This past Saturday we went over to Bissell Park with the rocket that Spotz’s AuntShelby gave him for his birthday. He had waited until Grampa Fred visited to make the the rocket. Spotz is a great guy that way.
It took us several launches to get the baking soda to vinegar ratio just right.
We were able to send it to about 150 feet by the fourth launch. Great fun taking feminine hygene products to new heights!
We went to BJ’s folks house, had a good time, and came back to Oak Ridge for dinner at the Time Out. Good stuff, I highly suggest the chicken in a sack. Its more like pita, but you get the point.
So, came back home, G played a computer game, I folded up clothes, and Pigpen kinda was bored and sulking around.
He was fussing about something, I think he was telling me he wants supper (10 minutes after eating at Timeout)
Me: “Pigpen, are you sad?”
Pigpen: “No”
Me: “I get sad sometimes. Its OK to be sad.”
Pigpen: “I hate Mommy.”
Me: “…”
Me: “Are you angry at Mommy because she died?”
Pigpen: “Yes, she’s dead.”
Me: “Little buddy, it wasn’t Moms fault. She got sick. She tried and tried and tried to get better, but she just couldn’t. The thing she wanted more than anything else was to come home to her Pigpen, and be alive some more.”
Pigpen: “Maybe I can make her alive again”
Me: “Well, no, buddy, nobody can make her alive again, but maybe you can dream about Mom.”
So, I was on my way to pick up the death certificates.
I get there, and he checks em real quick, and ooops… the dumbasses at the dead people place screwed up my name.
Yay for bureaucracy!
I’ll get em tomorrow.
—
I realized as I was leaving the house today that a large part of my depth of person is dead. I’m mighty superficial right now. Sure, I’m OK. I’m smiling, I’m bearing it, but a whole lot of who I am appears to be disconnected. Not sure what that bodes, but I figure it’ll all work out later.
I’m in the parking lot at the bank, riding off Jameson Inn’s wifi. We ‘ridgers need to get a nice googlemap thing of all the wifi spots. Yea, verily.
Well, I got some work done. Like, work work, as in, paid money to sell time kinda stuff. I never could get the damn phone to work on the lappy, so I had to use the desktop for the phone, and the lappy for the computer work, which meant that I was till tied to a wire. D’oh.
I’ll work that out, over time. Not a big deal.
I was trucking along, doing work, getting about 3 hours in, when BJ’s dad called, and I remembered just how much this all sucks.
I forget, sometimes, which is a blessing, but unfortunately, I don’t think her folks are capable of that.
—
I’m in a wonderfully empty house right now, I logged out of work shortly after talking to him, and am drinking in the feeling of BJ. Just that back of the head feeling. I’m not talking to her (with my mouth), but just feeling her. Its nice, and I don’t really feel very alone.
I’m not sure if its really her, tho, because I get the feeling that the BJ I know would be kicking my ass and telling me to get to work. Not money work, but cleaning up the house work.
BJ always loved it when I played hooky from work. Always. She wouldn’t ask me to, per se, but she’d mentally will me to do it. I was sooo looking forward to retirement, when she and I could have all hours of the day together, to just piss away.
Kinda like those early days.
Ahh, but it isn’t working out like that, is it? And thats OK by me, right now, at 11:57 in the AM on a Monday morning. Que sera sera, as I said before. I’ll play the cards I’m dealt.
I reckon I’ll head out and hook up with some death certificates, and then drop one by the HR lady at work to get the insurance wheels rolling. Then I might go by Sumgurl’s house and make her husband fix my bike, as she was kind enough to offer me. Then… hmm. Gotta be here to get Pigpen at 2, and MastaG at 3, which doesn’t give me enough time to run down to K-town and buy a vinyl copy of A Ghost Is Born like I wanna do. Mebbe I’ll do that tomorrow.
Mebbe I’ll get some food. I had an orange for breakfast earlier, in my attempt to eat better and stuff, but it didn’t go far in filling me up.
—
Everybody who came down, long assed and short assed journeys to pay homage to BJ made it back safely, or so I heard. You guys are the best. I’d thank you all individually, but it’d take a long time. Every conversation I had, both in email and in real life, meant a lot to me. The offers of company, all are very important. Not sure when I’ll get around to taking them up, I’m still reeling, but I probably will soon enough.
Its also sweet of you guys to worry about the holiday season, but I’m specially outfitted for this in that I never really cared for the holiday season to begin with, and this just made it more… hmm… important, I guess. I don’t take my friends and family for granted, like I may have done in the past. I want to make this fun, and nice, and good, and whatever for the boys.
It’ll suck, at times. I still feel that cutoff whenever thoughts wander toward the whole WTF thing, and thats still OK. I’m not going to push anything.
Getting the boys off to school in another 10 minutes or so! I’ve spent the last 45 in a life or death struggle with the Voice over IP client I’m using to take calls from home, evidently it REALLY doesn’t want to make a connection with the server. I mean, it tells you it wants that connection, and it looks like its trying to make it, but I think it’s secretly watching football or something.
Its probably all like making fun of me.
“huh huh… dude, hey, IPsec client, look at that loser out side with the headphone on. He wants to connect to work, he’s a loooser. I’m gonna watch football now”
So, I called tech support (yes, drink in the irony) but the real tech support guys aren’t there until later. Unfortunately, while frustration would help, since I do the same thing to other people myself, I guess I can’t really say much. Sigh.
Ooo ooo oo I could make some coffee! Ah, and take a shower, yes.
But, I’ll write more stuff here instead.
—
One thing thats been with me, is that now that I’m not writing about BJ, what the hell do I write about? I’ve set a precedent here that I’m loath to break, doing all this personal writing. Normally (and you can tell by the archives, I’m sure) the personal writing isn’t so much me. I like writing, but at arms distance. I’m wondering when that instinct will come back, if it does.
So, lets take stock of the situation, eh?
House: Messy (actually, not horribly messy, but enough to bug me. Particularly this bedroom. I really need to get it sorted out.)
Arm: Sore (not sure why), and it feels like I have an ingrown hangnail on the bird finger of my left hand. Uncomfortable, but things could be worse, right?
Children: Asleep
Loneliness: Not so the bad in the day, but increasingly irritating at night
IP client: STILL NOT CONNECTING…. CONNECT, YOU SMUG SON OF A BITCH!
