According to that vast source of knowledge, the Internet, unbleached muslin can't be bleached. It has to be done before the fiber is spun into thread. So that was a waste of good Clorox. I guess I'll have to buy curtains.
It's been eighteen months today. Most of these anniversaries are okay. Just not this one. I woke up miserable and it went downhill from there. I thought watching television would distract me, so I watched a film I'd never seen before - The Prime of Miss Jean Brody. You'd love Maggie Smith's performance - you always loved her, and she deserved her Oscar for that. But it turned over a couple of rocks in my head and, as is likely when you turn over rocks, some ugly things crawled out.
The film's talk about dedication and purpose dislodged the rocks. My purpose had always been you. Now it seems to be survival for its own sake. As I've said before, I work to live and live to work. I badly need to talk to somebody regularly, but can't afford it. I need to have friends around here who aren't part of a couple, and haven't found any. And at a deep level which I manage to ignore most of the time, I need purpose. And I don't want to hear that anybody needs me, or God has something for me to do. Everybody would manage fine without me, and I am certainly not required by the Creator for some vast, eternal plan. I need something to dedicate myself to. I need to find something that is important to me.
Just what, besides you, is important to me? I suppose, my soul and its fate in eternity. St. Anna the Prophetess was widowed after just a few years of marriage, spent the rest of her life in the Temple praying and serving, and was rewarding by being allowed to hold Christ in her arms as a baby. God and the Church should be purpose and dedication enough, but can't seem to get a handle on myself spiritually or emotionally. I can knit for charity, and I can pray. I've done that less without you than I did before - it's the emotional thing again. But if I'm going to be logical about myself, I need to expect - and make space for - emotions that aren't logical.
So maybe what all of this boils down to is that I'm really okay, and I'm being normal again. It seems that, for me, it will take more than eighteen months for all of this to settle out. No amount of rushing myself will accomplish anything. So I'll just let myself feel this anniversary as I feel it. I'll give myself permission to be in some emotional disarray. Today I'll mourn. Tomorrow I should feel better.
Thanks for listening to me, and helping me to work it all out. As usual, I need you to tell me to be give myself a break. I was shoulding myself. I will consider myself Gibbs-slapped. I don't have any chocolate, but I'll find some appropriate comfort food. And I promise I'll be better in the morning.
Love you with all my heart,