That's still quite rough, and I find that I experience the gamut of emotion all in one day. The highs of "this will work out," when DS is happy and handling the shots well and his blood sugar is down to a respectable level, and the lows of "I can't believe we are doing this," and "this is for the rest of his life," and "I feel so lost." Because of this I opted to *not* skip poetry workshop this evening, and went anyway. Everything was covered here on the home front, so really there were no worries. But I still feel strange leaving, when this is all so new.
Photo taken by DS this past spring
I'll try Task #1, still from Chapter Three--
>Describe your childhood room. What was your favorite thing about it? What's your favorite thing about your room right now?
I had two rooms as a child. One I spent time in on weekends and two weeks during the summer. It had a big shelf in it along one wall, made by my dad, each cubicle painted a different color. I kept lots of little things and books in it. I had another shelf I seem to remember as more of a natural wood color, and in this one I kept all of my horse statues, most of them my Breyer collection.
I had stereo, which was exciting to me, as I could play music in my room, and headphones my dad never used--big comfortable ones that allowed me to hear all the little nuances, catch the movement of music from one ear to the other--it was through these I listened for hours, over and over, Pink Floyd's The Wall, fascinated by the lyrics and the creativity of the music. I'd sit on the floor, back against my twin bed, headphones on, and the album cover and insert with all of it's wild drawings and lyrics for each song, in my lap. Lyrics have always been important to me.
There were various stuffed animals, Barbie things I sort of liked but not too much, and a spring horse I rode when I was five or six, yelling "hi yo Silver!" when I thought no one was listening. There as a white dresser my grandfather made, and a little white chest of drawers that held my socks and underwear. A pink vinyl case for my toe shoes, and I'm sure I put my white straw cowboy hat and $1 real leather garage sale cowboys boots somewhere in the room, maybe in the closet.
In the closet I hung my clothes, including the red and royal blue ski parka I wore, though I really didn't ski until high school--I took riding lessons, or just rode my own horse. On the shelf of the closet were things I didn't use all the time, some blankets and pillows, and the little three legged piano my mom swore played on its own while she was alone in the house, taking a bath.
The bed was small, and on the nightstand I had a little pink and white alarm clock that rattled back and forth when I needed to be up for dance lessons. Later my first clock radio played music to gently let me know that we would soon leave for the stable for lessons with Bob, or to a horse show.
Later I left this room, preferring the space of the rec room upstairs, a new room added on when I was older. It had a pool table in the middle of it, my dad's weights, and a black vinyl wrapped and studded bar with a little t.v., and a red shag rug. I bundled my old sleeping bag, some sheets and pillows up there, my clock radio and some books, and slept under one end of the pool table. My old room was where I went to be alone, or to change clothes.
What did I like about this room, the old one? It was small, and housed just me. There was just me--no other siblings to share with. Although I *did* sometimes wish I had an older brother.
Tomorrow I'll describe my other room.
