Held Hostage by Avocados & Grief

Hi Darling Ones,

I’m being held hostage by avocados and grief.

My plan for today was to work a bunch (still behind due to dad death), make chicken fajita rice burritos for dinner, and then tuck in with The Go-Go’s documentary while I still have my free trial of Showtime.

However, the 48¢ avocados I bought on Thursday have other plans. Namely, the “we’re gonna wait to ripen until a more inconvenient time so enjoy your leftover soup, bitch” plans.

Rude avocados. Don’t they know my dad just died?

I really wish I could be done grieving now. It’s really boring. Nobody cares anymore.* Most of all, I really miss my cognitive function.

Sometimes I forget what I’m saying while I’m in the middle of saying it. The right words elude me. My memory is wonky as fuck.

Last night BFK and I did CSA** for the first time in a month. I was trying to recite “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening”. I’ve had this poem tucked into the ol’ brain wrinkles forever. Like maybe since I discovered Robert Frost after reading The Outsiders when I was eleven.

But last night all I could conjure up was My little horse must think it queer/To stop without a farmhouse near.

It was frustrating. I could still pull out “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” And just to prove I have a good memory I rapped a little Bel Biv DeVoe:
The time was six o’clock on the Swatch watch
No time to chill, got a date, can’t be late
Hey, the girl is gonna do me
Move to the Jacuzzi, ooh, that booty
Smack it up, flip it, rub it down, oh no

Only for some reason I thought this was from “Poison” even though “Do Me” is right there in the lyrics.

Yes, when you are my friend I will randomly spout bits of poetry. I’m fun. I will also send you home with a quart of delicious, homemade split pea soup and three tiny boxes of Dots candy (my favorite).

My brain is so fucked right now and I hate it.

Part of me is worried this is a bigger problem that cannot be explained away by grief. Another part of me is all, your dad just died!

I thought maybe the effects of grief would wear off after three weeks.

Oh hey, I figured out how I’m doing. I feel bad. All the time. About everything. I feel bad that I’m still grieving. I feel bad that my work is suffering. I feel bad that I can’t think straight. I feel bad that the only thing I can seem to write or talk about is being sad. I feel bad that I’m boring everyone.

I want to tell everyone to go away and that if they leave me alone I’ll probably get better on my own. I also still want all of the attention. All of it.

Sorry,
Jodi

P.S. In a lucky coincidence The Office LEGO kit I pre-ordered this summer arrived last week. It’s excellent on so many levels. I’ve been slowly putting it together this week after work. It keeps my hands and brain busy, which then distracts me from feeling so rotten. While I feel really bad about everything right now, I do feel good at how good I am at keeping myself distracted from my emotions. Go me!

P.P.S Yesterday I got a giant jug of pure Vermont maple syrup from a friend who said he wanted me to have better syrup. This comes after I horrified him by professing my undying love for Log Cabin Syrup. It was a kind, thoughtful gift and it makes my heart feel a little sunnier.

 
* This comes off whinier & shittier than I intend. I don’t expect anyone to care about my grief anymore. Like I said, it’s super boring. I still don’t know “how I’m doing.” Mostly I am weird, sad, bitter, resentful, and tired.

I’m a big believer in “nobody cares/thinks about you as much as you think they do.” That’s not a bad thing. Humans are self-centered. We think about ourselves the most. This means that nobody but you is thinking about that one stupid thing you did/said/wore that one time. I’m much too busy thinking about that stupid thing I said/did/wore.

 
**CSA is when BFK and I gather (usually) once a week to debrief and eat garbage fast food (though I have cooked on and off throughout the years). It started because we joined a CSA that delivered to her work. She would drop off my portion on her way home and socialize. A tradition was born.

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