It is quiet.
Life has been quiet. I feel like we’re in a perpetual waiting period until our next milestone. I’m antsy. I’m anxious. I’m so ready to go go go but another part of me is pulling back the reigns. I must take this period of my life slowly. I must appreciate. I must realize the goodness in a comfortable love and a comfortable home.
In May I made a career move to commercial banking and treasury management. The work requires such a high level of knowledge and confidence and it has really taken a toll on me. I often feel unable and not good enough, drained, depressed. Every morning I sit through a pep talk with myself after my 20 minute nap. All I know is that this position takes time. And again, I’m trying to fast forward.
I lost my best friend at the beginning of the summer. Not to death, to be painfully poetic, I lost her to another girl that made her feel more alive. It’s been hard. I don’t keep friends in reserve for situations like this and it’s very exhausting trying to find someone to fill the void. Especially at my age when others already have best friends or have life engulfing careers. Or children. Or are moving away for some grand scheme. So eventually I decided to just go without. It’s been rough.
Lost best friend reached out to me in August. She says I need you in my life. She says take your time. I say I just don’t know.
Jordan’s grandfather is in the hospital this weekend. On Tuesday he will undergo a triple bypass. People are gathering in a small room to watch him eat and sleep. I feel really selfish and awful because I cripple in hospitals and I can’t be there for almost any period of time. I feel like it’s offensive to my family. They just don’t understand.
You don’t have to act like you hate being here.
I do hate being here.
None of us want to be here.
There’s too much energy in hospitals. People feel extreme emotion in this huge place filled with small rooms. I take on residual feeling in any place, at all times and hospitals literally put voices in my head. I feel the sadness, the emptiness, the loneliness. My chest becomes heavy with loss. I double over in pain and sickness. There is no worse place for me than a hospital.
But where does that all fit in when our grandfather is dying?
This morning we woke up late. We made a breakfast scramble and let the cats out to bathe in the sun. We put on my favorite Iron & Wine album. I pressed his coffee. When his belly was full he touched my hand and smiled at me, he told me he loved me and that I was his very best friend. Things are good now. Life is quiet. I am always waiting for the next something.