How things are, part whatever

I’m mostly just tired.

My new job is overwhelming which is maybe good but I’m not sure. I feel like I am confused about everything and will never understand what I am supposed to know/do but then there are time when I feel a bit excited or engaged.

I don’t think I’m a person who gets a ton of gratification from my job—I’ve just been attached to the working-for-the-government thing forever (benefits!) and working full time forever (rent!) and luckily I fell into a line of work that is satisfying and often leaves me feeling like I was helpful to someone. But it’s not anything like being a parent or a friend or even a person who observes things, in terms of meaning.

It’s hard to write an update. Did I say I’m tired? Yes, I did.

Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. I’m going out of town to spend a few days with one of my BFFs. I wonder if/hope that I can have a bit of space from work/dead-momming.

I still am not sure about the dead mom thing. I just keep calling it that. I don’t really understand it or know what to do with it. I dreamed about talking with my therapist about my mom, avocados, and me. That’s the only way I’ve been engaging with my mom—dreams.

This week I’ve told a few friends that I spend at least 40% of my time—which I upped to 60%—looking for things I’ve misplaced. BFF A said that it has something to do with the loss/death. Losing/losing. I’ve been misplacing things for years, but I guess if I stretch that metaphor it might still make sense. Also, I’m just getting older. And things feel confusing.

Since February, since the fuckshow of a week I was with my mom when she was about to be dead, I’ve been seethingly mad at one of my mom’s husband’s daughters—I should say stepsister, but I didn’t grow up with her and was in my 30s when she came into my life.

I wanted to write a letter to her and I told lots of people about it and mostly I got the good advice of “write don’t send” or my therapist asking “what do you think she would do in response?” [nothing, was my answer—I know she doesn’t want to engage in this, nor do I seek any kind of resolution or repair—I just want to say a fucking thing, nicely.]

So last week I sent the thing. An uncomplicated “this sucked for me and here is why.” I didn’t expect a reply nor did I get one, but I’m glad I sent it. I’m glad I did something I wanted to do without enlisting the support of everyone I know. I was like…fuck it. I need to say this. That’s good.

I got invited to my mom’s “celebration of life” (I HATE that phrase, always have, unless it’s genuine and asked for by the dead person…is it a delayed wake? I don’t know.)

My mom’s husband his daughter have put together the invitation, venue, menu, plan. I could give a fuck. I could not go—it’s amazing to think that I could just not go!!! But my kids and husband would want to go and it’s more effort to not go than it is to go and just kind of be there minimally. Our kids will already be in school; I’m in the thick of things at work so none of us can take a day off so it’ll be a less than 48 hour trip.

It’s just so, so weird.

It’s normal that a person dies at 81. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just weird that it’s my mom, and that things were as they were.