I don’t know exactly how I feel, but I can feel another shift. I had dreamed about Larry, and Jeremy called to tell me he had too. That Larry was happy and needed to get in touch with me. Mine was he needed a new vehicle, and event though I showed him the new tires on his truck, no, he needed something different. He was done with being dead and was coming back. He needed an … art car? It was odd. On reflection, as if he’s headed to new frontier. As someone who does not believe in the afterlife, I have doubts, questions, concerns. Whatever this is, from contact to my brain sorting out memory, emotion, and subconscious, it makes me feel … not the same. Not exactly. Like another chapter in the same book, but I have lost the bookmark.
In several places online, people had asked about everyone’s plans for the weekend. I never have plans. Scoop the litter boxes, vacuum the front room, fold the socks and underwear, do more laundry, water the plants. All chores I would be doing if Larry were alive or dead popped into my head. Yeah. Oh-bla-di, Oh-bla blah blah. And I will do these things, today or tomorrow. I began watching my recordings of the Walking Dead, catching up. I have FTWD too. I lost interest while grieving. A couple episodes and yeah, I want to see what’s going on. I couldn’t, but now I can. A shift.
Shower, pills, clean clothes. I can do what I like. I like being clean. I like lotion on my arms. I could paint the Alligator Lokis. I could finish the paintings on the easel. I could start a whole big whopping canvas. I could sew, I could mend and patch, I could finish the muumuu. I could work my way through the entire fucking fabric stash. Mom’s raw silk is nearly as old as I am. I could use the Loopy Loom (but probably not, I should offer it up on Buy Nothing). I could use my seed bead loom (but badly, my eyes are not what they once were). I could make jewelry and suncatchers and pretty things, I have So Many Glass Beads and Gemstone Beads and Pearls. So Much. I could finish my miniature Hippie Bus. If I do that I could bust out the trailer kit and start it. I could finish fixing up my farmhouse dollhouse. I could make the teeny tiny dollhouse which fits in my palm. I could write to people. I could clean up Larry’s work table stuff, put the pub table and tall chairs in its pace, and get a big cat tower for the south front room window instead. I could.
So much potential. Not so much “Yay, I can do things”, rather “Hey, I could do stuff if I want to”. That’s an improvement. Subtle, no great leaps, but there it is. I’ll probably watch more TWD, then nap. When the toaster oven is delivered, I will clean the counter for it, wash a few things, and toast some sweet potato fries. Scintillating.
I will still have bad days, I will forever miss the life I should be living, but Year Four already means less grief, a little relief, and just maybe some belief in myself.