Time steps in its own way, stumbling over itself and reversing course without explanation or apology. Wishes become memories. Facts become unreachable expectations, hidden by a tapestry of temporal tarps woven from invisible threads. Time tricks us into reliving memories of experiences we have not yet had. Yet we are bewildered that the inaccessible past refuses to be acknowledged.
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Two consecutive “too early to think” mornings led to a reversal this morning. After an night during which sleep was shallow, fitful, and extremely uncomfortable, I finally arose this morning after 9:00 a.m. Night sweats, my nemesis in the recent past, returned several times, leaving me shivering when cold, damp sheets rousted me. My dreams were again relics of past experiences; one involved trying to find and hire employees without being certain of their duties or reasonable rates of pay. When I got out of bed this morning, I was in a general malaise—feeling ill but not quite able to pinpoint precisely how. That infirmity seems to be hanging on. I cannot legitimately blame chemo, in that my most recent visit to the oncology clinic involved only IV fluids & medications that rarely, if ever, cause side-effects. Maybe I am sleeping too much; pain in my lower back and discomfort in my chest/gut could be due to too much time in bed, on my back. Ach!
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The orderly demolition in the kitchen and primary bath began yesterday, transforming two useful rooms into unrecognizable spaces. We now have two days to adjust to the loss of conveniences we take for granted: cooktop (gone); cabinet doors and drawer fronts (gone for refinishing); bathroom sinks and vanity (gone). Destruction will continue next week, with the removal of kitchen counters and sink. While the deconstruction is taking place, other workers will focus on replacing pieces of the house seized by the destructionists. Two or three weeks hence, we will live in a more comfortable, modern, and visually appealing house. The remodeling efforts will reveal what can happen when bank accounts, time, and stress are blended, converting elements of the past into an entirely different present and a new foreseeable future. There’s something about complex purple prose, isn’t there, that enhances the mundane; that creates moderately well-behaved drama out of unnecessary histrionics?
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The day before my Slovakian niece’s birthday, another care packages arrived. She and my nephew, her husband, have taken to sending us unexpected boxes full of all manner of goodies, ranging from crackers and sweet bakery goods to tins of fish and refrigerator magnets from their travels. Knowing my affinity for and curiosity about trying international goodies, they include contents that originate in Europe. I am grateful to have family members who are thoughtful, kind, compassionate, intelligent, interesting, and otherwise extraordinary people. In fact, those distinctions apply to all members of family with whom I maintain contact. When I learn of the estrangements between members of other families, I am doubly appreciative that mine does not suffer from such ugly dislocations.
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It’s damn near noon and I am past ready for another nap. Some days that allow me to indulge myself in decadent laziness are simply not long enough. If not for the displeasures and discomforts that sometimes come along, I would favor extending lazy days to 72 hours and reducing the not-to-pleasant ones to 6 hours, maximum. Time is malleable; at least, in my universe, it should be. I will be deep in contemplation this afternoon; I can feel it.
