2015 is not a Leap Year.
To be honest I don’t think it’s even a spring to your feet year. Not for me anyway. I really hope yours is going better – and I am very aware that mine is light years away from being the worst. I digress. Clearly a 28 day February is preferable to a 29 day one. The tradition of women being able to propose to men on the 29th passes me by without a ripple.
Clang association back up there … not surprising (mixed state). I don’t loathe February because I’m single and valentine’s day approacheth – it’s primarily because it’s the month my mother died. Then there is this mixed state and valentine’s day will possibly hurt a little, because I’m a romantic – but it’s also alright. I want all my friends and family who have partners to have some quiet and intense romance and fiercely, joyously passionate sex, followed by sublimely slow lovemaking. And then, there is the fact that after months of effort, my beautiful, lovely, loving Hyaenadog’s neurological problems are accelerating, the silver bullet of cortisone is just beginning to affect his organs and we are now out of treatment options. Palliative care as long as possible and then he will need to go gently into that sodding voracious dark night. As another far too short lived shining soul didn’t quite say, my heart is broke but I have no glue.
There’s a verse in that song that applies untouched though.
Skin the sun
The soul is cheap
Wish me luck
Soothe the burn
Wake me up
Dumb (Kurt Cobain, 1990)
Grunge-nerd sidenote: the version I linked is live, in 1994, which is the year Kurt took a shotgun and … you know the rest. The MTV Unplugged version is lovely too, particularly for the lines that he and Krist Novoselic harmonise. Nirvana is my go to music for a certain kind of sore. It’s one feather lighter that Johnny Cash’s final album (American IV – The Man Comes Around) and one heavier than Leonard Cohen. I can pinpoint my level of distress by the music I crave. I start at that point and eventually (not necessarily that day) I want the Shonen Knife vs The Carpenters album, at which point I am safe for human consumption for a while. I am playing Nirvana now.
I already feel soothed by the songs that are just right for the level I’m at. I’ve done my first round of strange and strangled trying-not-to sobbing; I am back to pragmatism. I’m going to give my boy a happy time full of love and later (as later as possible without causing him any more suffering) a gentle and dignified ending. It’s what we owe our dogs.
Amidst it all, I’m up to 300mg of lamotrigine so far. I told my shrink that I think the other meds changed need to wait a month, so I can separate grief and depression. She agreed, with the firm caveat of get in touch immediately if things get too hard. And she said casually oh yes the next one is free isn’t it, and with no loss of face, I got lucky again. Man I am fortunate. She also said if I need ECT, she will forego her fees. I am always, always knocked over by the most amazingly happy wave when someone is spontaneously kind.
I’m shattered right now – there was a lot happening today, plus stress pulsing through me and then sad sadder saddest sadness. There is a storm shifting across my big sky, muttering and grumbling and unable to decide where to break. Here please, we need the rain and I need nature to shake its fist till I feel safe again.
That’s it … I’m done whining for now … my heart is broke, my heart is broke, my heart is broke.
Broken can be pretty, I can do without glue.
And so can you.