Saturday, October 27, 2012
I’m not sure if this comes across in any other posts, or on Twitter, but I like hats. I have several that I just love: A beanie with binary code on it; my Resident Evil S.T.A.R.S. baseball cap; that one super colourful number that the kids would regularly attempted to filch from me last winter; and, now, a bear hat – from Brave.
I picked up the hat back in June; it was hanging on a Brave-themed end cap at Toys R’ Us, and I thought it was cute and walked away before deciding, “Fuck it, I’d like something for me, too!” I swiftly dashed back to the display, yanked it off of the hook, and unapologetically placed it into the shopping cart. That evening, I put the hat on and it didn't come off until damn near one in the morning because that shit is seriously the most comfortable article of clothing that I own. Thus, I wore it through the house for the duration of the sometimes unusually hot summer, not caring if it was almost eighty degrees indoors. Now that the weather is back to the chilly gloom and doom that Seattle is known for, I have proudly worn the hat around town, not caring about the weird looks that I sometimes get from other parents at Midget’s school, or the fact that near-thirty year old chicks don’t usually wear such juvenile articles of clothing to begin with.
So, now, the hat is torn. I’m not sure of how it could have even happened, but the back seam is ripped along the bottom. Apparently my hair has bizarre, seam-ripping capabilities. Luckily, it’s in a spot where I can easily mend it. But that’s not the point, now is it? The torn hat is the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
So many things on top of so many things.
As much as it fucking hurts to type this next statement out, Jeremy is dying. Until he has that murderous thing cut out of his neck, he is dying slowly – and surely. He's going into surgery this coming Monday, but there are so many what-if scenarios that are all as bad as the next. Clearly, the cancer is the biggest thing in the pile of shit hanging out on top of the camel. It’s followed by Midget’s recent diagnosis of mild ADHD; we’re still working on the odds and ends of what that will mean for her in class (the kid can almost never tell me what she does at school) as well as at home. We don’t want to medicate her, but goddamn is that child taxing. She’s also having bed-wetting issues, which requires her to be woken up in the middle of the night and walked to the loo so that she can use it, all the while in a weird, sleepy stupor that will sometimes involve her trying to literally fight her way back to bed, with no recollection of any of it the next morning. (We have decided to start using a spray bottle on her in these instances. She wholeheartedly supports this decision.) Then there’s Munchkin, who cries about everything and is turning four on Wednesday – Halloween. Then there’s the Halloween decorating, party planning, and trick-or-treating. (Jeremy loves Halloween and I suspect that he’s using the decorating as a distraction method for himself. (I don’t blame him.)) And then there are little things here and there: curtain rods that need to be installed, spaces to de-clutter and organize; Retard-Cat needs to go to the vet; there’s a parent-teacher conference next week, followed by all-around scheduling coordination (okay, that one's not that little) and trying not to straight-up end people who speak of having a little cold* as if it's the most awful thing in the world, while trying not to fall apart in front of anyone.
And now, on top of all of that shit, one of my favourite things in the world is damaged. (I know that sounds really dramatic, but it's true.)
It almost seems like some kind of sick metaphor for what's happening in my life right now. Thankfully, the hat is something that can be fixed very easily. The seam might look a little strange afterward, but only if it's carefully scrutinized. Nevertheless, the hat will be whole again, and perfectly wearable. Part of me wonders if that’s some sort of odd sign of hope; that maybe the universe, or The Fates, or what-the-fuck-ever is trying to let me know that things will be okay. Maybe it really is a weird metaphor for Jeremy. That would be kind of neat, right?
...I should go grab my needle and thread.