Yesterday was my 18th wedding anniversary. It is an odd sensation to have all the memories of 18 years of marriage but no emotional attachment, because I can remember that I used to be a very emotional person.
I had woken up in the middle of the night really nauseous because of where I had trigeminal neuralgia flaring up on the top of my head. This was my first flare up since the Thanksgiving from hell, and it was only a fraction of how it was six weeks ago. Earlier I had been trying to put together a grocery list for winter storm '24 and I had been forced to take an extra portion of my medicine. I am fine on 1/4 of a pill, but if I take half of one my brain is empty. I am coherent, but don't expect much participation from my end. I hear you and comprehend what you're saying, but expect blank stares from me, and if you ask me a question you will definitely get a "huh?" I hope and pray that I never have to go up in my dose because having a vegetable brain is not a fun way to live. I have no clue how people manage to take 3x the daily amount I do. After being nauseous for a minute, I got out of bed and went into the kitchen and saw the blender and some other stuff out on the counter.
"What are you making?"
"Nothing."
I was actually kind of confused because his usual midnight snacks are quesadillas or leftovers. Not smoothies or homemade salsa. He must have sensed my confusion or maybe I just looked bewildered.
"I'm making crepes. It's our anniversary. Happy Anniversary!"
For the record, I did not forget our anniversary. At least not this year. I did maybe forget it was coming up the previous two years. You know, when time doesn't exist and every day is the same, it is tough to remember what month it is, let alone what day. Owsley told us about some youth thing at church at the last minute, so we decided to wait a week or so before we go out and celebrate. It started snowing last night, so I didn't mind coming back home and warming up under a blanket anyway. Apparently they had tons of desserts left over at the youth thing, and Owsley was sent home with a box of brownies, cookies, and Little Debbie cakes. I'm currently eating an oatmeal pie for the first time in maybe ten years at least, and it has aged much better than some of the other Debbie cakes I have curiously re-tried as an adult.
Sometimes my brain surprises me. Very rarely, but sometimes it likes to bless me with a tiny snippet of a real feeling. I started going back to the very beginning of meeting Peppy. It was kind of hard to get my brain to even open up old memories without a little force, because it is so hard for me to even really imagine things anymore, but I finally did and I thought about those early years in our relationship and especially up until his mother passed away. I feel like our marriage so far has been in 3 stages: the first seven years of being oblivious of any cares in the world, after Peppy's mom passed away (years 8-14,) and then these last three years of post-covid brain scramble. After playing back some of my life's greatest hits I heard a voice in my mind, "You have had a wonderful life." And oh man, have I ever. Yes, there have been some setbacks, but if I cannot have gratitude for this life I been given, I truly don't know what I can be thankful for.
After this assessment of my life with Peppy, I realized there have always been two things- 1) he's never said a mean or negative thing to me. He's always put me on this pedestal that I really don't belong on, and 2) he's really trusted my lead with so many things and tried his hardest to give me whatever life I wanted. When I told him this he said it made him feel rich. Seeing all the years back-to-back in my mind like that was incredible because we have had an amazing life together so far. Memories are just not anything I ever even think to think about anymore. Ten years ago? Five years ago? Yesterday? None of it exists to me anymore. Sometimes I have to consciously remind myself that even though our lives are similar, his reality is much different than mine, and he does have 18 years worth of emotions. To me, Peppy has always existed. He's always been in this world my brain remains stuck in.
It is a great thing Peppy works from home now, especially since I have an easy time forgetting about anything that isn't in my general surroundings.
Peppy got me a Cotopaxi fanny hip pack. The algorithm really started pushing these on me about six months ago, and the colors pulled me in. Sometimes I can almost taste colors, and this was one of those times. They are made in the Philippines and each pack is made from scraps, and the colors are personally picked out by whomever is making the bag, so every one has the potential to be different. The only one I wouldn't have wanted was a bright primary colors one, and I love the one I received. I had actually forgotten that I told Peppy how much I liked them a few months ago, so this was a nice surprise. I was laughing at some Amazon reviews because multiple buyers didn't read the description where it states directly under 'about this item'-"THIS IS ONE PACK OF RANDOM COLOR SELECTION - ONE OF A KIND! Each Del Dia product is made proudly in the Philippines by an employee who has total creative control over the pack's colorway. No two are the same! We'll choose a pack for you at random. Be prepared for a total surprise!"
I mean, it doesn't get much more straight forward than that.
The one I received actually looks like one that Peppy might have put together for me himself.
It snowed all night and it is supposed to snow all day today, and then it will be -4 tonight, so I can't imagine that we'll be able to get out of our driveway tomorrow. Maybe not even on Wednesday depending on how much it snows and what the temperature reaches during the day. I keep thinking about all the homeless people, homeless people with babies, and all the immigrants they are putting in tents in the snow. I am so grateful for warm clothes, a roof and heat, but it hardly seems fair. Nothing about life is fair. Life is a lottery and there will be no true justice and unbiased judgement until this life is over. Not that being homeless is ever a vacation, but here seems to be a special cruelty in being homeless during the winter.
What do I say after that? Nothing.
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