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This is a summary of my “group hug”. Everything’s going ok, I’m hanging in there. 30 minutes passes. I’m still ok. An hour goes by. I’m still focusing, which is pretty impressive considering the stale subject matter. Ok, we’re doing good. 1 hr, 30 minutes… feeling a little antsy, but still ok overall. 1 hr, 44 minutes – everything goes to hell. I shifted and thought “my pants are so freaking tight… I’ve gotta lose weight.” Which led to WeightWatchers. Which led to me going to WeightWatchers with Mama. Which led to Mama’s rapid weight loss last Nov, which I actually congratulated her on, never considering that it was a sign that the cancer was back. Which led to a sudden realization – almost like I had actually FORGOTTEN – that is doesn’t matter anymore. And then I felt a brief rush of relief that it doesn’t matter, that I don’t have to worry about it anymore, followed by an overwhelming, crushing wave of guilt that I would ever, EVER feel relieved about ANYTHING concerning Mama dying, even if it’s her horrible sickness. So I start writing frantically throughout this entire stream of consciousness, and I’m attaching the notes for posterity’s sake.

So finally, at 1 hr and 58 minutes in, we’re released and I scamper to the bathroom to collect myself. When I get back to my desk, Ron (whom Mama fondly called “Piranha”) called me into his office, which of course caused an internal freak-out. And he wants to talk… tells me that I’m acting, and I quote, “aloof and out of it.” Wow. Why would I call the crisis hotline when I have good ole’ Ron. But I have to give him credit – he cares. He told me that I can take time if I need to, that I can modify my schedule if I need to, that I need to talk to him, that they’re sticking by me and they’re not going to fire me and they’re in it for the long haul…. he just wants to make sure that I’m still with it, and that I’m communicating. Then the flood gates opened, and I started spewing word vomit onto his desk – probably more than he bargained for, but hell, he asked for it.

I have to say though – and this is totally in the name of honesty, because I never thought I’d say this in a trillion years – after talking to Ron, I feel better. I’ve been feeling so lost, so out of touch – not only because Mama’s gone, but also because I need a project. I’m a fixer. I’m a worrier. Fixating is what I do. And during the past two weeks, I’ve had nothing to focus on except a house that I don’t technically own, and the gargantuan hole that is me about 98% of the time. So I had the thought that maybe I should focus on my job. Like actually apply myself, and try to care, because I might actually be good at it, and there might actually be a reason that I have this job other than it pays off debt.

So there you have it. Another startling discovery by Sarah. So now I’m going to lunch, and then I’m going to work semi-hard for the rest of the day. I’m going to reacquaint myself with my job, and try to be worth $51,750 per year. Ya’ll better not tell anyone how much I make – I just said that for emphasis.

And Sue, I totally support withdrawing for the semester, going to California for some West Coast therapy, and then sucking it up, making good grades, and going to law school. Yay for you and your dual counselors.

Jennifer, I’m worried about you. That probably pisses you off, but I just want you to know that when I’m not having psychotic breaks, I worry that you’re burying yourself in “becoming Mama” instead of “grieving for Mama.” Just a thought, for what it’s worth.

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