Are You There?
Lately when I wake, either in the morning or after a nap, I have the sense of someone sleeping next to me. It's always either Clint or Kristy or Gretchen. It's not an uncomfortable feeling but rather a sense of deep disappointment that no one is there. Doesn't take a shrink to figure that one out. Maybe it is their energy, working to heal me. I'm not ready to be healed. I need to be sad and mad longer. How much longer? How the hell should I know? I do know that I am still wounded at my core, lonely beyond belief and mad as hell. I threw a platter onto the driveway on Monday. It was one of my favorite things - a blue hand fired fish with a built-in dish for dip. We always had crab dip in it. I stupidly put it in the dishwasher, and the little bowl cracked and chipped. I can't be in my right mind. I do things without thinking. When I found the broken platter, I took it outside and threw it on the driveway, and when it didn't break into enough pieces, I picked them up and threw them repeatedly until there was nothing but a mess of chards to sweep. It was just a thing, but now I wished I had used it more, enjoyed it more while I had it. I want to break some more things. Maybe I'll buy a baseball bat and go find a junk yard where I can hammer old cars, beat the living shit out of them. Here I sit, in this big bed, right here in my place, propped up on pillows, and on the other side of the bed is nothing but a pile of pillows. Belle will probably jump up and sleep over there some time during the night. I think she's still looking for Poppy, too. I'm smoking and drinking too much, and I don't care. Why should I give a shit? When we moved back into this house a little over 2 years ago, I started using my "good" things - china and silver and linens and crystal. I am so glad I did that. Poppy liked good things. Donnie came this week to repair the wreckage and do some touch-up painting where Poppy had had little wrecks around the house in his wheelchair. Clint HATED that he scarred the walls and doorways. Now that I am the only one here, I never intend to eat or drink from anything that falls into the "everyday" category. Hell, I might not be here tomorrow. Maybe god wants me next. Shirley (the first wife) is an ingrate and rude to boot. Today, after I paid her alimony for 2 months when I didn't have to, while she waited for her life insurance check, she sent Bert over here with a check in a green envelope with my name on it. Nothing else. No thank you or kiss my ass - just a check. Bitch. At least she is officially off my payroll, and I know that would make Clint happy. I have completed all the notes about Clint's death, the thank-yous and all that shit. There are still a few people I want to call. My eyes are hurting and so is my heart. I need to cry some.