Feeling Kinda Hinky…

by irenedavid

The last few days have been sorta weird; can’t figure out what I’m feeling.  I’ve been thinking a lot about my theology after listening to probably too many preachers and reading too many writers.

I’ve had two sessions with my therapist this week; the first, just talking about how things were and my confusion, the second, to talk about the process we are using to help me move on from painful memories.My father went home from the physical rehab facility.  I don’t know how long he will be able to stay there.  At 90, with my mom at nearly 86, even with help, it is only a matter of time.  I find myself praying he will die in his own bed before he gets to the point where he doesn’t recognize loved ones and/or can’t feed himself.
Work has been a b***h for several weeks now.  The stress of getting everything done in a place where it seems that I care more about the business than the owner does is wearing me out. 

I am still dealing with my feelings about my “fiasco” therapist.

I can’t do some things that I used to do.  There’s almost a fear associated with them.  I have avoided walking on the treadmill because that’s what I was doing when my husband was arrested.  I haven’t finished a few craft projects, yet I’m not sure why I’m “afraid” to do those.  My bookkeeping has gone out the window because money issues freak me out now.  I know enough to be sure that we can buy groceries and pay bills, but I don’t want the numbers always before me–I kept a pretty fixed schedule of watching my bank balance and credit card balance for so many years.  I don’t read mysteries anymore, don’t listen to much of the music that I used to listen to, don’t watch near as much tv.  I think there’s a part of me that still believes I have to “be good” to stay in God’s  grace.

I don’t know how I feel about my siblings.  Sometimes, it seems that I have forgiven them, but then there will be a moment when the pain hits again and I’m sure I haven’t.

I want to rewrite the first two chapters of a novel I wrote three years ago, but I’ve lost the mojo for the feeling and mode of the story. 

And I just keep getting older every single day.

I’m glad the terror and panic have not been present much lately, but limbo is a strange place, too.  Maybe humans (or maybe it’s just me) are never completely at ease with uncertainty.  It’s not like any of us ever have true certainty in our lives (except death and taxes), but a lot of folks (including myself for any number of years before 2012) think their life is sailing along with a great deal of certainty.

I think I’m babbling now.  Things just seem so funky right now, and I am uneasy. 

Not fun.