Connecting the dots.

I woke up this morning emotionally twisted, just beating myself up about everything. I should have taken the time to understand our finances more before the divorce. (Ex sends me spreadsheets with attached appendices outlining monies in and monies out--so many charts and graphs! Why can't I be more like him?) I should be working on my second novel instead of worrying about the first one. I should run more and cycle less. I shouldn't have to stand in my closet in my underwear every morning searching for something to wear after the amount of money I spend on clothes. And so, like the true crazy alcoholic I am, my first thought was that I must be depressed and should see someone.

(I have to take a moment here to explain my alcoholic hypochondriac theory. In my experience, they often go together, which is odd because although I am quick to blame my emotional or physical state on any undiagnosed disease or infection, it never occurs to me blame it on alcoholism. Can't get up in the morning? My first thought is anemia, not the state of my spiritual condition or the fact I haven't been to a meeting in almost a week. And don't get me started on what I was like before I got into recovery. Anything that could go wrong in a human body? I was convinced I had it.)

I got dressed and as I was drying my hair and looking at my reflection in the mirror--My face looked really puffy. Was I retaining water? What did it mean?--a tiny thought came into my head that things weren't THAT bad with me. Sure there is uncertainty, fear, worry, all that future-tripping, and the fact I forgot to save for college, let alone retirement, but everyone was healthy and we have a comfortable home. What was wrong with me? Then I remembered that a friend called me the night before as I was getting ready to leave work. This friend is in the final weeks, maybe days, of her life. It was hard for me to understand her on the phone. She was mumbling and her speech was garbled and she seemed confused and disoriented.

"Is this Julie?" she asked. "I keep butt dialing people."

Her sister took the phone, told me my friend had had a rough night. That today she'd had a piece of toast and jelly, but mostly slept. The sister put my friend back on the phone. She was trying to tell me something, but I didn't understand. I'd walked to the lobby of my building, but I felt self-conscious that people could hear me repeating, "I can't understand you." And so I told my friend I loved her and hung up while she was still mumbling. I grabbed my purse and left the office.

Outside, the neighborhood appeared to be on fire. A huge plume of sooty smoke was pouring from an apartment complex under construction that was just a few blocks from where I was walking. I couldn't have asked for a bigger distraction. Fast forward twelve hours and I am crying in my bathroom about my puffy face. And then it hit me. I am not crying about my swollen eye lids; I'm crying for my friend who is dying and doesn't want to be.

Months before she got too sick to put a sentence together she told me she was sad to be leaving a life that she loved. I told her I could imagine, but in reality it was too sad for me to imagine. And a part of me made a mental note that it might be a good idea not to get too attached to my life so I'd never be in my friend's situation. And then I thought I probably shouldn't have gotten so attached to my friend, either, because I didn't--I don't--want to feel loss. And I don't want anybody I know to feel loss. Here's the thing: denying it doesn't make it go away. It just gets put on hold. Which is why, before I got into recovery, I sometimes cried and yelled and over reacted for no apparent reason. I'm thinking there probably always was a reason; it just happened so long ago I forgot about it. As a woman in the program said to me, "You gotta feel it to heal it."

Yesterday I had a twelve-hour disconnect from my emotions. That's okay. In fact, that's pretty fast for me. Progress, not perfection.

My friend will have 26 years in the program next month. I've learned a lot from her about gratitude and change. She showed me how to be patient, how to ask for help, how to laugh at yourself, how to be humble, and how to be a decent human. She's a spiritual giant. She and I could be super woo-woo together. That was a true gift. She was a gift. I'm really going to miss her.

I could have grown a baby since the last time I posted here.

I've been busy learning these things:

1. I should never, ever, ever work in an all-female company.*

2. Patience.**

3. Boundaries are not just for countries.***

4. Even when people you love are sick and dying and something you expected to happen didn't, everything is going to be okay.****


*Separated from the pack, maybe each of the 400+ women I worked with at the makeup company (What was I thinking?!) would have been a pleasant coffee date. (If only being the busiest girl in the building wasn't one of the numerous things they were competitive about.)  Collectively, they were a pack of hyenas, suspicious and shifty-eyed. My favorite person in the building was the corporate attorney if that tells you anything.

**I'm starting my eighth year of work on my novel.

***Just say no. With love.

****Cancer sucks. And so does a certain publisher.