Make it all go away

Every night about 9 p.m. I start thinking about going to bed.
This isn’t how it was when my wife was alive, when bed by 11:30 was a struggle. Often it was midnight.
It isn’t that way now.
Come 9 p.m. I’m often out of things to do, or out of the energy to do things.
I’m told grief is exhausting.
Probably so.
Next to this computer is a mountain of papers to process, and checks to write.
A gigantic pile of boxes is in the other room that need to be cut up for cardboard recycling.
I have stuff in the refrigerator that needs to be processed before it spoils.
Everything gets put off until mañana. I seem to not have the energy to do things that might get me to bed later.
I also have a dog, and I try to make her life pleasant.
There’s enough sadness around here as it is; her master is a wreck.
I’ve given up watching an hour’s worth of news. Only a half-hour while I eat. I try to not avoid my dog; she gets enough of that as it is.
There are no longer two of us to entertain the dog, and I’m always busy.
I’ve had to semi-retire her toy-box. I no longer have time to play.
So come 9 o’clock I’ve had enough.
Turn the lights out, shut my brain off, make it all go away.
Lose consciousness and thereby forget my sadness.
When I wake up the next morning: “So begins another sad, sad day.”

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. At the time she was 68. I miss her dearly.
• My current dog is “Scarlett” (two “Ts,” as in Scarlett O’Hara), a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s seven, and is my sixth Irish-Setter, a high-energy dog. (A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. [Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.] By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett isn't bad. She’s my fourth rescue.)