I am on a new laptop. One without stickers, or a replacement super clicky keyboard. It is either a bridge too far or a brave new world. Maybe both.

Isn’t it weird how used to your computer you get? Like having a new one feels like starting a new job. Or being a new person. Before the screen completely ate it on my old laptop I was able to save everything to a USB. And I did the whole laborious Mac transfer thing… which worked but now everything is in my husband’s icloud… and guess who doesn’t have that password? One guess.

But- at least the keychain transferred, so all my saved passwords and such are in… and I guess that means I make this new one “MY” laptop as opposed to it feeling like it was Lucas’s I was always borrowing… even though I used it a ton more than he ever did. I did buy a plug in screen to try to salvage his old laptop- but with a replacement keyboard AND a replacement screen it’s very much a “where does the man stop and the machine start” Robocop type thing going on. That’ll be in on Wednesday and we’ll see if it can be salvaged and thus keep kids and pets fully away from my new one.

And so…here I am, YET again, trying to get used to a new keyboard. And last time I thought I’d never get used to that awkward replacement keyboard and yet here we are, on this side of it, having to get used to a new keyboard all over again- because that last one DID become second nature to me, after all. So I guess that means I will also adapt, yet again, to this one over time.

Theres a lesson in there, I’m sure.

I am very much resigned to adapting. No one CHOOSES to have their keyboard go out because a cat pukes on the laptop. And no one CHOOSES to have their dog step on that same laptop with the replacement keyboard closed in it (even if you’ve warned your 8 year old against doing that exact same thing because this exact scenario could happen) and ruin the screen. And no one CHOOSES to lose their best friend and love of their life in one fell swoop in fucking May. But you know, I guess you just… figure out a way and slowly adapt to the new normal. Somehow. Whether you like it or not.

Anyway.

So I have a new laptop. And I guess I’ll just count that as my birthday gift to myself… along with the other mountain of Amazon boxes that have been on a steady stream to my house. You know what you can do? If you don’t have the “presence” you want? Get yourself the “presents” you want. Totally a thing you can do.

So now I have all new workout clothes and shoes (I did need them. And am using them- I know, I’m shocked too). And new potholders. And a new concealer (Dudes. Haus Labs by Lady Gaga. I’ll NEVER buy another concealer. Not too orange and not drying on my under-eye area. AND doesn’t irritate my eczema because she has eczema and makes all her products with that in mind. 10 of 10, would conceal again). New 100% bamboo sheets. And new chairs for the living room. (Gave my older ones to the 18 year old that moved out last week.) Did I mention that? Or just natter on and on about keyboards and laptops and potholders and shit? So that happened too.

Earlier this week I was running FULL out. Work was busy. Getting my oldest moved more each day (a more incrimental process than I had when I moved out, I’ll tell you that.) and set up in her new apartment. Taking the younger girls school shopping. Watering the lawn. Cooking food- like, MULTIPLE times a day. Getting presents in and wrapped for my oldest’s birthday and a blueberry drizzle made for her cheesecake and coordinating for her birthday dinner. Dropping off and picking up the youngest from playdates and the middle one from colorguard practice. Going to a colorguard/band parents meeting and not having my soulmate there to side-eye with about all these fucking band parents and their matching shirts and their outsized fucking enthusiasm for high school band… it was a lot but man, but I was doing it and keeping up.

And then I got a reminder text that “the party starts in one hour” from one of my youngest’s friend’s mom. And this tickles a bit of a memory that I committed to having her go to a party at some point, but I can’t find the invitation. So I rush out, and buy a gumball machine and a gift bag and change her into a swimsuit and look at me and doing all the things! Under the wire! And I go and drop her off and the mom laughs and asks why we have a gift? It’s just a summer party with a slide. I don’t think I did anything but shrug… I hold onto the gift bag and put it on a shelf for the next actual birthday. It’s fine. I’m fine.

I furiously scramble my way through work, getting material quotes out. Make the blueberry drizzle for the cheesecake (as it is the day of my oldest’s birthday) and then two things happen at once. The cat (she of the previous laptop keyboard ruining) pukes on my middle daughter’s electric guitar and amp. And water starts pouring out of my ceiling.

I grab buckets. I turn off the AC. Check outside and the area around the drainpipe is dry- ergo there is a clog somewhere and the drip pan must have filled up and spilled over. Turning off the system (eventually) stops the water pouring down. I get the puke cleaned up with my middle one. I call the oldest and tell her we’ll be 15 minutes late.

And then I pick up my youngest from the party. The parents (my dudes they are 9- do a fucking dropoff party already) all turn to me and the hostess says: “Your daughter told us her sister is moving out- do you have any advice on how to handle that? I’m already freaking out for when my oldest moves out next year!” And I say, absentmindedly as I gather shoes and wrangle a wet kid: “Well when you go through the most traumatic thing in your entire life 3 months ago stuff like this doesn’t really even register. Thanks for having her, I gotta go.” One of the Dad’s in the group grimaces in sympathy and gives me a look. They all mean well. And I mean well too. Sometimes this doesn’t mesh though.

I wrangle my youngest home. Get her changed and into dry shoes. She and her sister complain that it’s already hot and the AC has only been off for about 30 minutes by this point.

We are 30 minutes late to my oldest’s birthday pre-party before we head to the restaurant for sushi for dinner. I have forgotten the candles for the cheesecake.

I burst into tears in the driveway and have to collect myself before I walk in.

So yeah. This week was just me failing over and over and over again. And truly the only person that could have made it better isn’t here anymore. Later that night I reached out to a few folks (because you’re SUPPOSED to lean on friends and family after the loss of a spouse and therefore I try to do this as I am a rule follower) … and one of them sent me many, many a text about Jesus.

Like my dude, unless he knows AC repair I don’t want to hear it.

Back to the day itself though, my oldest was gracious and appreciated everything, even if there were no candles. And is now off for a trip (today. Sunday.) to New York for her graduation gift.

My youngest is now sick with a high fever. Sigh.

My middle one needs more school clothes and wants to paint the newly freed up bedroom before she moves her stuff in to make it her own.

On Thursday, after that cluster of a day on Wednesday, I call the AC repair folks instead of doing it myself. (I know what needs to be done… but not how, and also, just no. Not this week.) This costs me $175 and yes, it was a clog. The tech tells me next time to climb up and pour bleach down the line. I nod, as I DO know this, but the person who used to stay on top of that died in May. So yup. This part slipped my mind. My therapist (when I go through my week with her) says how lucky it is that I at least knew what to do with turning the system off and didn’t just freeze up. How lucky, yes. That must be this feeling.

I guess the lesson from this week is to always leave a smidge of room for a few more things to drop in suddenly, thus ensuring the entire thing doesn’t collapse on you. Don’t run yourself to the absolute edge of reason… leave a bit of breathing room in your schedule for the ever-imminent next disaster. A lesson. I am collecting lessons like Snow Babies and lining them up, one next to the other, in the curio cabinet of my mind.

And I do want you to know I HAVE been asking for help! Like… a LOT. My aunt and uncle have helped with more drop offs and pick ups than I can count. My other uncle mowed my lawn. My cousin took over trip planning with my oldest for New York, and I bought food way more than I cooked from scratch. And I asked for help at work and got it.

I just… don’t know what else to do?

I don’t know what else to do.

So I slog through. And then someone asks what I want for my own birthday coming up and I’m like; I’ve been doom buying everything lately- is there even one thing I still need? And it’s not humanly possible to get the one thing I really want. So like… I don’t know, towels? Maybe towels. Also I don’t want to think about it.

Friday (birthday/cluster fuck day was Wednesday) I got invited out with my cousin and his wife to see polka music at an outside venue. (Don’t look at me like that, it’s a German town. It’s a legitimate thing that happens here.) I said yes. (I’m resolved to say yes to many things so I don’t turn into a shut in like my mom.)

It starts raining. The band keeps playing. I dance (badly. mind you- but what of it) with my cousin in the rain. I laugh and smile and it’s good- being outside in the summer and fresh air and getting rained on and surrounded by people.

And then I totally eat it after I cut my foot on something doing a spin… falling on my ass. Hard. So thats no bueno. Don’t polka in sandals is the lesson I file away from this one. Front of my sandal fills with blood. My shorts are black so I I get decomposed granite all over the butt that doesn’t brush off. My hat falls off.

Whatever.

My cousin picks up my hat. We finish the polka. No one laughs, at least. They probably think I was drunk, which I wasn’t, mind you. Tipsy yes, drunk no. But guess what- you can’t die of embarrassment if you’re already dead inside! Another lesson!

I head out soon after- after reassuring my cousin it isn’t his fault, at ALL, but I do really need to get my foot home and checked out. He is not entirely reassured but I make him promise to keep asking me to dance and I’m resolved to keep doing it in this half life.

Side note here- Dancing, singing, and painting/art shouldn’t be reserved for just those good at it- they SHOULD be joyful things we all do as part of the human experience. In the past I was often times too embarrassed to dance. Lucas loved dancing. So now I resolve to dance.

I also mentally add “pelvic floor exercises” to the ever growing list of things I need to do. God bless black shorts.

I go home. Tend to my foot and pull out a piece of glass- must have been hidden in the decomposed granite of the dance floor area. It starts raining much, MUCH harder.

I have a beer.

I go outside in the rain and lie down on my concrete slab in the back (next to the basketball hoop) and get absolutely poured on for an hour, staring up into the black sky of a rainy summer night and wonder what the ever-loving-hell this life is.

i have no epiphanies aside from the fact that however all the rest of it ended, it was nice to laugh and smile and feel free, even for a little while. Most of the time I spend not thinking of anything at all, really. Eventually I go inside, shower, change, and go to sleep.

There is always another day until there isn’t.

I’m not sure if that is reassuring, a threat, or a lesson. Maybe all of the above. I file it away too, on the off chance it’s the third one.