Getting Back to Real Life

Image: Rory Bristol

Image: Rory Bristol

Getting back to “real life” while depressed can be fucking difficult! Yesterday, my dad was released for the physical therapy/rehab center, and he got to go home. First, though, he came over to have chipped beef on toast, because delicious food is delicious food. While we hung out, I organized my Magic: the Gathering cards. It was nice.

Sometimes, the best way to deal with grief is to commune with the person who passed. I do not mean sitting with a Ouija board and candles. I mean spending time doing something you love as if that person were there. George had a large chunk of my card collection, which came home last week. They were all out of order, and some were sleeved at random, and stuff. It was a task to organize it all, but I got to think about George the whole time.

No crying. No sadness. I did something I enjoy doing, and I got a little more closure. Part of closure is accepting that someone is gone. Putting my cards back in their proper boxes felt like coming home. My collection was reunited, and my (rare) annoyance at my collection being split up was finally put to bed. It was good.

After I thought about it, I realized that I had some old D&D character sheets that George and I had made together. I got to go through them, and remember how odd his choices could be. He wanted to play something fun. Not overpowered, not too weird, just fun. Of course, that man could out-strategy Gen. Patton in any game, so he didn’t need crazy tricks to win games.

It was good to get some of that into/out of my system early in the day. After lunch, dad and I looked at a house nearby that he’s considering renting (with much bullying and encouragement from our house). After that, I was happy to see him off on his adventures with his new bionic knee.

Then something neat happened: Normal life just took over. I didn’t have to convince myself to finish my assignments. I didn’t have to agonize over what to submit to my editors. I just did it. It was like a weight had been taken off of my brain for the day. It was kinda great.

Of course, I ended up working well into the evening, because I spent most of my morning with my dad, and my ever growing collection of all things fantastic. But I didn’t feel guilty about crap work. I felt like I was doing my work well. I accomplished enough to spend some time with the kids before bedtime. I also managed to give myself a blister, and tear it off before noticing it, while playing Rock Band. I’m still bad at the drums…

Yesterday felt oddly normal, and I’m thanking God for it. I am also hitting up our DM for some more D&D action. I want to blow some stuff up. That’s normal, right?

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