I am usually driven to navel-gazing, introspective posts during the night shift. But those are no more with the new schedule. Rather, it’s an hour or so in the morning to talk, and perhaps 30 minutes at night, each of which are already booked with work or kitchen closing. That is our new normal.
And even that will be edited soon…Trooper is taking the last of the training the state demands to get him on the road with the – what is it they call the person? – dignitary? I don’t recall the euphimism. At any rate, once that paperwork is stamped and filed, it is up in the air. Literally and figuratively. Some are gone for two weeks, catching perhaps 6 hours of sleep/day. Odds are he will become a preferred traveler – he is very good at what he does and he has done this sort of elevated work before. So I try to remember how it was when he was in the academy and I was a thousand miles away, writing, calling and just waiting. It was when I started this place as a kind of silent associate that would agree with me and offer mute comfort.
I look at all the housework that needs done, I try to soothe Kota as her eye irritation (vet appt pending) drives her mad, I deal with other familial issues, and consider that after work, I have to also find time to get upstairs and workout. The I have to get the dogs exercised in a heat that makes those options very, very few. In short, I feel rather put upon lately.
I know that it isn’t true and even voicing it makes me seem and feel small. So many are going through so much worse. But I suppose it is the unending “sacrifice” that is getting to me – this constant keeping of the home fires burning thing. I can recall the same feeling when he was away and the wondering at when it would be my turn to be supported and uplifted as I sought my dream. But there is no dream…
What would I do if I could wave a hand and have it? No dogs to care for? Well, then go the companions that are all I shall have for a time. No house to keep? Foolishness. So then what? What is to be done that I cannot do if I would just do it already? Not a damned thing. But there is no one to help me do it. And that – that – is the problem. So what? I try to wrestle the frustration to a halt with that refutation that I hear in my mother’s voice – so what? From the age of 16 to this day, decades on, I have always taken care of everything. And I do not know why I think it will suddenly change.
I was made strong so that I could carry those heavy loads. I was made smart so that I could see what needs done and how best to do it. I was mated with a warrior so that he could be away and not worry that all he loved would be at risk of loss or leaving. These are the things that I try to tell myself as I put one foot in front of the other. It isn’t easy – all I want to do is pout and spout Why Me’s and shovel in some chocolate. I want some damned sympathy and someone to do the ironing. And it isn’t going to happen.
Time to put on those big girl panties – when they are out of the dryer – and suck it up. The support structure is ME. I am the pillars, my feet on the threshold and my hands holding up our small world. With some thought and care, it won’t come crashing down. But I don’t think that ironing is gonna get done.