Dangerous Compassions

the stage of grief where I insult Ming about his taste in stickers

“You’re throwing away these stickers?” Ming asked.

“Yeah!  Those are terrible stickers!”

“Get well soon?”

“They have no beauty!  They’re boring!  They’re terrible quality!  They have that gold edge, like they’re trying to be fancy.  They’re reprehensible stickers!”

“Ok,” Ming said, letting them fall back into the trash.

“You know nothing about stickers!” I told Ming, pointing at him.

I was txting with my friend the other day.  I told her how grief was making me do some weird things.  I thought I would get depressed–how simple that would have been. 

Recently I realized I was doing my usual things, but in a more extreme way.  But now my mind and behaviors seem a bit haywire, generally.

I told my friend I should make a zine Weird stuff I did when I was grieving.  Shit Grieving People Say might be good too.

My feelings are strong, and I’m anxious.  I have erratic energy, at times.  I decided that grieving can be an extreme state.  Weird things about food, movement, memory, restlessness, trouble trying to relate to people.  It takes me 20 times longer to do basic things.  I get stuck in bed.

I went to a meeting last night and felt in another dimension–grief dimension.  I kept wanting to leave.  The room was uncomfortably warm, and I had a hard time caring about what anyone said, especially myself.  Everything seemed petty.

Yeah, grieving can change perspective a lot.  It’s stormy today, and the windchimes are jangling like crazy.  The washing machine was just delivered.  I saw the receipt–wow, it was expensive.  You might recall we were going through used washers like crazy.

I want to hide really deeply, hide unfindably, hide so far, I could never ever be found.  Yet my cell phone makes a sound, and I attend to it.  I keep drinking water, eating meals, taking a shower, even going outside at times.

Life is weird.  This morning Ming took the big maroon rug out of our living space.  It looks way different now.  I like changing, especially when I get to choose it.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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