What It's Like

I think I may be at the losing my mind stage of grief. It's combined with the "I must have made this all up in my head" stage. And a few days ago, I would have sworn I was fine. But this morning, it's as if I've stepped on a rake.
As usual, when shit like this happens, I lose all sense of my body's proportions. I got up this morning convinced that I now weighed more than the HMS Queen Mary, but when I stepped on the scale, it said I had lost weight since Y died. Of course, the only things I've eaten are eggnog lattes, an occasional cookie, and "bites of food." I make food, take a few bites, and then don't want to eat anymore.

I read the news and nothing gets in. I think to myself that I should write about bloggy stuff--who the fuck cares that my life right now is trying to sort out what the fuck happened to me--and I should go back to being an intellectual.

It's the little things that make you crazy at times like this. A sunset the other night that was gorgeous--and knowing that he could not see it.

I was sort of lost in those thoughts when I dragged myself over to the cafeteria to get a tuna melt. And the woman behind the counter, the same woman who I get stuff from every day, asks me if I saw the Kramer "thing." And then she goes off about how no one knows that the hecklers had been calling Kramer names beforehand. "He needs to stop apologizing" she says. And I think she's coming dangerously close to making some racist statement (she heard Kramer on Bill O'Reilly last night, she informs me) and I'm thinking in my head, "Please, please, please make her shut up. I can't let her make racist statements, but I can't fucking deal with this right now. Shut up. Shut up. Please shut up." And then she changes the subject and says her husband can't find anybody to do welding anymore and soon, they'll have to import all those jobs, too. And I castigate myself for letting this shit go, but she's a cafeteria worker and I'm faculty, and I become aware of the class/power differential, and then I get all fucked up in my head and I take my sandwich and pay for it and take about five bites, and throw it in the garbage. Wasting food.
And that's what it's like inside myself right now.