Tuesday, March 27, 2007
The last six days or so have been a blur of worship, wedding, funeral, nursing home, hopsital visit, doctor's appointment. They've been a blur of dancing, wine party, martini, pizza and champagne, digging in the dirt, raking the compost. The days have flowed together like the fog that enveloped the car and the dreams that took over my sleep -- sometimes comforting, yet somehow dangerous. I've sat on the floor on the edge of tears or something else and said with more restraint than I knew I had, we have to do something, get out of the house, do something. The days have been walks and library trips and book sales and passing in the night, the afternoon, the morning. They have been loud sounds like an elephant, a lion, a monkey, that sometimes get confused and produce giggles and stomping feet because we have no words for the giddiness we feel and the laughter doesn't seem enough.