About the blues

These waves of intense grief just keep washing over me.  Ohhh - I just...  I just... I don't even know.   

All this past week was a major struggle.  Of course I can't be sad at work, it's just not allowed - but it was really hard this week. Quite awful, in fact.  It was so hard to get through.  Granted, AF week is never easy for anyone - let alone for someone with IF.  There are so many painful reminders, and then sometimes it just hits me from out of the blue.

Last night, after such a difficult week, I stopped out at a happy hour for a co-worker's birthday.  Another co-worker, who I only met one other time, was telling me and a good friend of mine, who also wishes she had kids, about another person who couldn't make it to happy hour because of her young kids.  She then proceeded to go on about how kids are such a pain at that age and how people try selling them on eBay, but no one wants them.  She was cracking herself up, but didn't seem to notice that the two of us weren't laughing.  My friend tried to be a little coolly polite, but to be honest, I - though not rude - don't really try anymore.  All I can do is offer my sad stare.  She obviously didn't get the response she hoped for from us, so eventually moved on and I tried to stay social though my heart was sunk.  If only it were as easy as eBay.

Today, a thing as silly as a box of macaroni and cheese did me in.  You know, the old classic in the blue box.  Now, I'm a pretty good cook and I do make a mean (real) macaroni and cheese, but sometimes I just want the little blue box... It was one of the few processed foods mom served us when we were kids and I loved it!  It's not exactly healthy, but hey - sometimes the heart just wants what it wants, the tummy too - so once in a while I pick up a happy little blue box.  Anyhow, I was mentioning this to a friend last week, which meant it was already on my mind - plus, I felt a little comfort food was in order - so I picked up a box for today. As I was pitching out that blue box afterward, I noticed the back of it. It read:

"Imported from childhood. Congratulations, you just picked up a box of deliciously ooey gooey macaroni and cheese dinner.  Chances are you'll be serving it to your kids, but at the same time helping yourself to a spoonful or two...."

Whooosh.  From out of the blue (box) came yet another wave of grief.  I stood there over the garbage can crying because I don't have kids to serve fake macaroni and cheese to.  Honestly, if I did, I'd want to make them the real stuff anyhow... so they'd know cheese doesn't really come in that pretty orange color.  Still, stand there crying for a ridiculously long time, I did. I don't have kids and I never will.

Am I too sensitive?  Oh, sure - obviously, but how am I supposed to not be?  It feels how I imagine a recovering alcoholic, who's trapped forever in a busy tavern - but not allowed to have a drink - would feel.  Oh, I just don't know.  I wonder if I will ever stop hurting so much.

I really wish Ar were home, instead of away on business...  I just want him near.  I'm so proud of him and his business, but I wish it didn't take him away so many weekends.  I just want him near. 

 "Sometimes the night was beautiful
Sometimes the sky was so far away
Sometimes it seemed to stoop so close
You could touch it but your heart would break..."