Every Rose Has It's Bush

Aloneness.
Today is the first day back to normal life since Grandma died exactly one week, one hour, and 24 minutes ago. Since then it’s been family, and mourning, and Thanksgiving, and driving, and acquiring Katie for a month trial period. Today it’s life as normal until Christmas time. Work, reading, dog park, etc.
I think life as normal is the hardest thing there is. If there is nothing else to distract you, you are forced to confront yourself.
While cruising back from Houston earlier today, I realized that for the first time as an idea unto itself.
For so long I struggled with my jealousy. It was my biggest source of negativity, suffering and self-loathing. It’s a miracle James’ and my relationship survived And now, while I on occasion relapse, but more often than not, only begin to relapse, I am fixed. That bud has been nipped.
I can’t even begin to tell you the anger, the bitterness, the feeling of unfairness I’ve felt toward Dad and Ruthie over the years for the difficulty of my adolescence. For not actually doing their best, and for, even if they were, if not being good enough. But now, as my Grandma’s already diminished health, deteriorated so rapidly and completely, I began to make amends in my mind. I began to forgive.
I saw all of the long kept resentment, grudges and blame between my Grandma and her first born son, Scott. I saw them not over come those feelings, ever. They never spoke before she died. Now they never can. I saw the life long sibling animosity my Dad holds for my Aunt remain solid and in tact, even as my family came together at my Grandparents house to mourn just hours after Grandma’s death. She tried to hug him, to let him know that despite all their differences over the years, he was still her brother, and she still loves him, and as she did, he just stood there, unresponsive.
I saw these things and realized the pettiness of it. The reasons are unimportant. To shut your family out of your life and to let your anger fester inside of you. There is not a good reason for that. I saw I had to understand and to forgive and to rise above. I will not one day be my Uncle Scott. That bud is holding on by one browning, fibrous string.
There are smaller things. I have to come into a zen-like balance with my work. I do not cry before going. I respect myself. And I do not put up with any shit. That bud has been nipped.
(On a side note about work, I realized that your life will be spent however you spend it. So I am not satisfied with my job. It is not what I will be remembered as, whether by my survivors, or by my elderly self. I can do better. I can do something I love. Anyway. Back to the buds.)
I can cruise (see aforementioned description of driving back from Houston), instead of stressing myself, hurrying to wherever I’m going. I’m able to not feel like I’m, as I’ve been so fond of saying in the past, “wasting my life” while driving. I throw on the autopilot, and enjoy myself. Another bud nipped.
I eat more slowly, enjoying my food more. This seems like a stupid thing to mention, I know, but you should have seen me eat before. Jesus.
So, I’m finding a new balance in all of these different areas of my life. All of these buds nipped. All of these symptoms and distractions removed.
But without all of these buds and blooms clouding my vision, distracting me, I am now acutely aware of the bush. The source. My self. My life. And it is overwhelming.
Now with out all of the death, and mourning, and traveling, and old dog adoption, I am left again, to stare at this thorny and formidable bush, to formulate and to attempt, all while nursing each new prick.
And in comparison, the jealousy, resentment, and bitterness all seems like little fireball breathing flowers in the Super Mario of life. I’m just now to King Koopa.

My brain keeps wanting to think about tomorrow. To imagine my responsibilities. When I’ll work this week, cleaning, dog park, all that. It keeps trying to incite me to consume. “Don’t you want a special treat Candice?…How about a coffee?…You also need groceries…Treats for the dogs….Don’t they deserve them?… They’ve had a hard day.”
And so on. But I’m stopping that. I’m letting myself feel good about spending time alone. When was the last time? Two weeks ago.
I have Zero 7 playing, my red Chinese paper lantern and some candles lit, and I’m writing. I don’t have to do anything else. I don’t want a coffee. I am not hungry. The dogs are sleeping. I am fine.
Maybe I won’t solve the conundrum that is life, not even my own, tonight. Probably not after many nights like this. But it is such a good feeling, a long transient feeling since my first serious boyfriend came along, and I am glad to have it tonight.

It’s occurred to me recently, that I hardly ever spend time doing just exactly what I want. I sleep when I think I should sleep, eat when I think I should eat, work when I think I should work. When I wake up, I always jump out of bed, and brush my teeth. I never wake up, and lay there, reading for a couple of hours. I never don’t brush my teeth. I never sing when there are people around, even if I feel like it. I shower when I really don’t want to. I drive because I think I have to hurry. I don’t linger at the pool of whirling leaves in the creek for long if there’s anyone around. I don’t stay up later than I “should”, listening to music, drinking wine, alone. I’ve never gone downtown dancing alone. I’ve never gone into work at 10.
Starting now, I’m going to do what ever I feel like, even if it’s a “waste of time,” even if my teeth will rot, even if I won’t be productive, even if I’ll be drunk alone, even if I’m coloring in my Lion King coloring book for 5 hours.
I feel like beinsg myself and forgiving myself for it.