Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Mundane things

I haven't regularly blogged for a long time. Pretty much once the wake of Bonnie's passing had subsided, the juice was sort of squeezed out. Couple with that my chronic un(der)employment since last summer and there just hasn't been much I felt like recording for myself or broadcasting. I've also slipped away from supporting other people who do this. Notably Jim over at Down the Road... though given the crowd of regulars he has, it probably hasn't affected him as much as I flatter myself it has. :) The thing is, checking the other blogs was kind of a ritual. It was a thing I did starting my day. You know, show up, start the coffee if no one else had, sit down, check a couple of strips I like to read, read the handful of blogs I find engaging, make a few comments, then get rolling as coworkers show up and start shooting the breeze. But I'm out of that world now, at least for the moment.

I guess it's a return to mundane things that will get me showing up here a little more. Talking about the little things, maybe the stuff that's encouraging while I endure this. Or contemplative.

Well, this afternoon, it's contemplative. Out of nowhere, the tune No One's Gonna Love You went through my mind. That's a lovely song but like Yellow by Coldplay, it's not one I can listen to. If you've read the blog over the past couple of years you'll know I've mentioned the song twice before; the first time in apprehension of Bonnie's then-eventual death, and more recently, just after it happened. I looked up the entries a few minutes ago and felt some of the hurt again. (And that's without even daring to listen to the song.) The love bites. I said last May that those would be what I'd miss the most... the weird thing is, just now, it hit me like a slap. I'd nearly forgotten about that aspect of things. As it turns out, when I think of Bonnie, what I find myself missing now is just how much she wanted to be next to me. How she was there on the other pillow at night. How she used to just reach out and tug my arm and insist I look her in the eye when I was paying attention to the computer for too long. I guess I don't miss the love bites so much because that's something Seth does. But neither he nor Ally are there at night. It's a strange thing for a guy who's never been married to say, but I haven't been alone at night for a very long time. From the time I turned 21 until Bonnie went into her final spiral starting right around now a year ago, there was always either Jenny or Bonnie right there, and generally Max was somewhere on the bed as well. But Ally and Seth seem to feel the bed is no place for them. I wish I could convince them otherwise. Combined with the fact that, day after day, I'm not seeing anyone but my own reflection, I guess this is the loneliest I've ever been since the last time I was the new kid in school. And there's still old age to look forward to.

Cheer up. I have nerdy technical things I'd like to talk about next while I'm waiting for the phone to ring.

1 comment:

Jim Grey said...

The problem with hurt is that it demands to be felt. It must have its way until it is done. You can try to hold it off, break it into manageable pieces so that it doesn't overwhelm you, and that's fine. But it must run its course.

I miss your voice on my blog. The commenting readership has evolved over the years, and fortunately it has grown. People come and people go and they all have their good reasons. But I miss all of the voices who don't comment anymore.