Getting my life back

Matt and Bree (actually spelled "Bri" I found out), left for Arkansas yesterday, and I have started to get the sense of balance that has been missing since Bill left a week ago on Tuesday. When I live alone, I find I need little rituals and routines along with my unfettered freedom. Not having to consult Bill on activities, mealtimes, and bedtimes, I start to keep weird hours and forget what day it is. So having my schedule somewhat organized each day helps to give me a sense of rhythm to the days, keeps me sane. When he left so suddenly, and then house guests with wildly different hours came, I was a bit of a crank.

Today, I am to be a painter. I am off to another of Ray's rentals, to cut-in and roll, as Ray moves ahead of me, cleaning and prepping the walls. The two of us should be able to knock this out in a few days, certainly by the weekend. And then, pretty soon it will be time for Ray to go back to his life in California.

I like to paint. There are all the elements of a satisfying activity: a little stretching and physical activity, the attention to detail, a constant visual measure of how much you have done and how much there is to go, and the pleasure at seeing a job accomplished. I don't have the staying power I used to, I have to chop jobs up into smaller chunks and rest between, but I still find painting to be enjoyable. Certainly more enjoyable than cleaning.

I have a sense that this is it. I am at the end. Anniversaries of significant dates will come and go and remind me of what happened last year, but for all of my whining, what I am now is pretty much what I'm going to live with from now on. I will have my checkups, and the time period between them will lengthen; I will have some bad, uncomfortable days, but for the most part I will have good days. The horrors and fears have already started to fade, just a bit. This is not something you ever forget, but maybe it's something I can live with.