The days are getting shorter, the temperatures are starting to feel reasonable, and fall is on our doorstep. The bowl shown in the last post had a number (?) of bids during the silent auction at Blue Line Gallery, and will have a new owner at the end of the show. It's nice when your children behave.
Things have been busy. That's not really descriptive enough, so let's say somewhere between frantic and simply packed. There are positive signs with Jim's health, at least the oncologist seemed pleased, but it's even difficult to take the good news, when you don't really know what "good" portends.
I seem to be accomplishing less and less each day, and my energy is flagging. My pollyanna-esque cheerfulness and positive attitude is harder and harder to summon, and I want to burrow under the sheets and disappear. Running away is starting to feature in my daydreams and fantasies. Even worse, I'm starting to compose bad poetry in my mind.
Hope, that most seductive poison, pours
with every cup of tea.
It brightens up loving faces
when told that things are going well,
but when the room is empty
and I'm alone, the taste is bitter
and there's nothing left.
I met someone yesterday who told me that this journey is a roller coaster, and I couldn't have described it better, since roller coasters make me want to hurl and climb out at the first possible stop. Screaming. How apt. I'm afraid of losing Jim, I'm afraid that I won't be able to be strong through this for him. I'm afraid of what comes after.