Seeping Weeping

It’s Sunday morning, with the sun reflecting off the roofs and trees making every thing look golden Especially framed by the blue sky. Another sonatina of church bells went through it’s drill. I was wondering what was significant about 8:50 a.m. at that church.

The 15-year-old had meekly woke me up. He was pretty grumpy last night but had overslept and needed me for a ride to work. I made him some sandwiches to bring to the pool, and we jumped into the car.

I am having a hard time driving. It’s really important to be focused when you drive. I find my mind wandering and my brain admonishing me, “Pay attention. That was a stop sign. You need to look both ways. Yes, the light was RED.” Normally, I drive and it works just fine–the past few days I need reminders.

When I woke up on Friday, I didn’t know where I was. Really. I was agitated, searching the room to to find a clue to my whereabouts. I was able to verify that I was in my own bed. I don’t think that I have ever been so bewildered in the morning. Even after alot of travel, I always knew where I was. Not Friday, though.

I can do tasks. I can even do them in order. But I feel a bit disconnected. That’s the word that describes me, disconnected. I looked it up. There are two parts, one is detached and the other is incoherent. I am feeling a bit of both.

My dad was 86 when he passed on June 15th. It seems like it makes sense that old people move on. I was feeling like I had a handle on it. My sibling admonished me for my bare statement to the caterer, “My dad is dead.”

Sib: Don’t you think that’s a little too direct?
Me: That’s what he is.

I have been looking at my feelings in third person. Always analytical, I was looking at myself from the outside to see how I thought that I was feeling.

But feelings are not thoughts. I told the 12-year-old that they just are, and that you just have to accept them. You can’t judge your feelings.

I guess I am learning that I need to make way for my feelings and to experience them. They are not satisfied to be viewed clinically. Mine are organic, and like some certain force are elbowing my rational self for some room at the surface.

I guess I am more vulnerable when I drive. I better be careful.

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