August 17, 2011
Allow me to come clean, albeit vaguely, for minute or two.
I am fine -- Jason is fine, the boys are fine -- but several people I love are not. At all. I can't get into details about who and what and when, because these are not my stories to tell, but just to give you a basic sampling of ALL THE AWESOME THINGS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW, we have: inpatient rehab, depression, calls to a suicide hotline, impending financial doom, death, loss, suffocating grief, spread amongst several different friends and family members. All at once. BOOM.
Hi! You're welcome! Love, August. (P.S. Fuck you.)
I am not a "fixer." I kind of get bugged by "fixers." You know the type. You tell them your problems and they immediately pepper you with helpful, practical suggestions, and you're like: Wait. Did I make it sound like I was done wallowing? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not done wallowing. So could you please dial it back to sympathetic head pats and save your to-do list of Actionable Items To Better My Own Situation for later?
(Note: Jason is a fixer, though I have successfully managed to make him recognize this as a character flaw, thanks to the many, many times I have completely freaked out at him for having the nerve to try to solve my problems before I was ready to have them solved.)
That said, when faced with my loved one's problems that I really and truly am powerless to "fix" in any way, I am floundering. And frustrated. I want to help. I want...no. More than that. I want to FIX IT ALL EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW MAGIC KAZAAM.
I know I can't. I know they know I can't, but still.
On Sunday I promised someone just one thing that I could do. I promised to post, share and email photos of my children every day, for the next 28 days.
I hope that's enough. I hope that helps.