The Culture that has been here all the time

watercolor painting of mine.

I can't recall ever having as many healthcare appointments in one week as I had this past week. I am glad it is the weekend, as I used to be glad when I worked. Interacting with the staff at my healthcare facilities is cheerful, and I can put on a facade of doing well even when I am not.

My cat was right next to me but did not roust me or hurry me up, so he must be very intelligent, aware that I wanted to sleep an extra fifteen minutes. I pet him, he purred, and head bumped my chin. My Terrier was snoring lightly, so I let her sleep and went down to feed the cat.

What is my agenda today: Perform a cursory scan of news on the internet. Work on some art. Watch another refresher chess game study. Practice guitar and sing several old songs (I haven't worked on my songs for some time now). Select a documentary to watch and a program from the BBC for later.

Haven't had much of an appetite lately, prefer snacks, fast and light. Besides, my dining room and table are currently dominated by artwork and art materials.

The change back to cooler temperatures and a cloudy sky seems to paint a sense of sadness on me this morning, inside and out. (Pixabay image)

Researchers and my doctors concur that I may be the last living Neanderthal. Why?

I endure the cold climates well, I have an urge to draw on walls, and I tend to be depressed. I found it hard to stop drinking alcoholic beverages, give up my hyena, badger, and wolverene pets, and most of all, prefer human females to neanderthal females.

I thought that if I went slowly into the future, one day at a time, things would improve; they have not.

Each morning, I find it harder to feel motivated to get up and navigate a new day. I know it has only been two months since my wife passed away, but in a very real sense, her loss of a coherent mental state in 2017 began the process of the loss of my compass into the future.

Yesterday, I reflected on how she and I were physical-touch communicators, and each day, despite at times feeling withdrawn, I know this more and more.

So today I sat on the edge of my bed, not wanting to get up, but my cat messed with my cell phone, and it started showing failed attempts to activate it. Meows weren't enough; he stepped on it, and it responded with a voice, so I was forced to get up.

Photos, songs, and items can trigger sadness, no, profound sadness. When my second wife ran off with the maintenance man from where she worked as an RN, it took years to get past that. Her best friend, sometime later, explained she didn't want to stay with our me and our son, with a serious heart defect, because at the time, the prognosis was that he would not live past his teens. During this time, a blue sky seemed black. This all happened more than forty years ago. I only recovered slowly because my late wife of 41 years helped me get past that. I do not have forty years now; less than 20 if averages hold.

In my wisest times, I live in the moment. Too bad, the moments are so lonely. (image pixabay)

Most of you know I was my wife's only caregiver for eight years before she passed away, and that I was part of a caregiver group. Th group helped me in many ways, but especially by giving me permission to mourn gradually through the years. Yes, the long goodbye process helps, but it is not perfect: I have very challenging moments of sadness, and I wonder if they will ever fade away.