Ah, the couch. I love my couch. You've seen it a dozen times, usually with Roy lounging on it.
He has an old bedspread there, that he loves. If we leave him home alone, he tries to get under it, and when we return, all the pillows are on the floor, and the quilt is in a bunch. That's the only bad thing he does when left alone, besides maybe put one of our shoes on the couch, to show us how disgusted he is with us.
DH and I searched for the right sofa for a while, and as soon as I saw this one, I knew it was the one. We bought the sofa, a chair, and a chaise lounge. Roy has claimed all three, but he shares.
You're wondering what my point is by now.
Usually, the only time you would ever find me on the couch, is after dinner, with a book, or my laptop, while DH watches awful TV.
That was before my flip through the air and crack to the skull event. The infamous 8/11/11.
The past year has found me becoming intimately acquainted with my sofa.
If you look up "couch" or "sofa", it says that it is a long, stuffed seat for reclining.
And recline, I have.
Usually with company.
Yesterday, when I woke up with the cold firmly planted in my chest, and coughing like a crazy woman, I retreated to "the couch". Every cough made decompressed skull feel like an impending explosion. So I stayed put. I watched episodes of "Parenthood" on my Mac.
I have become a Parenthood groupie. It makes me laugh, makes me cry, makes me totally annoyed with the bad choices they make, and sometimes, it makes me squirm.
Like last night, when Sarah took in her ex husband/abusive alcoholic, and then ran around insanely trying to get him into rehab, instead of letting the loser figure it out for himself.
Pfffft, I said to myself. Dope. Who would do that? Codependent BS.
(this is just part of my tirade while trying desperately to steam my lungs out in the hot tub at midnight)
And suddenly, it occurred to me, with the snow swirling around my head, a total contrast to the heat infusing my body.....................I did that.
I did exactly that very same thing. THE SAME THING. O.M.G.
No wonder it made me squirmy. Nofreakingwonder.
I threatened my ex. I held him captive, in a sense, and drove him to rehab, after I had made all the arrangements myself. I orchestrated the entire intervention. And I, good codependent little girl that I was, I was the only one who intervened.
I tell myself sometimes, that it was wonderful. After all, that was 1987, and he has been clean and sober, remarried, with more children, and happy I think, ever since.
But even so, watching Sarah dispense with her own life, jeopardize her own happiness, to save a drunk who had made her life MISERABLE, well, it just rankled. Pure. And. Simple.
It's snowing, again. DH has gone to the store to get me cough medicine. While I am a firm believer that men just annoy women by nature, he is a good man who thinks of my best interest all the time.
He has been by my side and stuck with me through it all.
A tough year.
Soon to be LAST YEAR.
I am not going to define myself by who I was in 1987, and I am going to leave 2012 behind, as well.
2012, with its never ending headache, the not knowing, the worry, the depression, the surgery, the tough recovery.
I will, however, take with me the love and support of my family and friends, the sweetness of being held up and encouraged and even carried sometimes, when it seemed like I was nearly lost.
2013 is about to begin. It's going to be good, friends. It's going to be really GOOD.