I had to look up the word simultaneity to make sure it actually exists. It does and it’s much easier to say than simultaneousness, though they mean the same thing.

I have to remind myself frequently these days that we live life in simultaneity. Facing mortality with someone you love makes everything else going on seem small, insignificant, meaningless. Hearing someone bitch about minor details of a situation fills me with self-righteous anger. Who CARES? I want to scream. IT DOESN’T MATTER. Always screaming in my head. But of course it matters. Life is all of these things at once—existential dread at facing illness, agitation over bad driving, exaltation at beautiful birdsong, laughter at good television, joy at booping my dog’s nose, gratitude in a hug from my husband. It all happens at the same time. It all matters when we are living our lives.

This past weekend, I broke into sobs twice, unexpectedly, and for reasons that wouldn’t normally elicit such a response. The first was over a refund I was having trouble getting. The second was because my husband sat down with the dogs and as they were together, something happened and the dogs started fighting. Jojo had just been at the ER earlier in the week for being sick so the last thing I needed was to return there for an injury (and another bill). I blamed my husband, who hadn’t done anything wrong, really, and I started weeping at the sink where I was washing a dish. I felt so much, so much anger boil up in me. I remember this is how I used to feel as an emotionally turbulent adolescent, when I would scream and yell because I didn’t yet have the tools to mediate the emotion. I hadn’t felt such pent up emotion in a very long time. I stomped off upstairs, weeping, marched into the bedroom and wanted so badly to hit a wall, slam a door, primal scream, but I knew the people and critters around me didn’t deserve it (because I also knew that fighting situation wasn’t the real reason for the anger). Instead I grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and proceeded to beat the hell out of our mattress with it, over and over as hard as I could until I was tired. Then I sat on the bed and cried more. Eventually, sheepishly, I came downstairs and sat in one of wingback chairs in the Zen room (ha! So much for Zen!), staring out the window with tears falling. Jojo climbed on my lap and I hugged her to my chest like a stuffed animal. My husband came to the door with a small glass of sherry in his hands and looked at me. “Yeah, I’ve just decided to start drinking,” he said, which made me belly laugh. I can see how being with such a volatile person would drive one in that direction.

“I just feel like a raw and exposed nerve,” I told him. I’m so angry and so sad and things that normally wouldn’t bother me send me right off the deep end. I apologized and he, being the remarkable human he is, understands, empathizes, takes care of me, makes me laugh, helps me to continue on.

I am not an easy person to be around these days. I think I may be depressed, no longer in the mood to jump on my rowing machine each morning. No longer that interested in keeping track of the amount and quality of my vegan food, indulging in vegan sour cream and potato chips more frequently than is healthy. No longer in the mood to take showers any more frequently than necessary. (Part of that is because it’s cold here, too.) No holiday cards going out this year. Have wanted to draw but haven’t felt like pulling out the utensils to do so. Mostly I like to sit, read, stare out the window. Snuggle the dogs. Watch evening tv with my husband. Small things that make up the day.

Trying to practice patience and grace and remembering that life is lived in simultaneity.