Intern Chick

I stood in the entry way in between the bedroom and the living room. What to do? I vacuumed. Now what? I made myself dinner with one pot, one frying pan and no microwave. What else could I do? I fluffed pillows, filed my nails, and watched TV. Is this what people do when they live alone? My bets are on whatever it is, they probably do it naked.

I read a book I haven't picked up since July. I watched more TV. I called my friends. I did anything I could think of to prevent myself from thinking about my mounting anxiety. Eventually it will get the best of me, but the longer I can put it off, the better. I finally climbed into bed, put on my favorite TV show and waited for sleep to come.

I tossed and turned the whole night. The air conditioner moaned loudly. My new pillows too fluffy to sleep on. My bed not yet broken in. I opened my eyes in the early morning hours, truly concerned that I had no idea where I was and no recollection of getting there. I fell back asleep. When I woke up for work and tried to open the bedroom door, I pulled and pulled but couldn't get it open. Could I really be stuck in my own bedroom on my first morning here? In retrospect, why would I expect anything less from myself! I finally got it together and took the 15 minute walk to work while I ate my yogurt and waffles on the way.

The day went by really fast and while I was dreading coming back to this apartment slightly less than I was yesterday, I realized something. The nonsense that goes on at work is so much easier to deal with when your commute goes from an hour and a half train ride to a 15 minute stroll through Manhattan. I guess you have to take the good with the bad. I haven't had this much free time after work in I don't know how long. I made an attempt to go to the gym until I realized that I'd left my ID card at my mother's house. I fixed some things up around the apartment. I almost went out for drinks but decided I didn't want to jump right into having a life after work just yet...(ha, ha).

These words are coming from a raw place, a fresh wound that is still dealing with the shock of it all.  This is what I'm dealing with right now, and I apologize in advance for the morbid nature of this post...but this week, I learned you could be here on Earth one day, and gone the next.

What do you do with that?  I've been asking myself that question for 4 days now, and I wish I had the answer to that one.  

I learned to really value life, your own and those around you.  To take great joy in the little moments: the watching mindless television moments, the ritual goodnight moments, the kind of moments filled with hugs, jokes, silence, and love.  Life is so precious.  You never know when someone is going to get taken from you and in a blur of tears, fears, and disbelief, you're standing over their casket, not exactly sure what you should be praying for, but fiercely praying all the same.

There are no condolences when you lose someone who should have had a good 30 or so years left, someone who wasn't sick, wasn't in any pain.  You can't tell yourself at least they had a long, full life...because it just wasn't that long.  You can't console yourself by saying "at least they're not in pain anymore" because they weren't in pain, they didn't die in sickness.  All I can give myself is a slideshow of summer weekends, birthdays and Christmases with laughter and storytelling providing the soundtrack.  

And fittingly, Lyfe said it best, "Sometimes, memories just ain't enough..."