Caterwauling

I hate when a weekend day is a perfect waste. Because then the week is even more of a prison sentence — what with hideous commutes, isolation from the rest of society, and a sudden dearth of Taco Tuesdays and work-from-closer-to-home Wednesdays.

And don’t get me started on how I am thinking of giving up the work-from-home Fridays because it’s too hard to pound out all the work I need to pound out on my “Windows craptop.” Much as I love inhabiting my little IKEA desk that overlooks the sea while I’m doing it.

I enjoyed the last few “at least I managed to squeeze in a date night” weeks. But without the “perks” of time NOT spent driving to/being shackled in the frozen tundra, it’s all so … monotonous.

It was a crap weekend day. One I should have spent working. I did give it a couple hours and I’m having that self-argument of whether I:

1. Keep working till I go to bed
2. Give up now and go in early tomorrow
3. Enjoy what’s left of my “me” time like a normal person
4. Realize I’m going to lose half the day tomorrow to meetings and just work through the night.

A colleague and I were talking about these sorts of things the other day. Their thought is to give up when they’re good and mad, and attack things anew in the a.m. My thought is generally to take out my aggression till there is no feeling left, then not feel too much stress in the morning.

Either way, it’s going to be hell week, and I get the feeling that I could park my ass at my IKEA desk till it breaks (it’s IKEA. That should be in about four days anyway), and I still wouldn’t be done.

Oh yeah, and biopsy No. 2 this week. On a day I need to be at the office earlier than usual. Oh well. My doctor called yesterday (on a Saturday) to remind me not to miss this appointment. This after her office already called Friday to remind me of my appointment.

Apparently she called in a few experts and they are all baffled by me. So, now I think they’re making sure I show up because I could make them famous or something.

OK not really. But, even though I think I’m 100% focused on my work, between projects I can’t help but wonder just how much life is left in these years, and what would become of me if that answer turns out to be “not much.”

“Whatever my lot,
Thou hast taught me to know,
It is well,
It is well, with my soul.”

Inspiration comes from the strangest places.

Had a nightmare last night where I was being tortured and dismembered. My heart stopped beating when the pain became too much.

But I didn’t leave the earth. I couldn’t. I had too much work to do.

What I remember most was the feeling of peace, of forgiveness, of love. Not necessarily toward my killer, who merely became a footnote in the final chapter of my life. But the epilogue was way more important — finding a way to help those I left behind to heal.

I had the chance to talk with my mother and with friends I don’t spend nearly enough time with during this existence. I promised I’d always be with them. I couldn’t talk back to them after this day, but they could know I’d be listening. And I’d try to send them signs if I could figure out how.

I spoke with a boy and said what hell it was to act like I didn’t love him when I did. I didn’t regret the love — just the denying of something so natural and so important to ME for whatever the reasons were for not being able to act on it.

I spoke with another who kept a lot from me. From my new plane of existence, I could see everything I had wondered about, being true. I was so happy the guesswork was done. But I wanted him to learn the lesson to just not waste as much time as he did.

As I did.

I guess what I took away from the whole journey was, you may only die once, but you only live once too.

And that: “All is well, even when it isn’t.”

I guess lately I’ve been trying to curb my cussing and my emotions and my unique contributions to this lifetime. But I was never meant to be in anyone’s jigsaw if they have to file down a few ends or shove me in.

All is well now. At least I have another day to try again. Thank you, God, for that.