"I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself" by The White Stripes
So this is a new meme for me. It's (and you may have already figured this out, oh, brilliant you) "Music Monday," and it's hosted by this quintuple (?!?) threat:
Callie of Jamerican Spice;
Cathy of Cathy Kennedy's Blog; and,
Naila Moon of Just The Stuff Ya Know.
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So I just found out about this blog hop about a half-hour ago, and I've been poking around, trying to figure out exactly what I'm supposed to be doing and... I'm still not quite entirely totally a hundred percent sure I'm doing it right!
I think there are supposed to be themes, but I don't know where to find the current one. I think you can go theme-less and pick what you want, for whatever is relevant to your life at the moment, however, and so that is what I am choosing to do!
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You may think that is why I have chosen The White Stripes' song for my Music Monday tune this week, but no. You would be wrong.
I've mentioned about, oh, three or four times in the past just-as-many posts that Rob (aka, the Husbeast) is back in the hospital.
{For those of you new to Smellyann's Blahg, here's a super-quick back story: Rob was diagnosed with a cavernous hemangioma a couple of years ago. It's benign and was asymptomatic until this past May. He developed myriad symptoms, which led to five Cyberknife Radiation Surgeries in June/July. A couple of weeks ago, the site started bleeding, and swelling was pressing into the 'good' brain tissue. He's been on a heavy course of steroids since then, but yesterday - Sunday, September 29th - saw him landing back in the Neuroscience Intensive Care Unit for the third time this month with more symptoms. Now you're caught up! Read more here.}
Now, when this happens, I get energized, generally speaking. I've gotten tons of housework, knitting, running around, take-chargey-ness done on the prior hospital stays, and this time I expected no different.
Except, it is. It's different.
I don't know what it is, or why, but I'm just unable to figure out what to do with myself while Rob is gone.
For once, I'm not scared he's going to die, so that's not it. I have complete faith he'll be fine and coming home in a few days as planned.
I have tons of stuff to actually do, so lack of plans is not prohibiting me from being productive. It's payday, rent is due, food needs to be shopped for and prepared and served to our three kiddos, I need to homeschool that trio, I have lots of knitting to do, and so on and so forth. No, I've no shortage of duties now.
So what? What is it that's keeping me from focusing?!
I tried to clean up the kitchen, but I cut my thumb (not intentionally, I promise) and assigned that task to Jack instead.
I tried to do the laundry, but I kept mixing up dirty and clean, and well, that's just no good, so I delegated that job to Chloë.
I tried to straighten up the living room, but I found myself totally unable to figure out what the heck to actually do, so I requested Sophia as a replacement.
I ran out of kids after that, so I stopped trying. Mostly. I have taken no fewer than four (FOUR!) baths - two to wash, two just to soak and sit there, reading a magazine - in the past 12 hours. And then the tub got funky, so I scrubbed that and, while I was in the throes of spraying cleanser, the toilet. One of our cats kept running up and down the length of the sink counter to watch me, so I left that alone. No sense killing the poor fuzzmonster, after all.
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But mostly, I've come back here, blahgged on this page, read emails that I never answered, looked at Facebook, and just... sat here. Doing nothing. Saying not much. Thinking... everything. I miss him. Plain and simple, I MISS HIM.
Please don't - DON'T - do the whole, "Oh, it could be worse. He could be in [insert war-torn foreign country here]. He could be divorcing you. He could be dead. Get over yourself. Blah blah blah."
Yeah, I know.
But you know what? I see people do that to each other every single day on Facebook, and I can not, for the love of all that is fresh and juicy, stand it one bit. My friends do it to me, their friends do it them... why?
For one thing, it's not helpful. At all. It just serves to make the person having feelings feel guilty for having them!
For another, it's mean!
I could go on with what it is, but let's stop there because that's not where this post was supposed to be going. Just don't do it, m'kay? I know, I'm not stupid, I have feelings, I'm occasionally rational, and whatever. I don't care. I'm entitled to miss the man I love with all my heart while he's not home with me, where he should be. For whatever reason that is.
In the end, I'll go visit him, we'll talk to his neurosurgeon, his radiologist/oncologist (whose name I am forever getting wrong, but he's probably used to it), a billion nurses, ten more nurse's aides, the cafeteria lady who hates me because I have no cash EVER and somehow using a debit card is stealing from her paycheck (huh?!), the guy at the front desk who checks my ID and issues my visitor pass, the guy at the garage window who takes my six bucks for daily parking, nineteen people my kids annoy in the elevators... and if you've been to a huge hospital in a major city before, you know this drill.
And then he'll come home. And we'll try to resume normal life. Which for us, is anything but normal, but you know.
I think, what I'm most worried about right now, after thinking about this, is that it won't end here. This won't be the last visit. He'll go back in two weeks, or a month, or even in March, but he will go back. Won't he?
I don't know.
And in the meantime... what do I do with myself?! Without him?
Fin.
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