Not having internet at home is wearing me out. Mostly because I have no way to check out. No way to connect with our on-line community here, unless I head out into some public internet place. That has its own stressors and overwhelm: people people people everywhere, and no one is the one I want.
So much has been happening the last month. And I needed to remind myself last night: it is still JULY. I am not even out of the anniversary orbit. I have had my current housing situation changed and it remains an unknown. I have been tossed around with the idea of moving to the new house. My son arrived. That is an awesome stressor, but it is still a stressor. We've spent the last several days - hours at a time - crafting his job search and taking care of other things. He is doing fantastic, and I am massively proud of him. Of us. Having him back is a huge adjustment, in both comforting and disorienting ways.
During our out-for-public-internet job stuff, I met with the owner of the new house, and decided to tell her I would take it. I said yes. But then, in the midst of all the noise and people, she started going on about all sorts of things that were not the original arrangement, not what we'd discussed, and certainly not what I'd just said yes to. I was still reeling from having actually said yes out loud, and the surprise of having things suddenly not be what I'd thought pushed me over into complete check-out land. She wants me there, but her idea of what that looks like is not what we'd discussed. We'll work it out or we won't. Whatever. But seriously - all that torment for myself, and now it may not be an option.
On top of these things, I have started working at the farm with the new owners. It is immensely painful. Horribly. Bad. They are lovely. They are in love. They are painful for me to watch. It is painful to go through my day, learning new things, getting frustrated and excited, knowing matt is no longer home. Knowing he is not here to talk like this young couple does - thinking things out loud together, discussing their options, making plans. There is no one home anymore who cares about this life with me. I think that has been going around - some of us writing about losing that echo of life, losing the one person who is invested equally in life.
The worst thing though: I was learning how to use the milking machines a couple days ago. It was my first actual day working for them. The new owner, S for anonymity, called me over to crouch down beside him and check out the inflator attachment. As I leaned under the cow, I put my head on his shoulder. Shit. It makes me cry even now, two days later. I put my head on his shoulder and the thought smashed into me - I will actually never put my head on matt's shoulder again.
I felt the change come over me. There was no way I could start openly crying right then. I shut myself down. I worked for 6 more hours that day with that thought pounding in my mind: I will actually never -
As soon as I got in the car I started crying. A - I had to draw on our deal, and my own desire to not impact anyone else's life. I got home and just sat outside with the dog for the rest of the day. Just sat. Not even thinking. Cried. Went to bed before dark. The next day (yesterday) I got in some internet catch-up time, saw a lot of people I haven't seen in a long time who were peripherally part of our life (a whole other drain in some ways), met with my son to work on his plans, met with the owner of the new house to say my "yes," listened to her own scattered, disorganized we're-trying-to-move-out-of-the-country stressors, and felt every last bit of energy drain out of me. Today, I was back at the farm, doing more milking, making mistakes that come with a steep learning curve, knowing matt is not around to hear me talk about how much I hate not being instantly gifted with certain things, watching the two owners in their normal old life, together.
Sitting here now, half way between there and home, in a little cafe with some good chocolate, realizing how much I relied on the normalcy of the internet at home. I may be on it too much, that's true. But in the last couple of weeks, so much has started blowing around, changing and starting and becoming unclear, that having lost even that one little anchor adds an amazingly noticeable stress. I can't easily decompress or distract. I can't easily share the hardness and pain of things like putting my head on some man's shoulder and having that collapse all of everything. I feel like my little world has been blown apart, like I've been in an insulated bubble for the last two years, and suddenly the outside world is rushing in. There are too many changes, too many things going on. I feel extremely disoriented, not sure how all of this happened. I doubt that getting internet access at home will help that at all. At this point, the thought of trying to figure out who provides what and for how much is too much. But it is one area I could relatively easily control, one source of vexation and annoyance I could change.
I think perhaps there are no other thoughts allowed while it is still July.