And today I was late for work because I faced this:
chaos in the bedroom
lost eyeglasses (where, Tess, where did you put them? not under the bed, where I found 3 chapsticks and 6 pens, all very useful but not good for seeing with)
chaos in the pantry, where Jackson ripped apart the contents of the burnable rubbish
a mocha latte that was NOT mocha from Dunkin Donuts, prompting a return trip with a second and finally thrid try before it became an honest MOCHA latte

The boss isn't in this week. How convenient. She still emails me, wanting me to meet with her and the superintendant of the AuSable Valley school district, because "I'm so quick." Too bad, I'll just be getting back from Washington that day, she approved my day off 5 weeks ago. Someone else, someone sssllllooowww will have to take my place. Meanwhile I actually did accomplish some things this morning. My proudest accomplishment was a grade-A email to Kristen, which I promptly lost somewhere in space and cannot retrieve. It was a good one, too. Boy the taxpayers are not getting their money's worth this week. I talked to my mother at length this morning. She was not in good shape but I cheered her up. Her friend Ginny doesn't know how to do that but keeps trying to, which only makes things worse. People notice: if the person doesn't respond, and in fact tells you you are making her feel worse, stop what you're doing. Last night I finally answered the inevitable Call from Keela. It was in the middle of my 2-hour crying jag. My answers were monosyllabic. The questions were brief. I think I scared them. So now we need to know: will they call again, feeling they can cheer me up, or are they afraid of me because I'm so grief-stricken I should be left alone? Right now I'm Poor Pitiful Betsy, a perennial favorite of theirs. I did have a good, cleansing, very painful cry last night. When it hurts, it hurts, and it won't stop. I miss my brother. I miss the promise of my brother. I ache for him, for his future, for his life.
Liza and I talked about a headstone. I will try to get to the stonecutter's soon and see if he has a brochure. It's not really a brochure-type place but you never know. She favors just his name and the dates, a low stone. Kristen and I talked about this, so did Molly and I, I like something simple but something they won't mow over. The mowers hate ones that are raised because they're harder to mow around. I'll talk to the undertaker, who's also president of the cemetery and is a really nice man and who likes me. Since no one in the family has died in the past couple of years it's time for us to catch up anyway. For some reason I can talk about a headstone without great emotion. Is this because tasks help us by offering purpose? Guide us through this? Work tasks sure aren't doing that for me, I cried all morning. I had to delete all the email messages reporting on Henry's progress during his time in the ICU. Then I had to fill a bunch of requests for a bunch of inmates who are all ALIVE. But then I ordered a pair of muck boots and a sweater from Lands End overstocks.
Tonight I buy more pills to make my dog's poop taste bad (what, you need pills for that?). Tess ate a huge bunch of the pills last night because apparently the pills taste really good. So today her poop won't taste good. The stuff works, I've seen her try to eat Chances' poop--she sniffs it, tries to pick it up, puts it down in disbelief, picks it up again, drops it, sniffs it, shakes her head and walks away, dejectedly. Oh the things I do to ruin my dogs' lives.
And now I should move along to something work-like. Like drinking a Diet Coke. I have to stay at work until 4:30 today, a nice quiet half hour after everyone else leaves. Maybe I'll call my gynecologist to make an appointment, make an appointment for my mammogram, make an appointment for an oil change, and what else? I could call my psychiatrist to see if I'm doing ok about my brother's death. I could call my internist to tell him I'm terribly frightened about my heart and arterial health. So many calls I could make! I wish I were in Wisconsin. Now who would EVER think I would utter those words? I'm the last to guess on that one. I have a knot in my stomach that won't go away. I feel as if I'm always just about to be nervous about something. I feel as if I'm always just about to cry. People asked me this morning how I'm doing. I just shake my head, sometimes with my eyes full of tears, sometimes just staring at the floor. They're very gentle with me, and very kind. I feel like saying "I'll be back, but not the same, and I don't know when. You just can't imagine how much he meant to me."