2019 Planner
When I moved my ottoman this morning, I spotted something bright pink peeking out from underneath its corner. I pushed it a bit further, until I saw that it was a bubblegum colored 2019 planner.
I pulled it out, dusted it off, and remembered that Mom had given it to me at Christmastime. I recalled that she said something like "I figured you could use that!". And, here it is, unused...blank...forgotten under a piece of furniture.
I am over four months into 2019, and nothing I could have written into that planner could have foreseen how the year has unfolded.
Did I "plan" to go through the first three months, watching my vibrant and youthful mom decline and die? Not by a long shot.
I also didn't plan on all the emotional eating I have done in that time--gaining at least 10 pounds. (Possibly more, I don't own a scale.) I didn't think I would neglect exercise and lose most of my desire to do so. I loathe the way I look and feel, but not enough to change. As St. Augustine said, "Lord, make me chaste...but not yet!". I say, "Lord, curb my eating...but not yet!", as I munch on anything available from my kitchen. At the first sign of hunger, I have an insatiable need to fill myself up. I don't need a psychologist to tell me what I am doing. I already know--I am self medicating with food.
My house was, and is, in need of a top to bottom cleaning. I have almost no motivation to do so. (It does not help that I live with five other people, and most of the time, they don't cooperate.) Out of necessity, my normal life was ignored for so long, but I had to preserve my energy for more important things. Now that I am back in "lower gear", I can't seem to find a rhythm in my days. Each day is like a foggy maze that I can scarcely find my way through.
I am tired. My thoughts are disjointed. I am forgetful. Inside, my heart continues to ache. My mind willingly torments me by going over Mom's last words to me. I watch, over and over, on an interior movie screen, her last days on earth. I think of her in the grave, and wonder what Heaven is like for her.
Dad drops in on me several times each day. He isn't one to call first, so I never know when he might show up. He is so lost without her. I have seen a side to him that I never knew existed. Dad has opened up a door to a stranger who looks and sounds like John, but acts completely different. If a gypsy with a crystal ball had predicted that my father would behave this way one day, I would have scoffed. It is strange what mourning can do to a person.
I feel sorry that I haven't used my planner, but in all honesty, I probably never would have anyway. I appreciate it because Mom gave it to me, but I usually jot things down on my wall calendar or put them into my phone. I think I'll put that planner aside and use it for sketching or to write ideas or thoughts in.
I pulled it out, dusted it off, and remembered that Mom had given it to me at Christmastime. I recalled that she said something like "I figured you could use that!". And, here it is, unused...blank...forgotten under a piece of furniture.
I am over four months into 2019, and nothing I could have written into that planner could have foreseen how the year has unfolded.
Did I "plan" to go through the first three months, watching my vibrant and youthful mom decline and die? Not by a long shot.
I also didn't plan on all the emotional eating I have done in that time--gaining at least 10 pounds. (Possibly more, I don't own a scale.) I didn't think I would neglect exercise and lose most of my desire to do so. I loathe the way I look and feel, but not enough to change. As St. Augustine said, "Lord, make me chaste...but not yet!". I say, "Lord, curb my eating...but not yet!", as I munch on anything available from my kitchen. At the first sign of hunger, I have an insatiable need to fill myself up. I don't need a psychologist to tell me what I am doing. I already know--I am self medicating with food.
My house was, and is, in need of a top to bottom cleaning. I have almost no motivation to do so. (It does not help that I live with five other people, and most of the time, they don't cooperate.) Out of necessity, my normal life was ignored for so long, but I had to preserve my energy for more important things. Now that I am back in "lower gear", I can't seem to find a rhythm in my days. Each day is like a foggy maze that I can scarcely find my way through.
I am tired. My thoughts are disjointed. I am forgetful. Inside, my heart continues to ache. My mind willingly torments me by going over Mom's last words to me. I watch, over and over, on an interior movie screen, her last days on earth. I think of her in the grave, and wonder what Heaven is like for her.
Dad drops in on me several times each day. He isn't one to call first, so I never know when he might show up. He is so lost without her. I have seen a side to him that I never knew existed. Dad has opened up a door to a stranger who looks and sounds like John, but acts completely different. If a gypsy with a crystal ball had predicted that my father would behave this way one day, I would have scoffed. It is strange what mourning can do to a person.
I feel sorry that I haven't used my planner, but in all honesty, I probably never would have anyway. I appreciate it because Mom gave it to me, but I usually jot things down on my wall calendar or put them into my phone. I think I'll put that planner aside and use it for sketching or to write ideas or thoughts in.
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