I’ve gone through a time bending worm-hole. It was six weeks away, and now it is a week and a day. I will pour myself into work, twice as much as usual, for I’m taking next week off to do this thing and then process it best I can without having to think too much.
I keep calling it this thing like it doesn’t deserve recognition in any other terms. My God, I’m going nuts. Off the charts. Just mailed the direct care workers at Jonah’s residence letters and pictures and my blog address, cell phone number – as much information as I could muster about my precious, barely-verbal boo.
Also I sent thank yous – expressions of gratitude for what they do and deal with every day, for choosing to help these children and face injury and shit smears and God knows what else – all for less money than they deserve, undoubtedly – for what they do is priceless.
I hope this week and next week fly by. I hope I can go far inside my head, into a Novocain-place, into numbness and ennui, even when I must be awake to work & think. As oxymoronic as it sounds, I want the foundation of my days to be a state of sleep from which I can wake later, later. Some other time. Some other place.
I don’t want to live through this.
The Never Normal 