Analysis and anniversaries
Tomorrow is my Connecticut state licensing exam. I have to pass this to work in this new job. It doesn't seem like it's hard, but it does seem kind of complicated. I've been studying... but I should be studying now. I will feel like such an ass if I fail--which seems like a possibility, because other people in my office have failed. You can take it again, but yo. I really don't want to have to take it again.
The cigarette cravings are not going away. What's more, I realized I'm not really in a "never again will I smoke" mindset. I keep thinking of excuses for why I should smoke at some point in the future. Like when I go to Tampa, because, hey, out of town doesn't count! Right? Ugh.
Today I had a Gmail conversation with apeliotes in reference to something he said about the last Mom dream I had. Jason's comment was this:
But you never got to have a real conversation with her. I find that poignant. You were talking to her at the party, but she wasn't really present, and you walked away from the spa (?), and at the salon you and she never had a tete-a-tete. In the second half of the dream, you even consciously sent your husband back to Connecticut, and your best friend back to Georgia (I'm reaching), so that you could stay in Pensacola and speak to your mother alone. But the direct interaction never happened. Symbolically, you distanced yourself from the two closest persons in your life so that you could regress back to the place of your childhood to have (Pensacola). You've had some time to ruminate on it; what do you think it all means now?
I read that this morning and thought about it today. I realized that many of the dreams have been like that: wanting to talk to her and not getting to. Here's the conversation I had with Jason at lunch:
me: I've been thinking today about what you said about the dreams where I don't get to talk to my mom, and I came up with some analysis.
Jason: Let's hear it.
me: I thought, "in the dreams, I don't get to talk to her. That's because I don't get to talk to her right now. Or, oh yeah, ever again." Like, I still forget for slivers of seconds sometimes that she's gone, forever. Then I realized, "It's not like I talked to her a whole lot in life." And maybe that's it. Not only can I never talk to her again, but I never did before.
And what's more, even when she was dying, I didn't really say anything "important."
I didn't ask her what she would do again if she could do anything differently.
Or if she wanted to say anything to anyone.
Or if she was scared.
Or even if she wanted a priest or to pray.
All I did was go in and sit. And I think that was important--but it's not all I could have done. It's just all I could make myself do.
Siiiigh. And I have been thinking about that kind of thing a bit recently. So maybe that's why I had the dream.
Jason: I noticed all these things at the time... and not because I've ever had to watch a parent die, but in light of all those sentimentalist movies.
On the other hand, Jessie...
Really, up until the point at which she lost her lucidity...
your mother never indicated to you any resignation to die.
She had decided that she was going to survive it. You were all trying to be supportive of that initiative.
You don't say to someone like that, "Okay, you're going to make it! Now let's talk about death..."
me: Yes, that's true. And even when we (my aunt and I) thought she was fooling herself, we still thought she'd have more time. Six months to a year, I think. And the way in which she lost her lucidity was surprising and fast and unexpected.
Jason: Right.
It's like you said, you did all that you could do.
me: Yes, that's right, too ("you're going to make it! Let's talk death."). But if it were me, and everyone around me knew I was going to die, and I didn't know I was, I'd want them to tell me!
I'm different than her, though.
Jason: Well, did you all KNOW that she was going to die until about the last month or so?
me: No, not really. I guess
Jason: I mean, intellectually, you recognize the probability, but...
God...
it's your mom.
The anniversary of Katrina is August 29. I will be in Tampa that day, away from Lee, which is kind of scary. But I do hope to go to the Gulf on the 28th (the 29th will be too busy with training) as a kind of vigil. I don't really have any analysis on this anniversary right now. It makes me feel depressed. And because I'm going to be apart from Lee for the better part of five weeks this September (the week I'm back in Connecticut, he's going to be going to Amsterdam!), I'm anticipating some 2005 flashbacks; we spent that much time and more apart last year.
Sorry this has been such a glum entry. By and large, I'm really not that glum right now.
Guess I should study.
The cigarette cravings are not going away. What's more, I realized I'm not really in a "never again will I smoke" mindset. I keep thinking of excuses for why I should smoke at some point in the future. Like when I go to Tampa, because, hey, out of town doesn't count! Right? Ugh.
Today I had a Gmail conversation with apeliotes in reference to something he said about the last Mom dream I had. Jason's comment was this:
But you never got to have a real conversation with her. I find that poignant. You were talking to her at the party, but she wasn't really present, and you walked away from the spa (?), and at the salon you and she never had a tete-a-tete. In the second half of the dream, you even consciously sent your husband back to Connecticut, and your best friend back to Georgia (I'm reaching), so that you could stay in Pensacola and speak to your mother alone. But the direct interaction never happened. Symbolically, you distanced yourself from the two closest persons in your life so that you could regress back to the place of your childhood to have (Pensacola). You've had some time to ruminate on it; what do you think it all means now?
I read that this morning and thought about it today. I realized that many of the dreams have been like that: wanting to talk to her and not getting to. Here's the conversation I had with Jason at lunch:
me: I've been thinking today about what you said about the dreams where I don't get to talk to my mom, and I came up with some analysis.
Jason: Let's hear it.
me: I thought, "in the dreams, I don't get to talk to her. That's because I don't get to talk to her right now. Or, oh yeah, ever again." Like, I still forget for slivers of seconds sometimes that she's gone, forever. Then I realized, "It's not like I talked to her a whole lot in life." And maybe that's it. Not only can I never talk to her again, but I never did before.
And what's more, even when she was dying, I didn't really say anything "important."
I didn't ask her what she would do again if she could do anything differently.
Or if she wanted to say anything to anyone.
Or if she was scared.
Or even if she wanted a priest or to pray.
All I did was go in and sit. And I think that was important--but it's not all I could have done. It's just all I could make myself do.
Siiiigh. And I have been thinking about that kind of thing a bit recently. So maybe that's why I had the dream.
Jason: I noticed all these things at the time... and not because I've ever had to watch a parent die, but in light of all those sentimentalist movies.
On the other hand, Jessie...
Really, up until the point at which she lost her lucidity...
your mother never indicated to you any resignation to die.
She had decided that she was going to survive it. You were all trying to be supportive of that initiative.
You don't say to someone like that, "Okay, you're going to make it! Now let's talk about death..."
me: Yes, that's true. And even when we (my aunt and I) thought she was fooling herself, we still thought she'd have more time. Six months to a year, I think. And the way in which she lost her lucidity was surprising and fast and unexpected.
Jason: Right.
It's like you said, you did all that you could do.
me: Yes, that's right, too ("you're going to make it! Let's talk death."). But if it were me, and everyone around me knew I was going to die, and I didn't know I was, I'd want them to tell me!
I'm different than her, though.
Jason: Well, did you all KNOW that she was going to die until about the last month or so?
me: No, not really. I guess
Jason: I mean, intellectually, you recognize the probability, but...
God...
it's your mom.
The anniversary of Katrina is August 29. I will be in Tampa that day, away from Lee, which is kind of scary. But I do hope to go to the Gulf on the 28th (the 29th will be too busy with training) as a kind of vigil. I don't really have any analysis on this anniversary right now. It makes me feel depressed. And because I'm going to be apart from Lee for the better part of five weeks this September (the week I'm back in Connecticut, he's going to be going to Amsterdam!), I'm anticipating some 2005 flashbacks; we spent that much time and more apart last year.
Sorry this has been such a glum entry. By and large, I'm really not that glum right now.
Guess I should study.