Stack of books: Born a Crime by Trevor Noah, (awesome) Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal (just started — it’s recommended from reese witherspoon’s book club)
The boys: Rocco is asleep in his bed, Hobbes is asleep on the couch, Dan is sitting next to me reading, and Raine is playing with his BFF next door.
Flowers in a vase: My Mother’s Day flowers from Dan and Raine —a tiny arrangement with a flower each of their favorite colors (orange and blue). I’d also like to mention the fact that Dan arranged two pots on the front porch and a bed on the back patio for me to enjoy the flowers I like—coxcomb, snapdragons, guara, and salvia.
Watching: We are into the last of the series Game of Thrones and I have my guilty pleasures —Kardashians and the Bachelorette. DON’T JUDGE!
Goal in life: Figure out a way to pay for all of Dan’s medical needs. Like, LEGIT. Not 5 year payment plans.
What I’m Avoiding: Cleaning the litter box, cleaning the bird cage, cleaning the hamster cage (ugh)
What I’m Loving: Our bedroom!!!
Thinking about: This post I wrote in 2009 (and how I quickly BLACKED OUT my diagnosis mentally a year later—so weird) :
“I have officially weaned off of Prozac and I am only taking a mood-stabilizer, Lamotrigine (generic for Lamichtol) at 200 mg daily for my illness. This life-long illness has yet to have a stable definition, as if it seeks to echo my tumultuous moods. Dr. Cirino, my current psychiatrist, said I have bipolar disorder, heavy on the mixed episodes but also rapid cycling, so no, I am not textbook. This means my illness is defined as Bipolar Disorder NOS (Not Otherwise Specified), a catch-all diagnosis used in cases such as mine. Even if it is ambiguous, I cleave to a diagnosis at last.
BDNOS. Bananas drive north or south.
We were vigilant about my drug swap-out. Three months ago I began to slowly reduce Prozac while beginning and increasing Lamichtol. In the past, I have not proved exceptional at swap-outs. I get extreme. As I have lightly referenced, I have not been drinking alcohol for a while, and I see in hind-sight that this was key in maintaining as close to a level mood as possible. I have done very well over this time, particularly given the surprises of grief, travel, unemployment, and challenges with my FMS (Fibromyalgia, or, finches move slow.) Dan is there for me, silently, like a guardian angel. You know, a really HOT one.
But he’s not a guardian angel, as much as my mom thinks he is. He’s a man who is my husband. Every day his phone rings and there are hundreds of clients, totals, notes, plants, crewmen, machines, or weather to consider. He handles a lot of money and a lot of people from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. In the evening, he wants to chill, read or listen to music, watch some TV, eat some food. He’ll fall asleep at about ten o’clock on the nose. Where does a partner fit in this picture, when on occasion she starts to cry in the middle of dinner or a light comedy? When she cries with no apparent reason and shuffles off to lay in bed, motionless but with her eyes open in the dark?
I never have answers for him. I don’t know what is wrong; it just so happens the world opens up in a swell of numbness and swallows me as it closes. When I feel far away in its grasp, I’ll have him touch his hand to my back. Flesh to flesh seems to work best, like an infant that needs touch as it grows. If I cry he waits for me and holds me. His hand finds a circular motion and settles into the repetition.
This is all we have worked out so far. It is not insignificant. This is life. Bananas drive north or south and finches move slow. This is the first step to being as healthy as I can possibly be. We will walk these baby steps.”
IT ALL STILL RINGS TRUE IN 2019.
I could have NEVER imagined I would be struggling to accept my diagnosis again and that my health would still be a main source of struggle in our marriage. And I NEVER would have thought Dan would become a stage 4 cancer patient at home on disability and STILL have to worry about me, too. LIFE, people. It’s weird.