A few days ago, I woke up with a really bad low blood sugar reaction. Or rather, didn't quite wake up. I ended up tumbling out of bed, and, in a very disoriented and disorganized fashion, proceeded to walk through my house, running into the walls and furniture... mostly with my face. Long story short, I ended up in the emergency room with a splitting headache, a sore shoulder, and a small but messy cut over my left eye (I made the mistake of looking in the mirror after my pinball episode through my house, and freaked myself out when I saw blood covering the left side of my face). It was actually the fact that I had hit my head to the point of senselessness which convinced me to go to emergency - I mean, how ironic would it be to die of a head injury - the widow of a man who had died of a head injury? I just couldn't bear for the story to end in that fashion.
It's been kind of interesting, walking around in public. Clearly, strangers take one look at my face and think that I am a victim of spousal abuse, or maybe my boyfriend beat me up... but, true to form, my story is much more fascinating and improbable than that (i.e. "story of my life"). People kind of look at you, then don't look at you again... they never ask what happened, because they think they already know the answer. It makes me feel kind of strange, and a little bit defensive that they would assume that someone like me would stand for some asshole beating up on her, or even worse, that they would imagine my husband would be such an asshole as to beat up on me. I have to fight the urge to scream and rage at those people, insisting that the Bunny was the best husband on the planet. Yes, irrational. Probably the product of me being under an overwhelming amount of stress as of late. That's my newest buzz word: overwhelming.
My remodel has taken over most of the rooms of my house at this point. The good news is, the entire process is almost completed... probably just a handful of weeks left. The bad news is, I have nowhere to escape - for now, my "sanctuary" simply does not exist. And I can feel the effects of it. I'm a little stir crazy, a little on edge, a little more crabby than usual, a little more short-fused. It's like I can't get anything done, but tasks keep getting added to that "to-do" list. I kind of just want to curl up in a little ball and cry my eyes out... what happens when the "strong" person melts down? It's times like these that I really feel the loss of the Bunny. He was my rock, my foundation. He was strong enough to stand up to me, to not take my shit, but also to be my anchor - something I could hold onto when things got... overwhelming. Just like they are right now. I really miss him, then I want to kick myself in the ass because it's mostly because I am being selfish, and feeling sorry for myself. What a pussycat.
I realize I just need a few things to end... the remodel will the be first; I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Then I can get back on track with the training for my hike - yup, the wheels fell off the old exercise wagon again. I was telling my trainer just today that it was hard to work out regularly because 1) I hate exercising and 2) I'm lazy. Did I mention I hate exercising? Anyway, I've been thinking more and more about the hike... I decided I don't actually have to do it "in optimal condition" - I just have to do it. Who cares if I feel like shit afterwards... in fact, feeling like shit will probably make me feel better, at least emotionally if not physically. I'm kind of looking forward to physically exhausting my body - pushing myself to the farthest limits I can - to prove to the Bunny that my life with him was worth it. That he was worth all of this pain, and frustration, and anger, and sadness. Because that's how stinkin' happy I was with him. And I want him to look down on me, pushing forward with life... and for him to know I am not ready to lay down and die. Not even close.
No matter how many walls I run into along the way.
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