Note to Self

You know the feeling. You’ve been there. A romance goes belly up and you start the process down the long and winding road of forgetting. I don’t know if it’s different when the big bang of breakup comes with a warning or when it comes out of the blue. I can’t seem to remember the last time I went through this feeling. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe that means I’ll survive this. But for now, I’m coping with beating off the anxiety attacks that sneak up on me in the middle of the night or the middle of a staff meeting.

There’s that rolling feeling that feels something like a pineapple doing somersaults in the middle of your stomach. It starts somewhere around your belly button, slides up toward your throat and back down again. I hate that feeling. I always think I’m on the verge of a heart attack. Maybe I wish I were. I keep telling myself I can deal with this. Manage the stress. Control the anxiety. My therapist once told me it was better to deal with these feelings with Pepto Bismal than with a nice trip to the doctor and the pharmacy for something a bit stronger.

Note to self: Find Pepto coupons from Sunday’s paper.

Best thing to do is keep busy. Occupy the mind and body and don’t let anything sneak up on me. Great. Let’s start with paying the bills. Ordinary stuff to relieve extraordinary stress. I pick up my Visa bill and realize that I have not one, but two airline tickets for the space of one month.

Note to self: Fall in love within driving distance next time.

The Visa bill reminds me that it would be a good time to refigure my expenses and budgets. I could get rid of that cell phone plan that gives me lots of free long distance and no roaming charges. I certainly don’t need a plan with 1500 minutes anymore. There’s one way to save a hundred bucks. I had been planning on canceling my cable service before this break up. Figured I didn’t need it since we were always on the phone at night. That would save another $50. Then again, no late night phone calls might necessitate a few late night movies instead.

Note to self: Rethink the cable situation.

Of course, I could switch to reading. Or take a course at the local university. Maybe it’s time to get back to my novel. Ooops. Zing. And there it comes. He was the one I always talked to about plot and characters. Once again he’s back in my mind. My stomach starts to roll again and the tears come.

Note to self: Put toilet paper and Kleenex on the grocery list.

Note to self: Buy stock in Kimberly-Clark.

It takes time. I cry. I sob. I scream at the wall. I really like that wall. It doesn’t scream back. I shouldn’t be so abusive to something I appreciate so much.

Slowly it passes. Time to get back to whatever I can find that will block the hurt. Let’s see. There’s laundry. There is always laundry. Laundry never ends. I laugh to think that if all my clothes were clean at one time, I wouldn’t have enough space to put them all away. It feels good to laugh.

Note to self: Rearrange closets.

I could write all those letters I’ve been saying I was going to write for the last six months. What would I say? I wouldn’t have to say anything about him. Most of those friends didn’t know much about him. Damn. There he is again. I’m going to try to keep working through it this time and not dissolve in the tears. I could call my mother. She didn’t like him much anyway, but the last thing I need is to hear that from her. I could call my Aunt Lou. I haven’t talked to her since Christmas, but the last thing I need to hear is “I told you so”.

Note to self: Throw away the list of things to buy with Aunt Lou’s inheritance.

All right. I survived that one. The middle bedroom needs painting. I was planning on turning that into my writing space. I bought that new quilt to hang on the wall in there. Shoot. The quilt is still in the trunk of his car.

Note to self: Find old pictures in the basement to hang on wall.

I could work. There are more than enough projects to keep me busy for the next fourteen years in that office. Of course, I’d have to actually find them all and that would mean cleaning up the three-foot piles off the extra desk and worktable. I could write that grant the boss said I volunteered to write. The research alone would take a good two weeks. That would get me through anything. I could also reorganize my files and bookshelves. There’s another week of work. There’s the Internet project waiting and the whole community collaboration thing I agreed to chair. There are reports to be drafted and manuals to be written.

Note to self: Ask for a raise.

Of course, that’s really stuff for the days. It’s the nights I have to work on here. It’s the nights that seem to have more time than projects.

Note to self: Do NOT cancel the cable.

I could organize my CDs, clean off my hard drive, back up my files, put photos in albums, clean the fireplace, clean the carpets, recover the old brown chair, recane the rocking chair, refinish the floors.

Note to self: Call the contractor.

This is really working. Making lists. Keeping busy. Not thinking about him. Damn. There it goes again. Stop for one minute and he slips into my mind. There’s no question. This really stinks. All my books remind me of him. All my videos and CDs and pictures remind me of him. Okay. Concentrate. I know I can get through this. Maybe I just need some good physical activity. A little sweat never killed anybody. Yeah, right. I’ve never seen a jogger smiling and there was that guy who beat cancer and then dropped dead running.

Note to self: Call the health club and cancel membership.

It’s so quiet. Maybe I should dig out all my old albums. They’ve been in the basement since before him. I could listen to them and see if Donna Summer still makes me want to clean house. I could see if I remember how to do the Texas Two Step. I could pull out all the old Ella albums and enjoy a glass of wine, a fire and warm memories of old friends. Yes. This is just the ticket. Album time.

Note to self: Buy a turntable.

Well, I could just go to bed. It’s time to take good care of me and get some rest. I haven’t slept enough in the last two years. Just think of how many brain cells would be saved if I got a few extra hours of sleep each night. Those circles under my eyes might not be permanent after all.

Crawl into bed. Sleep on the other side. It’s too quiet. This is not good. Quiet lets thoughts seep in. Turn on the TV.

Note to self: Cancel cable. Order satellite dish.