July 9

 It's July 9 again.  And once again, fuck it.

The day that Fiona died and Bob was diagnosed and things went downhill and then they stopped and sort of plateaued out and in the line from the song Creep - "what the hell am I doing here?"   Or from Jason Isabel's If We Were Vampires: "I'll give you every second I can find - and hope I'm not the one who's left behind" (except that I was.  Or even Bobbie McGee - "I would trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday."

I think of those stories where you can see the lost person one day a year.  I would so take that.  To have a day to see him, touch him, tell him how I'm doing, ask his advice, get his help, love on the cats, play Jeopardy, bury my face in his chest and feel his hands on my back.  I could be stronger for the rest of the year, I think, if I had that day to hold onto.

But, to be honest with myself, I am doing better.  I look back at my entries for July 9 in 2021 and 2022.  In 2021 I eviscerated myself, just to finally let myself feel everything.  2022 - not so badly.  2023 - well, I've been working on Mervin against the Con deadline, and laughing at my poltergeist (could not have come at a better time) and sort of didn't realize it was July until a few days ago.

So it's still there - but it's not running my life.  Just being part of it.

But I still say fuck it.