Work and party

Today was my first day back at work. Luckily, it was at the PACU and not the ED. The ED would probably have been way too hard.

I was so apprehensive this morning, I took a xanax before I left for work. It helped buffer me from people talking to me, people looking at me, people expecting things of me. I felt slow and still borderline weepy, but I think it was better than it could have been.

When it wore off, however, I started feeling everything way too much. I felt irritable – not in a crabby kind of way, but in a can’t-handle-any-stimulus kind of way. I had the other half of my pill in my bag, just in case, but I did not take it. I made myself feel stuff. And by the end of the day, I felt a little more comfortable at work. Not like I am at home certainly, but I knew what to expect and my ‘safe’ bubble got a little bigger.

It was exhausting. Just the mental and emotional effort it took to ‘act normal’ took so much out of me. And when I came home, I was met by a dozen happy people wearing mustaches. We had a Mustache Birthday for Koby so everyone was there, including Michela’s mom. It was loud and happy and busy. I wanted nothing more than to lie down, but it wasn’t too bad. Ryan and Bill made dinner, we had ice cream cake, and the mustaches were a lot of fun.

When everyone left, I cleaned the kitchen, ran out to the store real quick, and put Decky to bed. This is the first quiet time I’ve had all day. Although I could fall asleep right now with no problem, I will stay up a little while just to be by myself.

Tomorrow I don’t work. There is nothing on the calendar. I will apply a second coat of burnt orange paint to the upstairs walls, and maybe attempt to paint the two-story stairway. I will stay in my jammies all morning and watch the morning news shows. I will clean. I’ll stay busy. I will be safe in the shelter of my cozy house, recovering and gearing up for my Friday shift at the PACU.

I want to go back a few weeks to my happy life with Dad in it, but I can’t. The world keeps moving forward, and it pulls me with it. But I can keep Dad in me, bring him along, think about him. Some day it might not hurt so much.

He would have loved the Mustache Party.

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