Hard to know what to write

Sometimes it's hard to know what to write on the blog. Sometimes I feel funny about posting something that has to do with me moving forward in my life. Almost as though if I post that I'm moving forward, I'm somehow cheating on Jim. I think we all knew that I wasn't going to be the kind of widow that wore all black and had a tissue permanently sewn on my sleeve for the rest of my life. Although that has sounded tempting from time to time. I've wavered between wanting to go out and party like a rock star, wearing all black and taking a vow of celibacy, and being a really eccentric widow that lives out in the desert and makes jewelry and stuff like that. None of those really seem to fit. Although partying like a rock star is a more fitting description of what's going on in my life right now.

Since the end of September it feels as though I'm getting more traction. It's sort of like sand on the beach. Before it was that I'd take a step and life would well up around me. The sand would give way and my foot would go back further than I intended. The ground I was walking on was just so soft. And prone to sifting away. Now it seems like I've moved closer to the shoreline. The sand there is wet and firmer. Easier to get my footing. Easier to move the way I want.

I've spent the last two years feeling like I'm failing at everything. Couldn't do enough for Jim. Couldn't keep up with the house. Couldn't manage the kids without help. Lately I've been able to do things with a lot less help from my parents and the people around me, which makes me proud. My fears about having to move in with my parents and live over their garage have subsided. My exhaustion threshold has gotten higher, which is a very good thing.

I've been getting sitters a lot. I'm keeping the teenagers of Kohler rife with spending money. Any kid that has a new cell phone or iPod in Kohler is likely babysitting for me. I've been texting on my phone like a teenager. And last night I went out and had a marvelous time with new friends. Partying like a rock star seems to fit the bill for this very moment. The next moment I'll be wondering if I should buy a house in Montana and raise goats. Partying like a rock star makes me happy, but it does make me feel like I'm possibly hurting Jim. Not hurting him, but...he wasn't much of a partyer. [side note: I've been spelling "partyer" wrong for years. I've been spelling it "partier".]

Last night I played "Amie" by Pure Prairie League on the jukebox and in the middle of the dive bar took a moment. To miss him. To tell him I loved him. To tell him that my partying like a rock star wouldn't go on forever. Jim had a girlfriend in college named Amy. I always wondered if that song reminded him of her. He spoke highly of her. And we both loved that song. It's so reminiscent of the days when we could stay out late, party like rock stars, and wake up at noon the next day. I got to do two thirds of that equation.

If Jim isn't here to keep me grounded, you bet your bum his kids are here to do it. It's just a phase. Tomorrow I'll be doing something else. But for now, it's fun. This post is sort of all over the place. Not a lot of point or consistency. But it's progress. I'm moving forward. And even though I feel terrific guilt, I also I hope Jim would be okay with it.