Restless

I’m incredibly restless these days. 

Right now, I’ve got no less than four tabs open on the computer, and I’m watching TV.  And I’m occasionally looking at my blackberry.  And, I have a load of laundry in the washer.

The same is true in the car.  Today I was on my way to appointments and run errands, and it was storming outside, and I was talking on the phone, and the dog was next to me, and I had the radio on (the Mercy Me CD that I ALWAYS listen to) and I was thinking, I should turn on the radio.  Oh, it’s already on.

What is wrong with me?  I normally think that I’m not a good multi-tasker.  When I’m at work, I can’t run the credit card machine at the same time that I’m booking appointments.  I have to do them one at a time.  And, it’s impossible to do this if I need to, you know, “use the restroom.”  This just feels like one too many things on my brain, I can’t possibly book appointments, run credit cards AND “hold it” at the same time.

It’s possible that I’m trying not to grieve.  That I’m trying to keep my mind off of it.  But I really don’t feel that that’s it.  I’ve been talking about it and processing with people and it seems like I’m actually making some progress.  I don’t know why I just said that.  I don’t know what “progress” really looks like, but I at least know things about what I’m thinking that I didn’t know yesterday.

Maybe it’s just the “crazy” that I have talked about before with the not sleeping.  I’m not.  Sleeping, that is.  Crazy, probably.

Here’s what’s kickin’ around in my head.

I am lucky enough to think back on my marriage and have very few regrets.  Of course, there are the fights that I think, “Wow, if I had that to do over again, I would SO not be worried about that.”  (I told my mom that last night, and she said, “yeah, but he had a part in those fights, too, and yet now you’re paying for them and for some reason he doesn’t have to.”  I thought, “At last!  I’ve found my ‘thing to be angry at him about!’”)  In fact, the thing I obsess about most, and this is so silly, is not sharing my skittles.  I’m serious.  About a week before Sawan died I had a little “fun pack” of skittles and, like a little kid, I selected the worst colors (orange and green) to eat first, saving the more desirable colors (red and purple) to eat last.  These were also his favorites.  But in a “fun pack” you only get a couple in every color.  He came in the room when I was down to my last four skittles, and asked if he could have some.  I wouldn’t share.  Now, we had whole other packs that he could have opened, but I really think I hurt his feelings by not sharing my skittles with him.  I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is so stupid.  But this is one the things that makes me the most sad.  And, skittles are completely ruined for me now.

I know that it’s weird to say that I have very few regrets and then tell you a story about candy and have you believe me.  But really, we were great communicators.  We fought a lot, but we fought well (he never spent the night on the couch).  There was nothing left unsaid.  He knew how much I loved him.  I have no doubt about how much he loved me.

In spite of this, I feel great responsibility for his death.  I have dueling opinions of myself, and both are evil.  Either I think too highly of myself, and the question is “why me?”  And the spiral goes down to “I don’t deserve this!”  Or, I think, “It’s all my fault.”  I majorly screwed up and am being punished.  I know in my head that neither of these is true, and the answer is really “mystery option three,” but I’m still working on getting to what that is, and living from that place is much harder than knowing it in your head.

In the meantime, the restlessness I feel can be summed up in the latest joke I heard:

(Apologies if it’s not “pc” to say ADD anymore…)

How many kids with ADD does it take to change a light bulb?

I don’t know, how many?

Wanna go ride bikes?