Getting things done

I’ve been trying to pick up little “projects” around the house.  When my mom was here, we went through the cabinets in the basement and got rid of a bunch of stuff.  We also cleaned out the garage and got rid of the (old, gross) porch furniture.  Yesterday, I bagged up a bunch of clothes to donate, although I didn’t quite go as far as putting them in the car.  I also moved all of my husband’s clothes from our bedroom closet; I just moved them to the cedar closet.  I didn’t have any kind of emotional response to the clothes–it was just a chore.  I try not to get too sentimental about that kind of thing.

Songs, on the other hand…well, there was the “Everlong” incident the other day.  And then last night, I somehow got “Shake Your Rump” by the Beastie Boys in my head, and it made me sooooooooo sad, because I remember listening to that going straight into “Something I Can Never Have” by NIN over and over and over on that first mixtape he ever made me.

Of all songs, haha!

Today, I made him albums that start with Boo’s sono pics and end last week.  I feel bad that I have all of the pictures; I’m always the photographer.  I offered to get them to him somehow, but he didn’t take me up on it.  I ended up having to do two albums, but they turned out very well; Boo will give them to him (along with a stash of dipes and wipes for his place) tonight.

My therapist and my sister both asked me if it was hard to see the pictures.  It’s not.  I’ve never had trouble looking at pictures.  I mean, I was really concentrating on a project.  But, even if I were to just go through iPhoto for the sake of looking, it wouldn’t upset me.  I find it validating.  It’s proof that it was real, it was alive.  It’s happy memories.

I hope he likes them.  I hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way, though.

My therapist told me she’s amazed at how I’m handling things.  She said I”m grieving well:  I’m being extremely honest, and I’m extremely grounded and rooted in reality.  So many people need to use this defense or that to lessen the pain, and I’m not really.  But at the same time, I’m not denying myself joy, either.  When I’m feeling relatively good and hopeful, I’m grateful, and I try to savor it.  When I’m feeling awful, I know that it won’t last forever.

Overall, it sucks, but it’s awfully nice to be told that I’m handling things honestly.

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