Monday, April 16, 2007

June Cutoff from Sanity

During a series of unfortunate events this weekend which culminated in me crying -- rather hysterically -- in front of:

* My friend's husband
* My boss
* and my boss's boss

I have decided that it is best that I do not rely on others to entertain me during these spend-free weekends. Therefore, I do think that I am going to PAY MONEY and take some dance classes at Heartbeat House.

Now, I started to blog about this yesterday and Marvin Gardens said the details were unnecessary drama that the reader would not care about. But I think some people might want to hear this gloomy story. So I will mark off for you, dear reader, the beginning and the end of the sad story and you can skip over it to the part where I'm PROBABLY gonna spend money.

BEGIN TALE OF WOE:
Okay, here it is.

I am a little sensitive lately due to some traumatic events that happened to me in the past year or so.

First off, one day in December 2005, I went to the nursing home to visit my grandmother (I was her only grandchild) and without anyone calling or warning me, I walked into the room and she was dying. They said they knew I was coming that day, so...

So... WHAT? Geez! What if I hadn't come or what if she'd have died before I got there?

So I had to sit there. Alone. With my dying grandmother. For hours. There were two women decorating her door for Christmas, two feet away from where I sat in the dark, holding my grandmother's hand. They gossiped about other nurses in the place, totally ignoring the grandmother and granddaughter spending what would be their last moments together.

It just felt like a time when my family and I should have been around her bed, telling funny stories about Grammy's life. Instead it was just me and the gossiping women, who would have bugged the PEE out of her had she been conscious. She would have said something like "Tell those two bitches to get the hell out of my room." Something sweet and grandmotherly like that.

The next day I went back to gather my grandmother's things. Her door had finally gotten decorated. By myself, I went through her possessions, deciding what to keep and what to throw out. I went to the front desk and tried to get a little back story on my grandmother's last day, but I was met with indifference and annoyance. What's another dead old lady?

I went home and quietly threw out her suitcase, her slippers, her glasses. Did I mention I was alone?

So if that weren't depressing enough, this past Christmas? Me? Spent it alone. Marvin Gardens had to work and the person I had plans with cancelled. On Christmas day. So I opened presents by myself. Made myself dinner. My friend Kista had asked me to go feed the homeless with her, but I didn't. I really should have. It would have been good to do something for someone else and stop thinking about HOW UNBELIEVABLY DEPRESSING the day was.

Presently, I have been a little sad, because Marvin Gardens works two weekends a month and I haven't had any way to distract myself. So I made it a point to make concrete plans this Friday and Saturday.

Then both people cancelled.

I do not know why, but suddenly it felt like I AM ALONE ALL THE DING-DANG TIME. Maybe it's cause I am not spending money, maybe I am just having a bad weekend, or maybe it was just the final straw.

So, I was going to be a grownup and not do anything about this, like call one of the friends who cancelled, until I had a clear head.

Guess what? Today was not the day I was thinking clearly and calmly. And guess what else? I called her anyway. I had been driving to work, cause yes, I had to work on a Sunday, and "More Than This" by Roxy Music was playing on the radio. More than this. You know there's nothing. More than this. Oh, I was pathetic. Nine in the morning, going 70 down the 405, singing and just a-sobbing along. My whole life would never be more than driving. alone. in the rain. There was nothing more than this.

So what a fine time to grab the cell phone and decide to yell at my friend. I got her machine, and folks, I was in a jag, a crying jag, at this point. Oh, I sobbed and said I was sick of being alone, but if that is what I'd have to be that is what I would be. I'd be like Lloyd Dobbler in Say Anything, when he says from now on he is a lone wolf. That's me all right. From now on, a lone wolf.

Then my friend's phone gets picked up. "June?" It was my friend's husband. Now, seriously, you have to hand it to this guy. WHAT HUSBAND would pick up the phone to talk to their wife's hysterical lone wolf friend? But he did. He talked to me all the way to work. By this time, I had worked myself up into such a lather that I was unable to stop crying when I walked into work for all to see. I had to sit at my desk and sob and hiccup and snort and oh, I looked pretty. And again, climbing that corporate ladder? Yeah. Let's give a big raise to lone wolf, over there.

END TALE OF WOE

So, weekends of not spending/distracting myself are getting depressing, and it is no one else's responsibility to amuse me but me. That's why I may take classes at Heartbeat House. I love me the dancing, I doubt the dance instructors will stand me up and it is good exercise, which is good for the endorphins, of which I clearly have none at the moment.

10 comments:

Peppy Whitemore said...

My dearest June, I'm so sorry you had a bad weekend. I wish I lived closer I would have come over and we could have cuddled up on the couch and watched old GH episodes on the soap channel. Just like the old day. That is providing Marvin wouldn't have minded. I am hoping that this week goes much better for you. I have been bragging about you two to all my friends, most of which are totally impressed with your discipline and determination with regard to this endeavor. Chin up buttercup! You know who loves ya baby! I will send my number via regular e-mail you can call ANYTIME!

Adeline Dimond said...

You know, the real point of the exercise was to figure out what was necessary spending and what wasn't, not to punish yourself and make yourself miserable. In other words, you were striving for a level of consciousness regarding where your cash went. And now you have that consciousness -- that your money went to take out lunches and the like. So now that you know, why continue to torture yourself? Take a dance class already. As for the being alone all the time thing, I have loads to say about that, but I have to go make MY stupid commute to work. . .suffice it to say that as melancholy and sad as it can be, alone time can also be rich and meditative. I know I sound like some holier-than-thou creep when I said that, but I do mean it to be reassuring, I swear.

dcrmom said...

Awwwww... So sad. Hope you enjoy your dance lessons!

Stie said...

Hang in there...and dance your little heart out!

Anonymous said...

Hope you are doing better today. Just want to let you know that there are many people that would love to be able to spend time with you. Go dance!

i'm not lisa said...

Hello June...June Bug...Junie B. Jones...Hey June....Well...it's a good damn thing you didn't call me this weekend because I would have been crying right along with you. What the? I was sobbing all weekend too. I started to send you a "real" E-mail about how depressing my life is and I didn't send it because it was too damn depressing. If we lived closer...we could have danced to New Order in my living room and you could have worn your bra on your head and I could've put an egg in my mouth. In the words of a different Roxy Music tune..."Dance away the heartache...dance away with me..."

i'm not lisa said...

I am quite certain that peppy whitemore taught me how to be a cool dancer. (At least I think I was a cool dancer...I haven't danced in years). I think it was a night that you were wearing a bra on your head.

Anonymous said...

Wow... that friend's husband is one heck of a guy. His wife should buy him a new Canon SLR Digital Camera with a zoom lense, now on ebay for next to nothing...

sabrina duncan said...

Hello! Welcome to MY life. Of course, there's always those Friends on TV...

You should've driven across town (I know how you love that) and hung with the Angels. Next time I have the Pinto gassed up, I'll be right over.

Laura Brandon said...

So I realize that this was like a million or 2 years ago, but I wanted to let you know that my husband works graves, so I have to go to bed along 5 nights a week. For the past, oh, year and a half. I totally feel you.