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Category Archives: failure

Who do I do for?

Maybe about a month ago, I said to my father, “What do you think about having the family over for a Memorial Day barbecue?” He agreed, and although I offered to host the dinner at my house, he said it was fine to have it at his house.

I made this suggestion for a couple of reasons.

  1. My aunt and uncle (my mother’s brother and sister-in-law) have been trying to get us to come to gatherings at their house or their daughter’s house since my mother’s passing two months ago. In both cases, I declined, as I was not ready. My father went to the mother’s day gathering, and came back saying it was very difficult for him.
  2. My brother has told me how he wants “the family to stay together” and that he doesn’t want to give up “family get-togethers” even though Mom is gone. (I have so much more to say about this but…enh)
  3. I don’t want my aunt and uncle to become disconnected from my father and/or from the rest of my siblings and me.
  4. I wanted my father to have something to look forward to

I figured this would be very low key, so I didn’t make a big thing of it. I invited my aunt and uncle, my cousins, a friend of my mother’s, and my local siblings. I told people to bring any kind of side dish that they liked to eat, but that we would provide the grilled meats. I didn’t think about anything until I needed to buy the food a few days before, and even then I kept pushing it out of my head.

I thought Memorial Day would be easier because we don’t associate the “holiday” with my mother. In past years, if we ever did anything for Memorial Day, it was an impromptu cook-out at my house mostly because Hub wanted to grill anyway and sometimes my parents and brother would join us. I thought this would make everything easier.

When I went over on Sunday to bring some food ahead of time to my father’s house, I asked him if he wanted help setting up in the dining room, which is where we normally host more than the immediate family. But he wanted to have everyone in the kitchen. We went through a bit of work to make that fit, but he seemed to want to stay away from the formal dining room where we usually have gatherings. I understand, so I didn’t discuss it with him, we just did what we needed to for the kitchen.

There was a snafu with the grill, but we managed to get food grilled and put out on the island for people to serve themselves and then sit at the table together. I felt very disconnected from everyone. I spent most of the two hours disengaged and quiet. No one seemed inclined to hang around after eating.

My aunt–the one who can’t seem to get past her own grief for her mother–put her hand on my shoulder on the way out and said, “It’s a good first step, right?” I wanted to punch her in the throat. Instead I said, “thanks” and turned away.

We cleaned up, then everyone pretty much left. When I thought my father was okay, Hub and I went home. I was a bit annoyed at the “side dishes” that people brought (someone brought a little package of pre-cut fruit, someone else brought a little bowl of cut veggies, and someone brought a bowl of cole slaw), but I really just wanted the evening to be over.

I didn’t want to have this get-together. I didn’t want to be the one arranging it. I didn’t want to be there. I hated the whole thing. I didn’t do any of it for me. If it had been my preference, I would have not had any get together. I’m not ready. I’m not interested. It hurts too much.

My brother, the one who has said how upset he is that the family isn’t getting together? He’s the one who hardly ever spent time with my parents. He’s the one who doesn’t stop by and visit, or instigate any get-togethers. He never hosts anything at his house. He never arranges any family get-togethers. He never even calls to say “we’re heading out to dinner, want to join us?” He says he is going to invite our father out to eat to stay in touch with him, but he hasn’t done it. My brother’s wife saw our mother maybe once in the last difficult two months of her life. She just didn’t care. My brother suffers from major depression. He is being treated for major depression. I want to do what I can to help him. I don’t know how he is helping himself in this arena of staying in touch with the family. I think he is relying on me to do it, and I don’t want to do it. If he wants the family to continue to get together, he’s going to have to participate. Because I’m not going to step into my mother’s shoes and take over. It isn’t me. And I don’t want the things he wants. If he wants those things, he’s going to have to do them.

My father…I don’t know what he wants. I don’t think he ever HAD to do anything with regards to family gatherings, so he just doesn’t do it. If I don’t do it, will the family slow fall away from each other? My father doesn’t want to do anything. He never had to pay bills–my mother did that–so he has no clue what money he has or doesn’t have. He doesn’t know about his the house or car insurance. He doesn’t want to know. My brother–the one who lives with him–is basically doing all the bills. And the grocery shopping. And the cooking.

I basically just spent the last ten minutes sobbing. I’ve cried myself to sleep the last two nights. Today I just feel overwhelmed and completely overemotional and this isn’t even the first time I’ve cried today. Apparently not the last, either. As soon as I catch my breath, I just start again.

I miss my mother so much I can’t even… I just can’t even. Period.

I’m in pain. My body hurts. I saw my massage therapist but it didn’t help and she’s going on maternity leave so I won’t see her for months. I’m not sleeping. The acupuncture isn’t helping. My health anxiety is suffocating me. I haven’t been able to write anything (my books or anything other than the blogs) for years. Since before my mother got sick. I can’t figure out the paperwork for my mother’s bonds.

I feel like … nothing. I don’t want to engage with anyone. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t have the energy to be the person everyone else seems to need me to be. Not right now. Not today.

 

 

 

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Picture this…

Oh yes, well, um, sorry, but no can do.

Ask me to picture something in my mind and my creative brain will give the a description of the “picture” to the smallest detail you require, but I cannot actually picture what was described. I can’t bring up an image if I close my eyes. I do not see a photo, a television or movie screen, art on a canvas, my husband’s face, my beloved deceased Sweet Pea…

Ask me to describe any of those things and I can (and will). Ask me where something is in my house and I can tell you, down to what close, what shelf, which side of the shelf, behind what other object. I can…but I can’t bring up an image of that item. I’m broken that way, and I don’t know why.

The reason behind this weird rant is that I get to fly (woo hoo–not) in September to my niece’s wedding. I haven’t flown in more than 25 years. Prior to that, I flew several times…mostly on full size airplanes, but twice in a small six-seater plan (flown by my aunt and uncle). Not one of the flights I’ve been on has been uneventful. I’ve had really bad take-offs, really bad turbulence, really bad landings. One flight had turbulence the entire flight. Another flight, we were landing in a storm and the 747 we were on–full size plane–actually tipped sideways as we were descending to the runway. The flight with my aunt and uncle, the landing was so windy that not only did the plane sway violently as we tried to descend, but my two younger cousins who were sitting across from us, facing us, were throwing up as we tried to land. And they flew almost every weekend with their parents (my aunt and uncle–the pilots).

I don’t like to fly. I’m not a good flyer. I will pretty much drive almost anywhere rather than fly. But driving to my niece’s wedding did not seem to be prudent, in that the drive would be 12-14 hours long, for a four hour wedding. And the wedding is on a Sunday afternoon, so getting home would take us into the work week, which was going to be a problem for Hub. In addition, if I drove, my parents were going to want to drive with us…and my father is not a good driver anymore. It’s sad to say, but true. He has some physical issues that wouldn’t be good on a 12 hour trip, and he’s not one to let others drive even though we’re all perfectly able. Plus, his reaction time isn’t so good anymore. And no matter how I tried to work it, I couldn’t talk my way out of attending the wedding (I’m not particularly close to my niece as my brother and his family have lived that distance away from us for most of her growing up years and they rarely visit).

So to that end, we have to fly to the wedding. Hub and I are flying into the destination Sunday morning and flying home Sunday night. We’ve made this decision because of Butthead, who had her crutiate ligament surgery less than four weeks ago. She’ll still be in “recovery” when we need to be at the wedding, so we don’t want to leave her for too long. We’re fortunate that a very good friend of mine is going to come stay with the dogs while we’re gone for the day…and I trust her with our dogs. Before we go and after we get back, we’ll be watching my parents’ dog, too. But she can’t be with Butthead in a normal fashion because Butthead can’t play yet (see crutiate ligament recovery), so we have to restrict their together time and it has to be very supervised.

I was trying to find ways to make flying an easier experience for me. Initially, T suggested hypnotherapy, and I tried to get appointments with local hypnotherapists, but one was booked for a year (a YEAR), and the other could only fit me in with two appointments before the flight, one of which was barely three days before the flight, so I cancelled those. I tried a third hypnotherapist, but she was traveling in August and September and wouldn’t be able to fit me in before the flight. I was hoping to try other options, one of which was a guided meditation someone made for me to reduce my flying anxiety. Although it was a nice meditation, it included bringing up a picture of a plane in my mind and replacing it with a picture of something nice. But I realized at that point, I wasn’t able to bring up either image.

So I turned to youtube hoping to find some videos on hypnotherapy and/or relaxation techniques for flying. But once again, they were all trying to get me to PICTURE things in mind. Picture things to relax, picture things to move into a hypnotic state. I can’t do those things, and I was stressing out so much over it that I was in tears. Hub told me there must be another way to relax or move into a hypnotic state without picturing things, but I couldn’t find anything. Everyone wants you to picture good things, or picture a staircase, or picture your loved one…a beautiful meadow, a waterfall… and I can’t. It’s so frustrating it really pushed me over it tears. It’s the first time I’ve cried since my second surgery. And it wasn’t hormonal, it was just pure frustration and distress. And it sucks.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. I hope I’m going to be able to get through the flight(s) easily. I’m not thinking about the anxiety of the flight, I’m more thinking about how annoying the trip is going to be. I’ve never been through today’s security measures at an airport (again, haven’t flown since 1989) or had to think about getting patted down or going through an xray machine. Or the size of our carry-on bags. Or how big and busy the airports will be, or the parking… I’m bringing my crochet and a book, and my iPod. I hope I’ll be able to distract myself enough to not be miserable the whole flight.

 

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Guilty is as guilty does

I know that doesn’t make any sense. I just had no other way to title this post.

I had to cancel my baby toof extraction because my incisions were looking bad and I watched to tear the flesh from my stomach because they itched so bad (for days on end, prior to even seeing the surgeon/gyn onc the week before). I had left a note for the surgeon over the weekend, and on Monday they said “they’re healing, no worries!”. But by Monday morning, I knew they weren’t right, so I made an appointment with my primary doctor (who is ten minutes from my house versus over an hour to the surgeon/gyn onc, an hour to wait to see him, and then over an hour home) for the following day. She took one look at my incisions and put me on 10 days of oral antibiotics PLUS topical antibiotic ointment. Let us not forget that I already DID seven days of antibiotics for the UTI that I had finished just the week before. So I’m back on antibiotics (another four days) and feel nauseated and my mouth tastes terrible all the time no matter what I do. I saw my primary as a follow-up yesterday and although *I* don’t see much improvement, she was happy with how the incisions looked. And as a matter of note, she said if she had seen me like this last week, she would have suggested that I was allergic to the dissolvable sutures the surgeon used. I asked how long before the sutures dissolve and she said SIX WEEKS is the norm. Ugh. I’ve been through the standard with Hub and my antibiotic pills…he’s stayed with me for half an hour after each pill until yesterday. Yesterday was the first day I took the pill alone.

Tomorrow we take Butthead to get her ligament surgery. We’ve been able to keep her pretty quiet 97% of the time. I kind of think the pain medication has been keeping her quieter than usual, but whatever. She’ll be in surgery for probably two hours tomorrow, then in recovery. I hope we’ll have her home in time for dinner, but we’ll see how it goes. Also, tomorrow is the first time I’ll have a chance to tell my uncle (our vet) about my cancer. Not looking forward to that convo, but I want his family to know.

On to the guilt…

My mother got the results of her PET scan (I went to the appointment with her), and unfortunately it wasn’t good news. Although the lymph nodes that were targeted by the radiation shrank, they didn’t go away (or back to normal size? not sure the terminology)…and there are new lymph nodes showing up in her neck, sternum area, and the back end of the pelvis. There’s no potential for cure anymore, only the possibility of shrinking the nodes and extending her life. We’re going back to looking into clinical trials (including potentially gene therapy) for treatment. This shit is so aggressive, and now that it’s in her lymph system, it’s going to keep moving around. This was just a couple of months since her last PET scan. And the initial recurrence after her chemo was three months. It’s so freaking terrifying, I can’t even find words for it. I know that it’s possible to live many years with cancer, if the treatments available can keep the cancer at bay, but it requires continuous treatment, basically. But I’ve spent many moments trying to push out of my head the thoughts of what might happen to her…what might be her path. What her quality of life might be. What suffering she might have during this journey. If I think too much, I would be constantly in tears. I do my best to push those thoughts away and stay in the moment. It’s been particularly difficult during my recovery because I don’t have a lot to do with the energy and stamina I have at the moment.

I feel guilty that my path with cancer is presently so much shorter and with a better outcome. I feel guilty that as I got good news, she got bad news. I feel guilty that I’m not able to spend much time with her right now as I recover. I feel guilty that I’m not able to be the cheerleader and distraction-person as I recover. I’ve been mired in my own issues with recovery and have barely seen her (though we talk on the phone several times a day). I feel that I am failing as her support. I doubt highly she has any of these thoughts, but I do. They are my constant companion these days.

I have been pretty lucky so far with the surgical menopause. I had one hot flash and luckily Hub was with me and I knew right away what it was. That doesn’t mean I didn’t clutch Hub’s hand for dear life, but it was over relatively quickly and it hasn’t happened yet again. I still get cold and hot (I pull the covers over me and then throw them off repeatedly all night) a lot, but I can deal with that. I haven’t been terribly over-emotional or moody, though I’ve had a pretty constant headache which could be hormones or it could be the antibiotics. It still very possible for the symptoms to ramp up, but so far it’s been very manageable.

 

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Struggling

I’m still struggling. Last night was a bad night. I ate something that did not agree with me and for the remainder of the night, I was awash with anxiety. It was a typical gluten’d feeling: hot face, feeling hot and cold, anxious, antsy, wired, and thinking about my health. The few times I managed to doze off, I had terrible dreams that stayed with me even after. When Hub went downstairs to work this morning, I dozed again and had more dreams. Bad ones. Unhappy, uncomfortable ones. I’m tired, and I feel down. At the moment, I’m struggling not to cry.

On top of already feeling like crap today, two different times on tv they were talking about women’s health. The first one was heart health, and how women’s symptoms of heart attacks are different from men. When I saw that the segment was upcoming, I took the dogs outside and stayed out for at least half an hour so I would miss the whole thing. It’s too much of a trigger for me. But then as we were getting ready for dinner, there was a local report about breast cancer and how women are just skipping their mammograms. Since my mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer, I’ve been struggling not to dwell on the potential for the hereditary impact on me. I’ve never had a mammogram, though I’m 42. The year that it was first recommended to me, I was unhappy with my gyno, so I didn’t follow through. I’ve not been back to any gyno since that whole episode, so there’s been no one to write me a script to get one. And truthfully, I’m afraid of what might come of it. Now with my mother’s diagnosis, I’m even more afraid of cancer than I was before. Even though my mother did pretty well (relatively speaking) going through her surgery and chemo, I’m way more sensitive to everything than she is, and I’m afraid of everything surrounding the potential of cancer. Surgeries, chemo, pain, nausea, etc etc. But still, the segment on the news triggered me, and I feel anxious and upset. I know part of it is because I’m really tired, but part of it is because I am me.

Tomorrow I go back to the dentist for a cleaning. I’ve enlisted Hub to drive me to and from. I expect he’ll sit in the waiting room and wait for me, even though the dentist is only 15 minutes away from home and it’s only a cleaning. And if they let him, he’d come back and sit with me while I got the cleaning. I haven’t had a cleaning in about 3 years, and prior to that I was in and out of the dentist’s office fairly regularly. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t hate it. But my anxiety is worse now than it used to be for me. And this dentist is new to me, as is the hygienist I’ll be seeing tomorrow, so I’m apprehensive. I’m not anxious yet, but we’ll see how the night goes. Unfortunately, my back has been bothering me all afternoon, but I’ve already rescheduled once and I’d like to get this over with. I know the anticipation is worse than the actual appointment will be. I’ve had enough cleanings to know that they are generally uncomfortable, but not life-threatening. However, this IS the first time this hygienist will be dealing with my frakin’ baby tooth. Urg.

I had my session with T this past Friday. I ended up crying in session, because I told her how much I miss my writing. She keeps telling me that I need to get back to it, because it is my purpose. Without it, she thinks I’ll continue to be stuck and struggle. I want to write so badly, but it isn’t working. I’m angry that my books don’t sell anymore, and that no one ever gives me any feedback. It’s like dumping a child out into the void, never to be heard from again. It’s hard to continue to put yourself out there and never see any kind of return. In that same vein, I made a hand-made crocheted gift for a friend, sent it to her, and never heard back from her about it. WTH. It’s painful for me to say, but I want to be validated. I want someone to say THANK YOU. To say, “Whoa, you put your heart and soul in that. That’s awesome.” What I get is radio silence. And it makes getting motivated to do stuff very difficult. It used to be that I’d write for myself, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for me now. I need to find that kind of satisfaction for myself again, and quit worrying about other people validating me.

I do feel like I’m a bit depressed these days. I’m tired and angry and stuck. I’m in pain. My tinnitus is acting up big time. My weight is still an issue. I have anxious moments. Is that reason enough to be sad? Or is this a depressive episode? Does it matter?

 

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Still here

I’m still here. It’s been a busy couple of weeks as we prepped for our charity event. Then immediately following, I was with my Mom as she went for another appointment to find out about the results of her CT scan (good!) and to get blood work drawn for the trial she is participating in. I got to see the nurses again, and in particular give one of them a giant hug for taking such good care of my mother through all of her infusions. We were lucky to get the same nurse for 4 of the six infusions, and I say lucky because she was really fabulous. I hugged her a couple of times and tearfully thanked her, and then I gave her a hat that I crocheted for her. But I reminded her it was a winter hat, not a chemo hat…and that I hoped it would remind her of the wonderful work she does for the people who come into her care.

On a slightly more BLEH note, I’m unhappy. In therapy with T, I’m telling her that I feel stuck because I don’t want to fail. If I don’t pick a path, then I don’t have to think about failing. I’m tired of failing. I have a whole list of failures behind me, and when I think of what to do next, I just feel like I can’t take one more failure. So if I don’t DO anything, I don’t fail. T wanted me to sit and think of the good things that came from my “failures” because none of them are really failures, they are lessons learned. I’m still in a place where I disagree, so I guess I’m not ready to broach that with myself. So T suggested that she thinks I’m afraid to hope…that this is what is underlying the failure. But I don’t know what it is I’m afraid to hope for? Not failing? Ech.

Another failure is that I’ve gained a bunch of weight. From the time we adopted Butthead in May of 2013, I’ve been slowly gaining back the weight I lost when I was sick and not eating in fall of 2012. I’d maintained a 45 pound weightloss right up until we adopted Butthead. Then I was so stressed and wanting some kind of pleasant distraction from her that I ate. I slowly gained ten pounds. Then ten more. Then when I got that crappy cold a few weeks ago, I ate so much (salty) pre-made soup and broth and stuff, that I gained more weight. I thought it would ease off when I stopped eating that stuff, but instead I’ve been snacking on junk. I think it’s because I’m not wanting to deal with stuff in therapy and eating is a distraction from that, too. Plus, the release of a lot of time spent focusing on my mom’s infusions is gone, too. Now her recovery is stretched out over months and months, and I’m at a loss as to how to figure out my own life again. And I feel like crap. I feel bloated and uncomfortable, which is making me unhappy and cranky. I’m also having some pain flares, so that isn’t helping me either. Bad dreams, not sleeping. What else can I add to my list? Oh yeah, and a couple of anxiety issues, mostly overnight or late at night when I should be sleeping and instead am sitting up feeling anxious.

Hub is stressed with stuff going on at work and I feel like there is so much falling by the wayside here at home. Which stresses me out even more. So I’ve been avoiding everything. And eating. And wondering what the hell I’m going to talk about at therapy on Friday, because I have no answers. No path. No idea what direction to go in. Just stagnant and stressed.

Woo hoo. NOT.

 

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Doin’ the back step

I had a terrible weekend. I was running out of my digestive enzyme pills, and in an effort to not have to buy my pills from the nutritionist that I haven’t seen in months, I went to the internet and bought a new type of pill. Don’t get me wrong, I researched as best I could, and thought I settled on something. I knew I’d have an issue changing pills, because, well, pills. I don’t take new thing easily…and in fact usually end up with major anxiety over it. I have two different pill bottles (at least) from the nutritionist that I never took because I couldn’t force myself past the anxiety. But the digestive enzymes…I need those for my heartburn. I’ve tried stopping them and I’ve even tried skipping them now and then…and even reducing to once a day instead of twice just to stretch the number of pills. I haven’t been successful at any of that, so I know I need the pills.

The new pills came, and I waited until Saturday to take them, since I knew I’d be home and Hub would be home with me. I took the damn pills with lunch and had what I would call mild anxiety afterward. But I pressed through and took the pill again with dinner. Saturday night I slept horribly, had dreams every time I closed my eyes, and woke up feeling crappy. Not necessarily news for me, but something felt off. But I knew I had to try again, else I’d be giving in again to my anxiety. So Sunday I repeated the pill process and ignored the mild anxiety that came along with it. But Sunday night, right around the time to go to sleep, I started feeling nauseous. Which kept me up and pushed me into more anxiety. I started feeling bad, I couldn’t sleep, I kept getting up to go to the bathroom. I didn’t sleep well. This morning I laid in bed while Hub went to take care of the dogs and their morning rituals. By the time he was ready to have his breakfast, I’d already called down to the kitchen via our telephone intercom and asked Hub to work from home. He immediately said yes, no problem, which was instant relief of sorts. But he came up to shower and after his shower, I told him what was going on. That I felt nauseous and sick and like there was something wrong. Even though I’d spent hours this morning already trying to talk myself out of the anxiety sitting on my shoulders. Hub sat with me on the bed and I told him everything I was dealing with. Then I got up to go to the bathroom and I felt the shaking start. When I came back to bed, I told him I almost wanted the panic attack to happen and be over with, except that I hate panic attacks…that they are scary and tiring and make me feel weak and like I’ve lost all the progress I’ve made over the last 2 years in therapy. He tried to remind me that this was a blip in the road, not a complete fallback. I sat and shook and cried and he let me.

I still feel nauseous. I still am worried that maybe THIS is the time that something is really wrong with me. That I’m spending time talking myself out of being anxious when really there IS something wrong THIS TIME.

Hub has taken care of the dogs, taken care of me, and is now napping next to me. I’m still awake, still feeling crappy, and still anxious. The big panic attack never came–but the smallish one was bad enough thankyouverymuch–but I’m so not over this hump yet. I emailed the nutritionist to ask her if she had any of the pills in stock–I only have TWO left–and I’ll just have to count the new pills as a loss. I can’t stomach the thought of trying them again and having it really be the pills that did all this to me (versus some other origin).

I don’t like being this way. I don’t want to do this again and again. I’ve been able to conquer so much of my anxiety, why can’t I conquer this health anxiety? What is holding me back? T is now concentrating on my disconnectedness and my inability to process some emotions (or let those emotions out). I’m going to have to figure out how to smush in this health anxiety, too. T thought it wasn’t going to be something I could get beyond, but I need to try. Although I have been able to get past it some of the time, other times it’s overwhelmed me. I want to get past ALL of it.

 

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A classic(al) failure

I think I’m in a crappy mood. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it. Just a forewarning.

In my previous post, I talked about being disconnected, and how T was suggesting I try listening to some classical music to see if I could find some body awareness. She even indicated that she feels her feelings in her “heart chakra”…which, no offense to anyone, is kind of where she lost me. I don’t know how I feel about the chakra stuff, but then again I’m not knowledgeable about it. So take that as it is. Anyway, I’m sure my eyes kind of glazed over when she started talking like that. However, being the good therapy-attender that I am–and my issues with perfectionism–I tried what she asked me to try.

I looked up the composer she suggested and I tried listening to a couple of compositions. I tried, over and over again. And I was bored. I don’t like classical music. I’ve never liked classical music. I don’t get emotional over music or art or even books. As much as I love reading and I love books, I don’t even get emotional over them…at least not like she’s asking for. Yes, I feel emotional, and yes when the characters and/or story are good, I get invested. But I can’t say I’ve ever felt that connection physically in my body. I just don’t understand that. I don’t get it. I don’t know what she’s LOOKING for, and I’m so frustrated.

I have my appointment with her tomorrow, so again I tried. I went through two composers tonight and got nowhere. The music is…fine. It’s music. It sounds like an orchestra. I hear the movements, the changes in speed, texture, tone. I could tell you all about it if I really got into it. I could use ALL the words. But to feel any of it in my body…sorry, no. I tried to listen to a couple of works from some guy whose music sounds like what you might get in a movie? And there was some chanting (this kind of stuff is similar to what Hub likes to listen to on occasion) with the music. And sure, it was interesting. And I plowed through four or five of his “songs”, but did they give me some sort of feeling physically? No. Other than frustration, which gives me heartburn.

Am I broken? What the hell? Do other people feel all the feelings in their body when they listen to music? Or look at a piece of art? Or read a book, touch a piece of pottery, a statue, a handmade quilt? I have feelings. I have emotions. I can tell you all about them. Why is it necessary for me to feel something physically in my body to prove something?

Told you I was in a crappy mood. I feel like I’ve failed at whatever it is she’s asked me to do, which I’m not even sure about. I’m disappointed.

 

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