Dear Walt,

I’m tired. Right after December 21st happened, I had very little trouble sleeping. I wish that were still the case. I’m so exhausted because I’m starting to have weird dreams, and because I have to keep my door shut (I hate sleeping with the door shut) to keep white dog in the room. Otherwise she sits at the gate and whines for our daughter.

Plus I find myself listening for foster dog whose crate is in the office living room. That girl is a sleeper. Usually twelve hours. But I fear I’ll miss hearing her if she needs to go out. I’ve thought about letting her sleep in the bedroom, crated or not crated, but that gives me more anxiety than just listening for her. So, yeah. I’m ridiculously tired.

I’m also crying more now than the early days. I’m sure that’s part of it, too. Crying wipes me out.

I’m worried about things… house things, writing things, all the things you took care of. (By the way, guess what you forgot to do? Remember when Walmart changed your oil and LEFT OFF THE OIL CAP? You were going to order one. You never did. I wouldn’t have remembered (not my truck) except the oil maintenance light came on. Our youngest daughter popped the hood and there was the torn foil you’d covered it with temporarily. I’ve ordered one. It’ll be here today.)

I finished watching Poldark and have started Outlander again since I never watched but four or so episodes. You watched the first with me but weren’t impressed. Honestly, I wasn’t either; probably why I stopped. But I’m enjoying it more now. I watch before going to bed, watch until I’m tired enough to crash. That usually lasts two hours then I’m awake.

I would love to stay in bed in the mornings when I’m finally resting but… foster dog. And I would love to crawl into bed and nap during the day but… all the dogs. I guess it’s good we have them or I might never get up. Except I would because there is so much here to do. I guess that’s good, too, as much as rebuilding sucks. As exhausting as it is. As stressful.

I’m sorry I was so wrapped up in writing, trying to write, failing repeatedly, that I wasn’t as involved in the construction as you to realize the exhausting stress you had to have been under, though you didn’t complain. We’d talked about that, though. Immediately after Harvey. And when we’d dismantled your desk and emptied your office, turning it into our bedroom.

My job, we said, you said, was writing. Your job, was the house. You emphasized that when you stored your computer in the closet. You wouldn’t be needing it, you said. And you had your phone and laptop. Of course you had to pull it out and hook it up a couple of weeks later when your last oil and gas contract job called needing some information you had.

I’m glad you did because you toyed with Icefall off and on, jotting notes, advertising, researching. I loved having you working in my office. We were crowded but neither of us cared. We were together. That’s where the tears are coming from I think.

We were together constantly the last two years. Working. Eating. Playing. Shopping. Relaxing. Traveling. Sleeping. If we were apart it was because one of us had run a quick errand. Longer errands we shared. We shared everything. And I’m exhausted trying to be me and be you. I’m not doing a very good job of either of us though that’s probably the exhaustion talking.


Photo by Ariel Lustre on Unsplash