Return

I went back to work today.  I got there early, but N was there before me, which is what he used to do before I was Department Head.  He said that he wanted to take the Department Head responsibility off my plate until the end of the month to give me time to recover and come back to work slowly.  I appreciated this enormously (while I simultaneously wondered how I could possibly have said no if I really didn't want this to happen).  I do want it, though, I really do.  It was a relief to come back and be given time to manage my own desk instead of having to start managing everyone else right away.

The neurologist said I was having a "complex" migraine, which really sucks, but it's a whole lot better than any of the other terrible things I was afraid of.  The good thing is that I now have some medications that are supposed to prevent me from becoming dysfunctional for 10 day stretches in the future.  I hope they work.  These migraine symptoms, because they are "complex" are not your typical migraine... mostly painless but a still a million times worse.  (Being scared is worse than being in pain.)  And returning to a supportive colleague was good.

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An epic homage to The Great Gatsby

Last night I finished Killing Commendatore; I have read it slowly over a couple of weeks, even though there has been nothing but time.  Today marks my sixth consecutive day off work, tenth consecutive day if you include the weekends, and tomorrow will be the last, if things stay settled.  I plan to return on Wednesday, and I do not particularly look forward to that, although I look forward to the notion of being normal again.  I have never taken this many days off work in my entire career, and there's something about that I am enjoying, dipping into my enormous sick bank and spending it on myself.

For a while I have been telling myself I need to slow down a bit, focus on balance, when abruptly the decision was made for me.  This sort of thing is irritating because I know my colleagues will cast sidelong glances at each other, nod knowingly, because this confirms what they have been thinking all along, that the best way to do this job is to put in the bare minimum, and I'm the stupid one for working so hard.  And it makes me crazy because this is not caused by stress.  I am more than willing to accept that it is exacerbated by stress, but my brain was doing this thing over the holidays too, completely stress-free.

Anyway, Killing Commendatore.  It was satisfying as hell to find myself back at the bottom of a well again, fully immersed in Murakami for several days.  I am always so drawn to this world, the world between worlds, between sleeping and dreaming, a place where nothing is impossible.  Sometimes I read other people's reviews of Murakami and wonder what they're talking about.  I see something, I feel something different when I read it.



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opportunistic big factor

Yesterday the Violent Femmes was playing inside Shoppers Drug Mart, where I had stopped to pick up a prescription.  It created an interesting juxtaposition to the heart rate and blood pressure reader, aisle full of compression socks, and rack of reading glasses.  Myself, with one foot in each world, humming along to Gone, Daddy Gone, while browsing night creams.  (I didn't buy one.)

Last night S spent the night at Big J's place, and as always I was struck by how - although I love him obnoxiously -, much better I sleep when I am alone.  Not that I'm really alone with three dogs up my nose.  But it also made me think about Ray (which is all I have been thinking about lately) and how it must feel to him to be alone in his 2500 square foot house, without his wife, forever.  It makes my heart hurt.

Later this morning I am going downtown to meet them, S and Big J, perhaps for coffee, and more notably to look at shoes.  This holiday I have been attempting to focus my thoughts and set my intentions on the theme of balance; I have also bought three pairs of shoes, which one might argue does not show much respect for balance, but I think it does because none of them has a particularly tall heel.

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ashes again

My sister's ashes are here now, delivered this afternoon by a courier guy.  The man with the too-kind eyes sorted it all out so I wouldn't have to go back a second time to retrieve them.  They arrived in a cardboard shipping box, with bubble wrap.  I removed those, and stopped unwrapping there.  Inside, there is another plastic bag that says "Evidence" on it, and a cloth bag inside that with a sticker on it that says "Human Remains" and "Ashes".  And I can feel the wooden (I think) box inside that.  I will let J decide if she wants to open it further.  For me, that's as close as I would like to be with what is left of my sister.  I prefer my memories (because I can edit them).


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