Scrooge

I looked around my quiet apartment today and realized that my world has shrunk. I'm not sure when that happened, but it was some time shortly before Morgan died I think. The world suddenly became very very focused, and it never got large again. The problem with having a very small world is that you are very much the center of it, and you start to get quite self-centered and (frankly) boring.

When you bore even yourself, it is definitely time to reach out. Of course, reaching out for a few more days may be a bit difficult, though the snow is finally melting. My Canadian friends who are used to feet of snow are laughing at us; but Oregon is definitely not snow country. The whole state sorta ground to a massive screeching halt. Iowans, Minnesotans, Canadians -- all those people -- simply do not understand a place where two feet of snow and ice cause a declaration of a state of emergency. Everything shut down here. And our parking lot structure started collapsing -- those flimsy car port thingies over the spaces couldn't handle the weight of the snow.

Anyway, it is definitely time to start thinking of how to get out and mingle. Mingling -- I don't think I've ever really done that. I've always had a close group of friends, but now they are all far away, living strange and different lives that I no longer understand or have access to. Their tastes have changed; their lives have gone in other directions.

On my bad days I think of myself as this kind of "oh god, that could happen to me" person that once was in their lives. I wonder if it is I who have left them, or if they have left me. I suppose it got to be a bit much, what with dead daughter, dead husband, cancer, hepatitis, and depression. It is no secret that I went into major meltdown. But now I'm in the middle of the puddle, ready to get out and get dry, and I can't find the towel. (block that metaphor!)

Yes, dear readers. Scrooge has found a nice warm corner in my house. He's looking at me expectantly, hoping that I'll have another cry fest or something equally unseasonable so he can gloat. I will get out of this pity party sooner or later, I'm sure. Perhaps it has something to do with the damn weather putting the house back about a month; or the money running out; or ... something.

I'm gonna go make a list of all the things I hope for next year and start the planning for making them happen. Right after I find the kleenex box and the single malt. Christmas. Humph. Well, the Yorkshire Pud and Prime Rib were good.