Summertime?
I'm at work. Yep, work... once again I am sitting on my ass in an office. Yikes. I started on Monday, and this job will run (at least) until Jun 2008. So far, it's okay, besides the fact that I have absolutely NOTHING to do! I'm supposed to become some sort of software queen - to work intensely with a new software/data analysis program they're implementing. The issue is that this software (which was supposed to be up and running June 1) won't be ready for another few weeks.
So I come in, and when there's no one for me to sit next to and stare at, I play online. This is okay for a while, but I'd rather just go home and not waste electricity here. :P
So it goes...
Steve and I are going to Bonnaroo next week. This voyage was "iffy" for a while, but we found some tickets and I've rearranged my work schedule, so I guess we're going. I'm actually very excited (and also a bit nervous)... I hope I get to shower at least once while I'm there, don't have to eat granola bars for five days, and that I can get at least a few hours of sleep, but Steve has warned me that most likely, none of my wishes will come true.
We got back from Cape May last week. It was a great trip, but I was sad to leave Dad. We spread the ashes about a mile off shore - in front of the lighthouse and the nature preserve and the bunker at CM Point. I have a now somewhat-eerie memory of being at the Point beach last August with Dad. I have a cute picture of him standing in front of the bunker. I remember him standing on the beach and staring out at the water, saying to me how it was "just beautiful here." It was such a wonderful time. I am so lucky I was there. Now my heart hurts.
We took a boat out to spread the ashes on May 21st. It was a windy, cool day, and by the time we were out in the ocean, away from the protection of the beaches and jetties, the water was very rocky. We all felt a bit sick (some more than others) and we joked that it was Dad rocking the boat so that our caravan wouldn't be a sobbing ridiculous mess. It was surreal.
On the morning we left, I insisted that we take a moment to stop at the end of the boardwalk on Beach Ave - where you can look out and see the ocean on one side, the dunes, lighthouse, and beach on the other. It's my favorite spot (a lofty title, considering all of the "spots" there are in the world). Now, from my favorite spot, I can see where we left Dad. I insisted that we stop over to this spot so I could say goodbye. I thought it would be quick, I thought I was ready to leave, but when I got there, I just started to cry. I wanted to stand in that spot forever.
I'd bought a small stuffed blue pig from Congress Hall (a building that my dad loved very much). I stood there, holding my little pig. I felt like a little lost girl. And then I felt ridiculous for letting myself feel so helpless.
I know that I'll find my way. This is an ongoing struggle that rarely seems real.
So I come in, and when there's no one for me to sit next to and stare at, I play online. This is okay for a while, but I'd rather just go home and not waste electricity here. :P
So it goes...
Steve and I are going to Bonnaroo next week. This voyage was "iffy" for a while, but we found some tickets and I've rearranged my work schedule, so I guess we're going. I'm actually very excited (and also a bit nervous)... I hope I get to shower at least once while I'm there, don't have to eat granola bars for five days, and that I can get at least a few hours of sleep, but Steve has warned me that most likely, none of my wishes will come true.
We got back from Cape May last week. It was a great trip, but I was sad to leave Dad. We spread the ashes about a mile off shore - in front of the lighthouse and the nature preserve and the bunker at CM Point. I have a now somewhat-eerie memory of being at the Point beach last August with Dad. I have a cute picture of him standing in front of the bunker. I remember him standing on the beach and staring out at the water, saying to me how it was "just beautiful here." It was such a wonderful time. I am so lucky I was there. Now my heart hurts.
We took a boat out to spread the ashes on May 21st. It was a windy, cool day, and by the time we were out in the ocean, away from the protection of the beaches and jetties, the water was very rocky. We all felt a bit sick (some more than others) and we joked that it was Dad rocking the boat so that our caravan wouldn't be a sobbing ridiculous mess. It was surreal.
On the morning we left, I insisted that we take a moment to stop at the end of the boardwalk on Beach Ave - where you can look out and see the ocean on one side, the dunes, lighthouse, and beach on the other. It's my favorite spot (a lofty title, considering all of the "spots" there are in the world). Now, from my favorite spot, I can see where we left Dad. I insisted that we stop over to this spot so I could say goodbye. I thought it would be quick, I thought I was ready to leave, but when I got there, I just started to cry. I wanted to stand in that spot forever.
I'd bought a small stuffed blue pig from Congress Hall (a building that my dad loved very much). I stood there, holding my little pig. I felt like a little lost girl. And then I felt ridiculous for letting myself feel so helpless.
I know that I'll find my way. This is an ongoing struggle that rarely seems real.
posted by Laura at
11:43 AM
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