Monday, March 23, 2015

Angry bees and other morning thoughts

Bluuuurg!  :(   I just lost my whole post!  I'm typing on a phone, we have no computer in Florida and it's dang frustrating.  Plus the reason I had to stop typing, stop my train of thought, stop having a "me" moment is because of Luther. 

Sure, sure, I could've (should've) saved the post!!  That's not the point (right??).  Well, sort of it is...   what I'm trying to dance around is right now, especially in the mornings, I have a love/hate relationship with caregiving.

As I type this, I'm outside.  9 a.m. - a soft breeze rippling the water on a canal 20 feet from me.  Im barefoot, still in pj`s, waiting for my thin slice 40 calorie Pepperidge Farm bread to pop out of toaster.  Life is good.

And yet, I cringe at my mornings.  I cringe at the fact I'm saying I'm cringing out loud. 

In our mid-western good-natured way, it feels wrong to express a negative emotion. 

Plus that whole "my husband is dying and can't move his arms and if he could do it himself, he would" thing.  That's the trump card.  There is nothing I can feel that is worse than that.

I am being a little dramatic.  Of course we all get to feel how we feel.  If we all said I shouldn't feel this way because someone somewhere is worse off, our heads would eventually explode with pretending everything is always awesome. 

I've learned it's good to let out the junk, say it out loud, get input, file it away and move along. 

This morning, as I lit my husband's cigarette, wanting to smack him upside the head, wanting to scream at him that I hate this, I hate the idea that each time I light his cigarette, I'm killing him faster.

But it's our routine.  The awful morning routine.  He can't get out of bed, so I get up when he gets up.   (Ok I have to LOL because it's rare I want to get up earlier!! I usually want to sleep longer)

Very first thing, he smokes a cigarette.  It's a process I despise.  Sticking it in his mouth.  Lighting it.  Fighting the wind and fighting with Luther when the wind blows wrong and I can't figure out how to light it.   Smelling it, smelling him.

At this stage, he can walk to his chair and smoke on his own.  It's awkward to watch.  There will come a time he won't be able to do that.

I feel like a traitor, betraying Luther.  His one bad habit.  

Then he eats.  Has a cup o coffee.  And smokes again.  Same process every day. 

I'm at the end of this rant.  I don't have the energy to sustain it.  It is what it is.  It's cliche time.  Pull up my big girl panties and get over myself. 

The thing is, in this case, I feel my resentment to mornings slowly, slowly creeping higher. 

There are things I accept willingly because he simply cannot do them.  Try brushing another adults teeth... it's maddening.  But I do that without my head feeling like it's filled with angry bees because he can't do it. 

Is it the smoking that has those bees on overdrive in the morning?  Or the robot way I feed him.  I don't feel like that at other times, at lunch or dinner.   We are more engaged, I dip his chip with a free heart and a clear head.

Maybe I'm just not a morning person and the explanation is as cinchy as that. 

The day has started.  The bees have subsided.  Time to get a move on.

No comments:

Post a Comment