I appreciate everyone's comments on my tear jerking post. I'm finding it weird to realize that of all my grandpa's grandchildren, I was the closest to him. My grandmother even said to me I was more attentive to him than she was during those last days. I never thought I had some special relationship with Grandpa Wilburn, but I guess I did. I wish I realized it before he was gone.

I am trying to get things back to normal. And by normal, I mean buying a super expensive Mini Cooper Clubman S. The transmission on my old car was going completely kaput, and I had been coveting one since December. I can't believe they gave me 1500 bucks on my old piece of junk, it had 82k miles, body damage, and looked like crap. I am thrilled, though. In November, when Michael gets his bonus, I'll buy my little brother a car owned by a little old lady, since I was going to give him mine before it went to car heaven. My Mercury Sable was a good car, but my Mini is awesome. I love driving it, and I hate driving on general principle. Screw you, environment, I am never walking again!

Now, to work on my business. And my grandpa's program. And clean the house. And get ready for Isabel starting kindergarten on August 18th. Oy!

Losing my grandfather last week showed me I am stronger than I thought. I always thought I'd fall apart when someone I loved died.

Grandpa Wilburn's death was surprising, but not unexpected. He had went into the ICU with kidney failure, but felt just fine. I visited him Monday night, July 20th. I told him how proud I was of him, of all he overcame with his awful childhood. He shrugged and said it was nothing special. I told him how proud I was of his service in the Marines. I told him how much I loved him. He told me how proud he was of me, and all of our family members. He said what a good wife my Grandma was and how she was finally telling him she loved him, after 58 years of marriage. He asked me if I was happy, and I said, yes, the happiest I'd been in decades. He told me he wanted me to have his Marine medals if anything happened to him. He told me how much he loved my mom, and how he worried about her, and would do anything to help. He told me how he missed my brother, and was anxious to see him when he got out of the half-way house. He hugged me, and gave me a kiss on top of my head.

On Tuesday morning, Grandma called me to say he had a stroke. I rushed down to the hospital. He was there, looking at me, trying to smile, but not saying a word. A scan quickly showed the severe damage in his frontal lobe. Grandpa was there, he made a half-smile when we told him we loved him, he rolled his eyes at my cousin Shawn's goofy joke, but he wasn't always there. There was no chance of recovery according to the doctors, and he would continue to have strokes until he was completely gone. Grandpa's living will said no feeding tubes, no extraordinary measures so after 55 years of pricks and injections, Grandpa stopped receiving insulin for his diabetes, and went up to a hospice room in the hospital.

I spent Wednesday night with Grandpa. We both teared up as I told him how it was his WWII books that sparked my love of history. I told him how without him passing on his interest in computers, neither I nor my best friend Angela would have met our husbands. He smiled as I told him we were having a sleep over, and we'd watch the history channel together. I watched as he slowly changed that evening, as he began to leave this world. Every ten or twenty minutes, he'd open his eyes, look for me, smile, and go back to sleep. I opened the blinds so he could see the sunrise. When my grandmother came in at 6:30am Thursday morning, Grandpa looked at her, smiled so sweetly, and went to sleep. He never opened his eyes again.

Friday, when I held his hand, he no longer squeezed back. He rested deeply. I told him how much I loved him, that it was okay to go, we'd watch over Grandma. I told him I knew his Marine buddies were waiting for him and that he should join them if he wanted to. Isabel gave him one last hug and a kiss on his arm. We said goodbye, and a few hours later, Grandpa passed with my mom, my aunt, and my grandma touching his chest, sending him off with love.

Michael gave the eulogy for my grandpa Thursday. The Marines presented my grandma with the flag. Everyone left, but Grandpa's urn remained on a table. I couldn't leave him there. The kind man who had helped us at the funeral home was overseeing another funeral nearby, he came over, and uncovered the hole. I knelt down, and placed my grandpa's remains in the wet ground. I am glad it was me, and not a stranger, saying goodbye.

I am no longer scared of death. I no longer fear nothingness awaits me when I take my last breath. I know what is waiting: it is my grandpa, as strong and unbending as ever, to take my hand.

I haven't posted in a long time. Wow.

I am doing better. The meds I am on really have cut down on the OCD brain clutter. I am working on getting productive again. I have to remind myself I spent the better part of the past 12 years being sick, and I shouldn't not judge myself any harsher than I would the next person.

I do not to stop drinking caffeine. Mmm, Coke Zero.

My anxiety is getting worse, not better. I've picked about four or five diseases to freak out about. I am thinking about going to the doctor about it. I always liked to blame Prozac for my weight gain in 1998-99, but oh wait, the eating of Taco Bueno every night, plus drinking a two liter of Coke every day, plus eating entire cheesecakes by myself might have really had something to do with it. Just a thought.

I am going to switch doctors, too. I don't like my doctor at all. He doesn't listen to me.

Now excuse me while obsess about having some undiagnosed, evil disease.

Today I cleaned our washer and dryer, after seven years of inertia in my laundry room. Now I am going to download an article about Imperial Germany and read it. Then I will take notes. This must be how normal people feel.

I am dealing with skanky dog gas. My dogs are old and smell a lot. I love them, but I tire of dog hair and stench.

I love how you don't realize things that are COMPLETELY obvious, until you talk about it with another person. My therapist and I were talking about how I hate going to the park with Isabel, and I realized it's because the entire time I spend worrying about her behavior and whether evil ninjas are going to kidnap her at any moment. It's like when we took the dogs to the dog park yesterday, I spent the entire trip concerned my dogs were going to attack another dog, even though they have never been aggressive at all. I love you, generalized anxiety disorder!

As the world economy collapses around us, everything in the Corley household is pretty okay. This week the plumber will be fixing our bathtub faucet and broken master bathroom toilet, both of which have been broken for over a year. Next month I think we will be buying new interior doors for the entire house, which badly needs to be done. We are also going to LA and San Diego in May.

I wish I had enough time to get a job, but I don't think I can get a full time one for at least another year. Plus, horrible economy probably does not equal money for me.

I still am tempted to get rid of my livejournal account, but that doesn't keep me from checking my friends list several times a day. Ha ha.

I think school is going well, except I have developed a nice little academic performance phobia. I am petrified of getting everything wrong. I also realized it's been four years since I've written a paper. Also causing anxiety.

I don't know how to organize my day anymore. I need to do something about that.

Besides that, everything is going very, very well.

I like the fact that merely discussing treatment options about my OCD with my pee-sychologist was enough to set off my OCD, thus increasing my anxiety on a scale of 1 to 10 from a 2 to a 8 within one day. Fuck you, OCD, I am totally going to defeat you, and you are going to LIKE IT!

My mom got a wig today. It was my Xmas gift to her, and it took 10 years off her looks. Right now, it sometimes will look "wiggy" to me, but I think it's because a) I know it's a wig, b) she still has grey hair that peeks out from underneath, c) she needs to style it some with some wig hairspray, and d) I know it's a wig. She was so much happier today than she has been in months. All this stuff with my brother accelerated her hair loss to massive proportions, and made her really self-conscious.

I went to the dentist today, and boy did they really kiss my ass. Michael told them when he set up the appointment of my horrible fear, and I told them of my two horror stories (having a root canal and feeling almost all of it, and having my teeth cleaned where it hurt so bad, I was literally almost jumping out of my seat). I am tired of having my teeth slowly decay away, so they are going to give me major Valium, nitrous oxide, and as much anesthesia as they can muster, Mister. But they really were kissing my ass, and even holding my hand at one point as they were poking around up there. I thought it was exaggerated, until I got out of the chair and realized my back and legs were covered in sweat. I am so scared of the dentist, and my attempts to be cool obviously were an EPIC FAIL.

Speaking of EPIC FAIL, I am playing World of Warcraft again. P33r my level 65 tauren death knight on Moon Guard, Runningdeer. She will so death strike you...to DEATH!!! Muahahahahaha!

I am not depressed. No, seriously. I'm not. This must be the first time since...1992? 1988? I don't know, it's hard to remember the last time I was not in some way depressed. Yeah, there's a lot of bad stuff going on, but you know what...I don't think it's the end of the world! I don't hate myself, I don't hate my life, I don't hate where I live...okay, well, I don't like where I live but I'm not living in some kind of fantasy land about what it'd be like if I moved.

Oh, I'm not Miss Sunshine with rainbows coming out my ass (as interesting as that would be), but I'm not thinking negative, horrible thoughts about everything all the time. It feels weird not to have sadness, regret, and guilt casting a cloud over everything. I'm not catastrophizing everything.

This is all pretty weird.

I've had my LJ for almost seven years, but I haven't been posting much lately. I do want to write more, I've just been kind of in a mini-funk. The mini-funk, however, feels much better than the full out funk I am used to having.

I have a lot of big questions in my head I want to sort out: what do I want to be when I grow up, what kind of parent do I want to be, what kind of wife do I want to be, how do I stop eating like a fucking sow at the trough and start taking care of myself instead.

I am doing pretty okay, considering. Today I made myself talk to three people, and I hugged a person who I know likes me, and looked like she needed a hug. I am trying so hard to jump out of my comfort zone, which of course is a bunker of isolation.

For Halloween, Michael was Peter Pan, and Isabel was Spooky Undead Tinkerbell. That fact, and the fact the other day that she asked me what the Great Depression was and why it happened, shows she is indeed my and Michael's offspring.