38

You guys have no idea how much I wanted to be able to write a positive post today, about this being my new New Year and starting over with a clean slate and looking forward and blah blah blah happy birthday cake.

But instead today I'm full of grief and sadness. One of the first things I did after I got up was to burst into tears in the kitchen, standing there bawling over my coffee while my husband is at the other end of the house, oblivious to my little breakdown. I finally had to log in to blog about it because that was the only way I could get myself to stop crying.

Part of the problem is that, for some reason, Matt decided to get me up at nine. I stayed up till two this morning and was counting on being able to sleep in till at least 10, because it's my birthday. He said he thought I'd want him to get me up because we need to start turning our sleep schedules around so we can start going to church again, but BIRTHDAYS ARE NOT DAYS FOR DOING THAT! I'd have dealt with it better if this wasn't the third or fourth night in a row that I didn't get more than six or seven hours of sleep, but it is, and it's all catching up to me and making me feel really fragile.

And part of it is that it hit me that I didn't get my yearly birthday card signed "Mom, Rob & Bobo," and that I'll never get that card again, and my mom-in-law won't be calling me to wish me happy birthday and make plans to get together to give me my gift. That's actually a big part of it. I miss my in-laws, and their cat, and I hate hate hate that they're all gone, that half of our family just doesn't exist anymore.

Of course, the bulk of it is simply that birthdays are hard when you're over 35 and you're having reproductive problems and you want kids more than anything else in the world. Every day that you're not pregnant you're aware of that clock ticking away, that little whisper that you're running out of time, and birthdays are the stroke of twelve on the clock, the big bong clanging in your ear and screaming that your risk factors just multiplied and your chances of having a healthy baby before time runs out completely just went down a percentage.

I keep reminding myself that my mom had my little sister at 38, and everything was fine. But mom didn't have my history, and she'd already had three healthy children by that point, which keeps that from being as comforting as it could be.

I see birthday messages piling up on Facebook. It's helping me feel cared for and loved, but it's also making me feel bad that I can't say, "Yes, I AM having a happy birthday, thanks!" But maybe it's not too late for that. Writing all of this has already helped me feel a little better. I was going to do some work on my blogging course today, but I think I'm just going to take the day off and read a book or something. I haven't had time to read a book in ages. We've been debating whether to do my birthday sushi night tonight or wait for the weekend, but I think I'll push for tonight. And maybe later I'll take a nap and then work out, and then my outlook will be better, and I can get to that Happy Birthday New Year Clean Slate place. Maybe.

Melancholy and the Office of Sadness

I'm back in my office today, for the first time since Bobo died. I'd already gotten so used to him hanging out on the pallet we'd made for him on the floor next to my desk, that I haven't had the heart to break the pallet down, or remove his food and water bowls, or sit here next to that empty space.

This room has become a sad room; but it's also the room where I do my best being focused and productive, and I need to take it back. So this morning I made myself remove the bowls and re-cover his pillow for the other cats (and Pete) to use. It was hard, and sitting here at my desk with him gone is hard. I just feel so much like we failed him, and like we failed Mom and Rob, even though I know that we did everything we possibly could for him, and that he just didn't want to go on without his people.

So the mood in my office is melancholic. The gray skies and chilly weather are certainly contributing to that. Today would be an excellent day to curl up in bed and listen to emo music and write more angsty lyrics, but I have too much work to do. I guess I'd best go do it.

Tearballs

Tomorrow will mark a full week of Project Oven Repair, a full week during which I've had no sweets and 95% of my meals have consisted mainly of vegetables and lean protein, I've been taking prenatal vitamins and tons of fish oil, and I've been working out consistently; and I have to say that, physically, I'm already feeling about a million times better. I have more energy, I'm sleeping better, and I'm pretty sure I've lost a couple of pounds.

And of course this is having a positive impact on my emotional state. I'm still weepy, but I'm feeling more hopeful about everything, and better able to cope. With everything that's happened lately, I expect that it will take more than a new diet to get past the sad days. There's just so much to be sad about, and it hits us both in waves. Like yesterday, when out of the blue I started crying over Bobo, which led to more crying over Rob, which led to still more crying over Mom. It was a crying snowball. A tearball. Or maybe more like a snot ball. Anyway, I cried. A lot.

And then somebody compliments my song, or tells me that they're praying about the baby situation, and that makes me weepy, too. And next week, of course, is the anniversary that I'm struggling with. I'd make plans to do something nice for myself on that day, but I'm not sure which day to do it on, since it was drawn out over 4 days. On the 29th I started spotting, on the 31st I got the ultrasound that confirmed the miscarriage, and on April 1st I had the D&C. Talk about April Fool's.

So which of those days actually counts as the anniversary? I guess if I have to pick one it would be anniversary of the D&C, since that finalized it. So I'm going to try to do something nice for myself that day, although I don't know what yet, since our funds are still pretty limited. Maybe I'll give myself a home pedicure. Lord knows my feet could use it.

You know, when this post started it was going to be all about my diet and what I'm doing to get healthy, but then it turned left at Albuquerque and headed straight for the sad place. Sigh.

Hooky

I'm playing hooky today. I didn't plan to; I signed onto the Internet with every intention of getting work done. But after a couple of hours of catching up on my "fun" blog reads and watching Muppet videos on Youtube, I realized how much I really need a day to be totally unproductive and just rest. A random day off in the middle of the week that doesn't involve burying pets or going to funeral homes or taking care of the estates of deceased loved ones.

I think when you wake up in the morning already crying, it's okay to take the day off.

It might seem like an easy decision, but it's not. Business has been slow and we're teetering on the brink of financial destitution, so I've been working overtime to generate some income. I set up a new Etsy store for graphic & web design, which still needs more stock added to it, and launched a monthly graphics subscription club. But so far, nobody's buying. I've been working my butt off to generate client leads, and I keep getting bites, but I'm not closing any sales. I even took an online class on ethical salesmanship that guaranteed increased sales, but it hasn't made a lick of difference. So it's pretty frustrating, and certainly isn't helping my stress-levels.

Cue the well-intentioned and not-at-all-judgy e-mails telling me that I should go get a job at Walmart or McDonald's because my business is clearly a failure. I love those e-mails.

Anyway. I have one more product that I want to hurry and get on the market before I go back to writing full-time for Demand Studios until things pick up. I got pretty burned out on DS last year, but at least it's a paycheck. But before that starts taking up all of my time and energy, I want to put together an online course on blogging for businesses. There are plenty of courses out there on how to blog AS a business, but I haven't seen any targeted at businesses that want to add a blog to their web sites to improve SEO, generate leads, build credibility and trust, etc. So I'm developing that, and hopefully I'll be able to develop an audience for it (if you think you might be the audience for it, you can sign up here to be notified when it's ready to launch).

I'm also thinking about putting together a chapbook of my short stories and Ficlets to sell. And possibly re-editing and re-packaging This Old Haunt and going whole-hog with the self-publishing instead of just throwing it up on Scribd. But I probably need to get a few DS articles under my belt before I can make time for that.

But today, I'm going to put my feet up and watch TV and videos and maybe get some exercise and practice my bass and read something for pleasure. Work and money woes and packing away Bobo's things and cleaning the carpet stains in my office can all wait for tomorrow.

Bobo

I knew when I woke up with a headache this morning that it wasn't going to be a good day.

Bobo, the kitty we inherited from mom and Rob, passed away today about noon. I checked on him when I got up, and could tell then that he probably wouldn't last through the day. I loved on him, but he seemed to want to be left alone. I debated whether we should leave it to nature or just put it on our credit card to take him to the vet and put an end to his suffering. I prayed about it, and asked the Lord to please take him quickly and not let him suffer if there was no hope for his recovery. About twenty minutes later, Matt went to check on him, and he was gone.

We wrapped him in his favorite blanket and took him to my mom's, out in the country, where we buried him next to our doggie Fizzgigg.

So it's been an emotional day, to say the least. Bobo was all that was left of Matt's family, and we got a lot of comfort from him before he started going downhill. But after Rob died, it seemed like Bobo just gave up the will to live.

After he stopped eating kibble, we were able to get him to eat tuna a few times, but then he stopped eating that, too. I started force-feeding him mashed up kibble through a syringe, which he hated. Yesterday, he took all of his food -- well, most of it; he kept trying to spit it out -- and he hung out with us instead of hiding out in my office. After a particularly nasty bout of diarrhea (in my office, all over the carpet), he even let me bathe him, and then he let me hold him, swaddled in a towel and cradled like a baby, to keep him warm while he dried off. When we went to bed last night I was still hopeful that he'd pull through. But like I said, all it took was one look at him this morning to realize how wrong I was.

He was a really sweet cat, and he had a perfectly happy life until his family and home were taken away. Matt and I tried our best to do right by him and let him know he was still loved, but it just wasn't enough. I hope he gets to go be with them now.