's what I was there for. To listen and to help.

Days have passed and the funeral is near. I'm starting to feel overwhelmed with emotions. I'm so upset that she won't be here for our wedding. I wanted her to have that dance with her son. The mother-son dance. The one where she beams proudly at Kevin as he leads her around the floor in front of everyone. He won't have that now. Our children won't know her. We'll tell them stories of how wonderful she was and all the mischief she got into when she was younger but they'll only know her from photos. I can say it's not fair but that's how life goes. I know I'm being selfish but it doesn't make the feelings go away.

For now, I am relieved. She's no longer in pain. She's with Him now. He will take care of her better than we ever could. I know she'll watch over us. And in some way she'll be at the wedding.

If I Say Stop, Will It?

My head is stuffed again. I don't know how to keep it clear and organized. My usual tactics no longer seem to work.

I left for work last night not feeling quite myself. Something was amiss before he had even stopped by my house.

"Do you ever have doubts about me?"

The question had escaped my lips before I had even realized it. I had been thinking about what a friend had been saying about his girlfriend. The moment the words had left my lips I wanted to suck them back in, retract them, keep them from entering his ears. But I couldn't. He paused and and answered. And of course, I didn't really want to hear the answer in the first place, but the fact he said "yes" bothered me even more. I had nothing to say. In the middle of my chest I felt my heart sink and my stomach flipped. Paralyzed by shock I sat there, curled up in his arms with my head resting on his shoulder. I wanted to pull away. That little voice (that usually tends to be a bit of a bitch) was screaming in my head sit up and stare him in the eye. But I couldn't. Nothing would move. I'm not even sure if I had taken another breath. Everything seemed to stand still.

If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I know that I, too, have had doubts in the past. History has taught me that I just don't seem to work well in relationships. This is the best relationship I've ever had in my life. It couldn't be more ideal and perfect. We have our difficulties. But we always make it through. We never really fight except when it's time to figure out dinner plans. Neither of us will make a decision. Deep down, my worry is me. Not him. Am I good enough? Am I healthy enough? Can we survive my issues? Will my health keep us from growing old together?

I guess I'll only know in time.

That just doesn't sit well with me, though. I've never felt so comfortable with someone. I give 100% and, amazingly, he does just the same. We support each other so well. In almost every way I can think of, we make a great pair. He's everything I ever wanted and all I ever dreamed, a littl bit of everything.

I never wanted to need someone. Up until now, I didn't think I really needed him. I can survive without him. Life will go on. The sun will rise and the Earth will turn just as it did before he was a part of my life. I just think I'll feel lost without him. He's so much a part of me I would feel as if my arm were missing. Or my leg. My chest would be hollow.

Of course, this is all crazy talk. Per my usual. As far as I know, he hasn't gone anywhere and he may not even have a clue that I'm worried. Though, I'm always worried so I'm sure he just assumes I'm worried about something.

Enough is enough. It's time to see the doctor. I can't keep doing this. It's really wearing on me and I can't imagine what it's doing to those around me.

Sixteen Solid Pounds

The storms caused a bit of flood in our basement. I was cleaning. Seems like all I ever do these days. Tons of papers had to be tossed away. I unboxed and reboxed many old artifacts. I wrapped memories in tissue paper and tucked them neatly into containers of packing peanuts. The pile for donation to charity was almost as large as the pile to send to the storage locker. Finally my life was coming together. I felt lighter and a bit more free.

I picked up a box to get to the child's rocking chair beneath it. Suddenly the bottom fell through and there was a thud. I stood there stunned for a moment. Then there was the pain. Like a flash. My father yelled down to me, "Are you okay?" I quickly sat down in the chair a few steps away. "I don't know," I replied with genuine uncertainty. The pain had subsided but I felt strange. I slid my shoe off and began pulling my sock off. Red trickled down my foot. "No, I'm not. Please bring ice now!" My brother stepped to my side and my father looked down. Instinctively I held my hand over my toe, guarding it from them. I couldn't feel the pain at the moment but I was sure it would come any minute. The great toe on my right foot took the brunt of the force from the sixteen pound bowling ball that had been in the water-logged box.

My brother helped me up two flights of stairs. I felt weak and a bit light headed. I made it to my bed and my father and mother quickly went to work on my foot. My brother held my hand and cracked jokes, that were actually quite funny, to keep me distracted. There was no way to tell if my toe was broken at the moment. There was too much blood. My pretty pedicure was ruined for sure. The least of my worries. The matrix of the nail, the very base under the cuticle was now exposed. The nail was still attached at the sides and a bit in the middle. My parents cleaned the wound and medicated me. I tried to stay calm and help. My body wouldn't stop shaking. Shock. I could tell you the pathophysiology of what was happening to me. In all the pain and commotion I managed to get my brother to take pictures. I know, I'm odd. It's okay.

That was Monday evening. I've been home since then with my foot elevated. I clean the wound twice a day. I still can't tolerate any weight on the foot. Tomorrow is a trip to urgent care. My boyfriend seems to think I should have gone the first night. I thought I'd be fine. The problem is, it's still bleeding. It's still swollen and we need to be sure it's not broken. I don't have health insurance. This isn't going to be cheap. There's sure to be X-rays and pain medication and all that. And they'll probably want to remove the nail. Did I mention it may not grow back considering the amount of damage done to the root? Do you think a press-on nail will look too ridiculous? Just when I was starting to get into the whole girly thing of wearing open toed shoes and pedicures and what-not!

Darvocet and crutches are my friends the past few days. In fact, I've just had some pain medication now. My head is starting to feel fuzzy and my toe is throbbing a little less. I'd share the photos but they're far too icky. I'm sure it would look worse if the nail hadn't been painted.

Seriously, I'm a walking - or hobbling- accident waiting to happen.