I seem to have given up writing for the time being. There are too many things I want to write about for me to focus on one and do it. I can't help feeling like I've fucked up in this whole sabbatical project and should just go back to the computer industry humbled. I know partly it's the fuzzy head from the sinus infection talking but it sure seems like I ought to have done more with my time off than I have.
I wanted to write a novel. I have no idea how to write a novel. There are a billion things I want to write about and I can't get them out the end of the pen. Never mind onto disk.
I'm not sure exactly when I started to derail. I had high hopes for travel and writing that I put on hold to deal with Steven's and Kathleen's dying. I started to do stuff after the exhaustion of their illnesses wore off. I did manage to do some of my travel goals. But I feel tied down by the continuing obligation to help out with Kevin's children (I feel like I don't do enough). I feel tied down by having Wilbur the wonder cat. I was catless when I started this.
I dunno. It's all so weird. The one year anniversary of Steven's death passed with barely a mention. The one year anniversary of Kathleen's death is coming up in 2 weeks. I keep telling myself I'm not the one who lost a life partner so I don't have any right to be exhausted by it all. I'm supposed to be there for Kevin, be there for Thomas, be there for Elizabeth and Andrea and yet I don't feel like I'm there for any of them.
The love that is in my heart for my family gets stuck when it comes to knowing how to provide emotional support to people who don't talk about feelings, who don't talk about anything really. I used to want to title my novel "The Elephant in the Living Room" because it's like we all carefully step around big things and never acknowledge they're there. We don't talk to each other yet we love each other fiercely. Maybe it's 'cause guys don't talk about feelings the way women do and being a mostly male family we just adopted the guy way of knowledge.
The other night after Kevin told me that Thomas had water in his apartment (it's a basement apartment in Boston) I dreamed all sorts of disease organisms had flooded in and were going to get him protease inhibitors or not. For that matter I had all kinds of weird vivid dreams about my family.
On Friday at the dinner table, Andrea said I could be the Mama. I told her I had to be Aunt Janet.
On Friday during dinner, somebody called from AIDS Action Committee asking Kevin for more money and went into a speech about how now there's hope with these new drugs (mispronounced protease inhibitors) and so we need more money. For some reason this made me angry. I know why it makes me angry. I get AIDS fundraising calls all the time and earnest people try to tell me how it's still a crisis and what all the new developments are and I feel powerless. I can give all the money I have to AIDS Action and it won't bring a cure. All the money in my bank account won't bring Steven back. All the money in my bank account won't buy Thomas extra time before he gets sick unless maybe I gave him all the money in my bank account. I give AIDS Action a hefty monthly contribution even now that I don't work. It's all I can handle. And it's not enough. Not enough.
I have the exact same reaction when the Cancer Society calls. I get angry because I give what I can and it's not enough and it won't bring Kathleen back to raise her children.
I can't do enough. I can't give enough. I can't be enough.