Friday

"Today is Friday...Fish Day Friday, is everybody happy, then I must say!"  So says one of my residents, but she also says the same thing for Thursday... and Wednesday.  This morning, when asked how she was feeling, her answer was "terrible".  Are you in pain?  "No."  Are you sad?  "No.  I'm just terrible."  And I could sort of sympathize with her, even though my job at that point was to encourage, support, and uplift her.  For my resident, all it took was a tambourine, a visit from a therapy dog, and a theatrical rendition (by me) of "Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue".  Terrible quickly turned into Terrific. 

I'm not "in pain."  I'm not "sad," otherwise, how could I function "so well"?  I mean, I get up.  Okay, so today I finally woke up to the third alarm, 20 minutes later than I had planned.  I was only 4 minutes late for work, which is better than the usual 6-7 minutes.  Because I don't care.  Which isn't true.  But it is.  I hate mornings.  So much.  I just want to sleep forever, and things like "work" and "life" seems to get in the way of that, grr. 

And really, it was a decent day...I mean, yeah.  We had a music therapy program this morning, one of my favorite activities.  My residents get caught up in the music (as do I), and there is so much love and connection and emotion and engagement and feeling in the room it's overwhelming.  I talked with the music therapist, a good friend of mine, for quite a while after the session and we made plans to see a jazz show in the upcoming weeks.  During my lunch break, I did a phone interview with someone for an upcoming article I'm writing, and got inspired again by the ideas and principles of fair trade and sustainability.  In the afternoon I leafed through Ladies Home Journal with a resident who Oohed and Ahhed at every picture of birdhouses and Chris O'Donnell and okay, so did I.  But we shared that, and it was good.  And we laughed.  And I played "table balloon ball."  And I played Beethoven, on the piano.  And I read some poetry.  And I laughed.  And I danced.  And I helped.  And I want to think I made a difference.

And I wanted to cry.  I left work, went for a swim...the water was like home.  The water was the most comforting part of the day.  In the water I am safe....from the world.  And I can cry in the water, and it's okay. 

And I joked with some friends.  And I laughed.  And I joked.  And I wanted to cry. 

I went to an art gallery opening, for "green" artwork in Evanston because in my former life I cared about things like that.  And the art was fun...and I had two glasses of some white wine out of a recycled, compostable cup.  And I left because  couldn't stand to be there anymore...around people...laughing...caring about stuff...how could they? 

I stopped at Jewel to order a cake for a resident's 98th birthday tomorrow.  While I was there, I waved to my banker who was across the aisle in the line for the deli.  And I flirted a little with the guy in front of me in the self-checkout line...and he flirted back...and I have had a good horrible miserable day I want to cry scream yell curl up retreat hide forever. 

It's not okay.  Nothing is okay.  Nothing is normal.  People are walking down the street.  Don't they know that the world is different now?  Don't they know that nothing matters?  What is up with them? 

Tonight at Jewel I bought myself some flowers...to replace the ones that people sent after Dad died (80 days ago), to bring some life into my apartment.  Later this evening, the whole vase fell on the floor...but didn't break.  The glass didn't shatter.  The flowers are in tact. 

Life goes on.  But it doesn't.  But it has to.