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Day 51

Updated: Apr 20

My friend Steve sent me a bereavement card with the advice to take care of myself. Many people give me unsolicited, and often bizarre, advice. However, I paid particular attention to Steve’s because he had lost one of his children suddenly as a young adult.

I find great pleasure in taking care of others. I’ve been accused on many occasions of being a hovering parent to my successful adult friends. Taking care of myself is not something I ever gave much time or attention to. The major exception to this is when it was an opportunity for me to do something for Constance or a friend as well [as myself].

Constance and I went to the gym six days a week so she could swim. On warm summer days, we went to the beach or the water-park. When it was cold, we went the library and would leave with stacks of books. I loved giving her pedicures—a process she tolerated but didn’t adore. Much to the befuddlement of the staff at Red Door, I took her with me to the spa. Then, when a fun children’s spa opened in Highland Park, I took her there. I arranged a play date with her friend at the kid’s spa, which Constance smiled and giggled her way through.

Since Constance’s passing, I have not really indulged myself in any meaningful way. I am pressured by my job, by Constance’s father to move out of the house, and by myself to attempt to thank all of those who have remembered Constance. I work eighteen hours daily in conditions in which I would never ask someone else to function. I spent seven days sleeping on the floor of my former bedroom because it is the only room in the house with carpeting and I was working until I collapsed and then jumping up at 6 am to do it again.

I have this robotic work ethic that is only satisfied by the blissful moment when I’m putting a line through something on my to-do list. There is so much to do, and I want it all done and over with.

A low point was when I returned a box of wine to the 24-hour Walgreens because of the wine’s poor quality. I was up at 3 am doing maintenance on the house and wanted a glass of wine (of course I did). The only open store was the 24-hour Walgreens and, perhaps with a mind hazed by days of painting (and paint fumes), I made the completely mad decision to buy boxed wine at Walgreens. When it tasted like vinegar, I returned it and demanded a refund. You can imagine how perplexed the manager was by my crazed combination of, sobriety and cheapness, excuse me, snobbery and cheapness.

With the house nearly complete, I checked into a hotel last night. I took a shower without worrying about upgrading the bathroom hardware. I watched Westworld without packing boxes at the same time. I ate dinner that wasn’t alcohol and sauce packets from the kitchen’s junk drawer. It was glorious. I look forward to doing it all again tonight; in fact, I put it on my to-do list.


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Membre inconnu
02 juil. 2018



Membre inconnu
25 juin 2018

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