The last time I was here in crabby mode was April 6th. There is no way I’ve been continuously cheerful since April 6th.
I’ll tell you why I haven’t been here since April 6th: I’ve been so damned crabby that I wasn’t funny any more. I stuck with chatty that long and I know that my crabby state spilled over and flavored it, maybe even poisoned it. Let me know if I poisoned what is supposed to be a cheerful rant.
Friends, I believed I was dying more than one day in a row over the past months. I wanted to make it funny, but I felt pretty isolated and misunderstood because so many casually calling and texting friends couldn’t—or were afraid to—let me acknowledge my own death.
Mike and Nick let me talk about death, about how terrifying and imminent it felt, a presence that hovered. It was a comforting realization that I was isolated with the two people in the world who loved me best. It was a comfort they listened and hugged me whenever I wanted.
The sad thing is that, now that I’m further off that precipice, some of my relationships are still in disrepair. Some didn’t make it. I haven’t even told some of them of that change.
So, yeah, I’m still crabby sometimes.
But, you know what?
I’m redefining joy. I learned that joy can be as slight as looking for the branches on my companion Western red cedar that waved in a breeze. Joy was the field of various greens that blocked my view of the sky. Joy was reclining on the same couch with Mike as he played his video game. Joy was burying my fingers in a cat’s fur.
So, no, I wasn’t always chatty since April 6th, but I didn’t have the strength or the courage to yell to you about it.
I’m so sorry if you thought I was dead. I’m not dead yet. I’m just hanging out on my recliner.
Thank you for listening, jules