Over the weekend, with my brother’s help, I dug out my two old Intel machines from storage, along with a monitor and keyboard. I set up the spare desk in the unused bedroom and my plan is to use it hold a Linux server and a Windows XP workstation. I want to play with Linux to learn it better, and I’d like to have an XP machine so I can run the same development software at home that I use at work on the same platform.
At first I thought neither of my two storage machines were going to work. The slower 600 MHz machine gave me a “disk boot error” when I turned it on, and the faster 1000 MHz machine made ominous clicking noises and gave me a cryptic disk failed error. I took apart the 600 MHz machine (“roo”) and vacuumed it out. There was considerable dust collected on every surface. After re-seating all the connections and hooking it back up it booted into Fedora Core 1, the last OS it contained. W00t!
I then promptly installed Ubuntu Linux, perhaps the easiest install of Linux I have every experienced. Other than taking a while (maybe 40 minutes end-to-end) the install worked flawlessly, recognizing all my hardware and the network without any work on my part.
I suspect the GHz machine has a bad primary disk drive (the odd clicking sound) and so I’ll have to take it further apart to get it working again. It has two drives (30 GB and 20GB) so I am hoping I can use the other one as the primary and get things working again. Of course this means finding my Windows XP install CD and going through whatever hoops Microsoft has put into place to re-license it on a new drive. Maybe next weekend…
For now I’ll play with Ubuntu and be content at having 3 operating systems at my disposal (Mac OS X - 10.3.9, Windows 2000, and Ubuntu).
Tonight is a bad night.
Tonight is one of those nights when I can’t sleep, when my fears, and worries, and anxieties get the better of me. I’m physically tired yet unable to sleep. I feel trapped and out of control about everything.
The upstairs tenants are loud and noisy, sometimes they have domestic violence that is scary to be near. They smoke, and all their friends seem to smoke as well. They stand outside my bedroom window and talk and drink and smoke at night sometimes. I can’t have my window open without getting the stench of their smoke in my space. And I am afraid to say anything for fear of retribution.
Recently they acquired a dog, which initially was barking all the time, we complained several times to the apartment management. The last time we told the manager we were going to escalate the matter to the city if they didn’t do something about it. Within hours of our having mentioned to her the SPCA, the male upstairs tenant was knocking on our door. On the surface it was to apologize. But then he said that he had been told some one was threatening to call the pound on his dog. Obviously there is no trusting the manager, or no confidentiality with her.
So I am reluctant to approach them about the midnight smoking parties outside my window. I’m looking forward to freezing rain, sleet, and bitter cold. Hopefully it will drive them inside and away from my little sliver of fresh air. I hate being a captive in my own apartment. I don’t like it that the insensitivity of others intrudes on my space, and makes me feel afraid. Especially now when I don’t have Michele to comfort me, or to help sort this out.
Having to deal with everything by myself these days is pushing me harder than I realize. I am at my outer limits; physically tired, emotionally drained, mentally spent, spiritually exhausted. And I don’t seem to be able to recover any ground in any of those areas. At best I am managing to maintain where I am, not getting better but not getting worse. I have sparingly used the Xanax I have to help me sleep on several nights now. I don’t like having to medicate myself in order to sleep, but I know I need the rest.
This is so incredibly hard.
This weekend marks a full calendar month since Michele died. It is hard to believe that she has been gone that long. There are times when it feels like she just died, times when I don’t believe she is gone and I expect her to be here, and times when it feels like forever since I last heard her voice, or touched her.
She was the first person who really fit into my space well. I always felt comfortable with her, and I grew to crave the feeling of her hand in mine, or the warmth of her next to me in the night. I realize that as a part of the minds defense against trauma that I still haven’t fully incorporated her loss. I have had the space we shared here in the apartment all to myself for 30 days. By rearranging the furniture layout I’ve claimed the space as mine. By keeping her things here so far I’ve kept her here too, in spirit if nothing else.
This weekend my brother is here. He arranged to come now instead of initially as he was aware that after the initial period of time when friends return to their normal routines, that I would be facing long weekends alone. When he suggested the idea I thought it was a good one, and I have looked forward to his visit ever since. Still it has been odd to share my space with another person. Not that I am complaining, but it is different than what I had with Michele. And it is different from what I have started to expect on my own. The two cats have filled a huge void for me, having them here has been a lifesaver. Literally.
I think the hardest part for me now is not having a place to share the toils of the day. One of the parts of our relationship that was so special was that we gave each other a safe place to fall. I could tell Michele anything, express what ever emotion was figure in the moment and it was okay. She knew how to listen without judgment, without trying to fix it. I really miss being able to talk about work or my fears to someone who will just listen. Too often people want to take care of me by fixing the problem. Just do this, they’ll say. Or say that. I know how to care for myself. I know how to fix my problems. I don’t need that kind of help. All I need, and what I miss more than anything, is that safe place to fall.
Once upon a time I ran afoul of software that I had installed and forgotten about. Recently I’ve been making a mountain out of a molehill regarding my home network setup. Ever since we moved here I’ve wanted to have a network server, I just hadn’t taken the time to set it up. With long evenings and weekends looming I thought this would be a good time to execute my plans.
In hindsight I can only say that my thought processes are fuzzier than I realized even a month after Michele died.
All I needed to accomplish my goal was to move the cable modem and wireless router from the main room to the spare bedroom. Since that router has 4 unused Ethernet ports in back I would be able to plug in all three spare computers if I desired. No new equipment required. The two main computers are both wireless capable and can connect to the LAN regardless of where they are in relation to the router.
What I did was to scour the city for a new Ethernet bridge that could be hooked into an old hub so the machines in the spare room could be plugged in to the network. Failing to find what I wanted I bought a new 802.11g router that I was going to use as a bridge coupled with the old hub.
Understand that I have been thinking about this for a week or so, and trying to make the router cum bridge work for a couple of nights. And all I needed to do was move the modem and router from one room to the other. Took three, maybe four minutes to set up.
I’m a big dopey.
Tonight was my second karate workout since late last century. The theme was break falling, throws, and takedowns. Graceful I was not. Break falling required smoothness and body control. My mind knows what to do, but my body has forgotten the flow of it.
I was less out of wind tonight, but then the very nature of the workout provided lots of time lying down. The blue belt I worked with all night was good. I think we both got something out of the experience.
Mostly I am pleased to be doing something physical again. I know it’ll take my body a couple of months to readjust to the impacts and stresses this activity requires. But the release is important, especially at a time when I am filled with emotional and mental stress.
Next week it’s back to the regular class schedule, Tuesday and Thursday. The week after I’ll only work out once due to Thanksgiving. Easing back into it like this is working out well for me. Hopefully by the time the new year rolls around I’ll be able to complete a work out and not pay for it physically for the next few days.
One of the projects I want to complete this fall is setting up my old Windows XP and Linux boxes in the spare bedroom. There are some development tools I’d like to play with that (currently) only run on Windows, and I’d like to setup file server and perhaps a postfix server on the Linux machine. Since I’m in an apartment drilling holes in the wall to run CAT-5 cord is probably not a good idea.
What I wanted to do originally was to acquire another 802.11b wireless bridge from LinkSys and couple it to my old wired router. I had done this in Illinois and it worked fabulously. The bridge-router-as-hub combo allowed me to hook these two machines up to the LAN from the far end of the house. Easy. Only you can’t buy a 802.11b wireless bridge anymore. I know I’ve looked at all the major tech resellers in town, and more than a few of the minor ones. Sure, eBay has them, but eBay is a hassle anymore and I want the device now not in a week to ten days.
Over the weekend I bought a LinkSys 802.11g wireless router thinking I could use as a bridge. I asked the, ahem, technical salespeople in the computer department if it could be used that way. Their immediate answer was yes. Why do I place my faith in the answers of minimum wage earning high school kids? Will I never learn?
My initial attempts to configure the new router to accept the original router as it’s upstream device failed. Time to do some google searching. If all else fails I can return this box and spend a bit more money and buy an 802.11 “gaming adapter,” which is what LinkSys now calls the only bridge anyone carries and sells.
That or get out my handy dandy drill…
The aspect of my relationship with Michele that is going to be the hardest to live without is the lack of a safe place to vent. We all have moments where the frustrations of the day overwhelm us and we want to lash out inappropriately in order to vent. Who among us hasn’t skewered a fast-food counter clerk, or yelled at other drivers on the road, in an effort to get rid of the build up of anger, frustration, and helplessness? We all have.
Michele and I had some thing we called 20 Minutes. When ever either of us was upset and needed to vent we could start a conversation by saying, “I need 20 minutes.” The listener knew that what followed was just the heat of the anger, frustration, or helplessness being boiled off. The real issue was buried by these hotter surface emotions and could only be dealt with once it was cleared. The listener also knew not to take anything said in this opening movement seriously. 20 minutes is just the irrational emotion talking, once it was exhausted, the real emotion could take over and truth would come out. (By the way, 20 minutes isn’t a literal time limit; some times it only takes 2 or 3 to unearth the truth, others may take far longer.)
I miss having her as a safe place to fall. The world is suddenly scary (scarier) again. I don’t have the luxury of calling her on the phone and saying, “Help me deal with this, I need 20 minutes.” Even without the need for venting the days frustrations I miss being able to connect with her and share what ever was on my mind. I especially miss her calling me. She always laughed at how my voice would change from the professional, flat work-Mark, to the relaxed, loving husband she knew when I would hear her voice on my work phone.
I “wrote” to her yesterday on her site and that helped. I used to write to her every day, some times about nothing more important than what to have for dinner, other times to explain my theories about the existential nature of being. Being with her allowed me to flex my mental and emotional muscles; I grew emotionally and spiritually. The growth will continue, but the path is dim and shadowed now without the light of her sun to show me the way.
On the archive page of this site, towards the top, is a running total of the words written here. Before this posting there were 199,050 words of content contained here. Somewhere in one of the next few postings will be word 200,000.
It is hard for me to believe that I have written this much in just a few years time. In school I hated writing assignments; a thousand page paper due on some topic was cause for dread and procrastination. Now there are times when I can barely type fast enough to capture the thoughts in my head. Sharing myself through this site has been an amazing experience for me. I have exposed some of my biggest failings, greatest fears, highest joys, and happiest moments. Knowing that anyone who wanted to could read these words has added import and power to them.
Having this electronic diary, if you will, has also allowed me to look back at events and relive the feelings I was having in the moment. It is surprising how often my memories of the event are vastly different than what I wrote at the time. The job losses and moves have figured large in my writing, as has the emotional and spiritual growth I’ve experienced in the last few years. And it goes without saying that the recent death of Michele has caused me to write more and more.
I always shared my new postings with Michele. Often I would call here from work when I’d had some new thought and captured it here. I would read it to her or listen to her read it, and our connection would be that much stronger and that much deeper. I like to think that because of the focus these words have in my mind as I write them, that my thoughts can bridge the gap between this place of existence and the one where Michele’s essence is now. While I can’t know she is “hearing” these words, I still feel like I am sharing them with her. The sense of validation I got from including her in this process is still strong and still important to me.
200,000 words down, millions to go.
So one flavor of spam spoofs the sending address to be the same as the receiving address. Thus it looks like the mail came from yourself. I am not sure what the asshole creating the spam thinks this will cause me to do, but there you go.
For the past month I have had Michele’s email account set to be read in my email client. I wanted to make sure I had gotten ahold of everyone she knew, and for some I only had email addresses. Tonight when I checked the mail there was a mail from Michele. My heart stopped for a moment. Then I realized it had to be some cowheaded spammer spoofing her address.
What I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone in a room with this vile creature and a baseball bat.
The thing about grief is that it is relentless. People talk about things being 24x7, meaning all the time, but until you have lived with the constant pressure of grief pulling at you every second of every minute of every hour of every day, until then you don’t know what relentless really means.
You can’t escape it for more than a few minutes here or there. You try to absorb yourself in a book only to find that you’ve read the same page over and over and still don’t know what it says. Television is mindless crap and so it doesn’t impact you deeply enough to provide any shelter from the onslaught of emotions pouring through you. Anger, pain, sorrow, rage, tears, physical exhaustion, helplessness, mania, and so on.
The slightest things set you off - this afternoon I was unable to dice an onion finely. I flew into a rage, stabbing again and again at the onion and cutting board until I broke the tip of the knife off in the wood. I was sobbing uncontrollably, mucus and tears streaming down my face. With the initial spurt of anger spent I crumpled to the floor and cried and cried. After a brief attempt to clean the bits of onion from the walls and floor I gave up and stumbled to our bed where I laid and bawled. Clutching at one of her favorite dresses I cried and cried until I was spent.
I am so mad at her for leaving me behind to pick up all the pieces. I am sick and tied of answering questions, dealing with paperwork, and trying to carry on meaningful conversations with people. It is so unfair that I have to deal with all of the bureaucratic bullshit. I hate having to call banks, and utilities and explain that my wife is dead can I get our names changed to just mine. I have leaned to hate the question, “How are you?” I’m FUCKING miserable, okay? I will continue to be miserable for the foreseeable future. Eventually I’ll just be unhappy. Until then don’t ask if you don’t want to know.
I have lost the one place where I could sort this out. Michele and I spent so much time talking about our deepest truths and fears, dreams and worries, that we knew what each other was thinking and feeling almost before they did. I didn’t have to explain everything to her in order to talk about my stuff. Now I am forced to explain references and half completed thoughts because I only know how to communicate with Michele. I am lost and adrift in the sea of other people. I loved Michele for many reasons, including her ability to intuit me. I hate that I now am cutoff from the expression of feelings and thought we shared.
Depression dogs my every step, and hounds me when ever I stop to catch my breath. I feel as if I am forced to keep moving or lose myself to the demon dog behind me. I feel like I must take care of the people around me so that they will think I am okay. I would have felt safe exposing my inner most feelings about this to Michele, but I feel very unsafe exposing them to most people. (I realize that expressing them here may be the height of irony. I don’t give a shit.)
I have thought about pursuing a grief group, or a survivors of suicide group. And I suspect it would do me good. But I am so out of sorts with myself now that I can’t bring myself to try something “new.” I want my friends to call me so I can talk, but then I feel guilty for dumping my grief into their lives. All I know tonight is that I feel like I am just going through the motions, and that the only emotions I have are ones of sadness, depression, and anger.