It's been a couple of weeks I think since I cried. That just seems crazy considering that the single most important person in my life is, for all practical purposes, just... gone.
I wake up.
I get ready.
I make coffee that still isn't quite right.
I've started eating granola bars on the way to school - not even close to the oatmeal waiting for me as I used to leave the house - and they make my jaw hurt.
I invest the bulk of my energy on my job, and then I come home.
I usually call someone to make the time go by faster.
I feed the girls, walk them if it's still light.
I watch bad TV and eat boring food. It seems like such a waste to spend time cooking sometime creative just for me.
Some nights I get energetic and do something fun and crafty, like the t-shirt necklace on this post or learn something new about my nifty camera. I enjoy doing stuff like that.
I wash my face, turn on my bedside lamp, turn off the kitchen light, then the living room lamp (in this exact order), and plug in my phone with my White Noise app playing a never-ending shower.
I read some... maybe write in my journal I've started.
I turn off the lamp and snuggle down with the doglets.
But I haven't cried.
Throughout all of this, people have told me how strong I am. I'm the strongest person they know. I inspire them with this inner strength they don't think they have. And I know I'm strong. That has never been a question. What I wonder is how I can have this strength when about the worst thing that could possibly happen to a person has happened. I feel almost ashamed or embarrassed that I am this strong during something so terrible. I should be curled up in a fetal position, unable to work, unwilling to breathe. I'm 28 years old, and I have more god forsaken life experience than hopefully anyone will have before they die! ..... and I haven't cried in probably 2 or 3 weeks.
This morning I went to my second yoga class. It feels so good afterward. In both classes, there have been these super advanced students in the room who take each position to a level at which my body just does not move yet. I'm amazed watching them. I catch myself sneaking long, penetrating stares at them in awe while I'm sure I'm supposed to be focusing my gaze on my thumbs or belly button. The control they exhibit over their bodies is inspiring! No movement is without purpose. A combination of strength and relaxation at the same time allows them to move slowly, carefully, exactly planned, with intent.
Control.
I remember what it feels like to have that.
This afternoon, way too early for the sun to have sunk to a comfortable temperature, I also mowed the yard and finished up with the weed eater. I mulched some leaves, pulled some weeds, and swept the back patio. It looks really nice out back. Roger would think so. He also would have laughed that I still think it's easier to mow like you vacuum... apparently that's not efficient.
I came inside, made me a glass of tea, and sat in the living room floor, too dirty to touch the couch. I drank most of the tea in one long drink. I sat there. The house was quiet aside from the washing machine. The doglets were tanning in the yard. All was still. I took in a deep breath, tired from the yoga, the yard work, the week of UIL, this 3rd cold I've had since Christmas. I let out my breath, and the flood began.
It was like I was making up for lost time. I cried and cried and cried some more; big, heavy tears manifested from somewhere... I don't know where that kind of moisture comes from when you only drink coffee and diet Dr. Pepper. It wasn't just tears. I could *hear* myself crying. The only time I can honestly remember, maybe in my life, crying audibly was when I came home on what I now only refer to as "that night". I remember wondering "that night" if the sounds I heard were coming from me. I had only ever seen that in movies or on TV. Maybe that only happens when your soul hurts.
For seriously an hour my eyes poured and my heart ached in a way it hasn't for a while. I think I've been so focused on UIL, being okay, functioning, the things I can control, that I've let what would have been a daily dose of sorrow build into something like a force of nature. I am okay, saddened and missing my husband greatly, but still okay, which is what made today a bit of a shock. I suppose it took my body finally being so tired and worn out that my heart got to take the reigns for a while.
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Earlier this week I attempted a project I saw on a couple of the blogs I follow. My favorite shirt of all time, my "Geek" shirt that I found for $5 at Abercrombie probably 10 years ago, has expired... and is now up-cycled into a fancy new necklace! 
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