Ugh

Although anxiety is having its way with me, exhaustion is paramount. Why? There are a number of reasons, triggers all. Of course the upcoming election is driving all of us a little mad. That's the worst of it. If it wasn't for that, real life worries would be manageable.

The other reasons are personal, things I don't really want to think about let alone write about. These are things that will pass, I don't need to obsess over them. As always, I'll just ride it out. Everything will be fine.

All I want to do is sleep until November 5. If things go badly in the election, I may never want to wake up. But I will find a way out of fear and despair. I'm almost sure of it.

Hey, I always do.

Birthright? part II

How many people see creativity is their birthright? Who assumes it is forbidden fruit, out of reach, not there for people like them? Who feels a creative moment must be stolen when no one's looking, especially when no one's looking?

I think creativity IS our birthright. There are so many ways to be creative, not just the arts. We all have certain gifts. Some lucky dogs have the means to develop those gifts. Some poor souls don't, unless by some inexplicable act of cosmic grace they are presented with an opportunity and run with it. This is the stuff of legend. 

Others do not get an opportunity, for an infinite variety of reasons. Then there are people who have the means but waste their talents.  Why? 

You say with blinding arrogance "Why didn't they pick themselves up by their own bootstraps?" Really? You know that's physically impossible, right? Show me a successful person and I'll show you a person who had some sort of help along the way. Even if it was only a teacher who encouraged you, an employer who took a chance and hired you, a grandmother who whispered affirmations in your ear. Or maybe you're one of those lucky dogs who ran smack dab into that inexplicable freaking opportunity referred to above? 

Still, I'm writing from privilege, aren't I? There are places where hope has no home. Try to imagine. Little wonder that there are so many angry, bitter people. What a sinful waste of talent exists in a world of haves and have nots.  

Is it naive to hope for a world where each and every one of us could expect to reach our creative potential? Of course it is. But still, I hope for that better world. 

Birthright? part I

I'm in the midst of a New Yorker article about Emma Thompson and I need to come up for air. It's one of those articles so dense and chewy you never want it to end. 

Thompson has had a full life, complete with joy and sorrow. She's bright, articulate, hard working, funny, creative; absolutely amazing, really. What strikes me is how matter-of-fact she is. What she is missing is anxiety, the absence of which is stunning. 

Emma's had bad things happen, everyone has. She reacts appropriately to any given situation, then moves on. I could be wrong, but I don't think she has spent significant time cowering in the recesses of her psyche, damaged and anticipating the worst. How did she escape that? Or does she just do a good job of hiding that part of herself? 

Perhaps it's that she was born into a family of actors? She had parents who valued intelligent expression, encouraged an appreciation of comedy, and were of reasonably comfortable means. They were supportive of her. Having "enough" money helps. Knowing one will have the means to achieve a dream IF one has the talent must be comforting. Creativity would seem like your birthright. My shoulders relax just imagining.  

And I begin to think.

Travel, how I hate it.

Tomorrow we fly north to see our extended family. I have a million things to do. 

Tom threw his back out overnight!  He's getting cold, heat, ibuprofen, rest - whatever it takes to get him back in fighting form. I haven't been "home" in 3 years. There are 4 toddlers I have never met, and a grand niece and nephew I've only seen once. I miss my family like crazy. 

I went online to check us in (24 hours in advance) and also changed our baggage choices from carry-on to checked so he doesn't feel compelled to lift heavy bags up high when we board the plane.  

I accidentally knocked a full glass of water off the kitchen counter.  It shattered all over the floor.   

I did laundry, and packed our bags on and off all day. It's so hard to make decisions. I'm making lists so I don't forget anything.  

I drove to the bank to get cash. There was only one bank clerk. The man in front of me was trying to do something shady. The bank clerk wouldn't let him. He was argumentative. It took forever.  Grrrr!

I went to the store to buy magazines and snacks. Then I stopped at a gas station to fill up the car's tank. The outside card reader wouldn't take my credit card. I had to go inside to pay (horrors). My card worked fine inside.  

But while I was driving home a red light on the dashboard started flashing at me. Apparently there's something wrong with the brakes. I guess we'll take Tom's car instead of mine.  I wonder if his car has a reasonably full gas tank?

When I got home I accidentally knocked another glass full of water off the exact same place on the kitchen counter. It shattered, too.  

As I was writing this, I got a call from my doctor's office telling me my lab results. Apparently I'm pre-diabetic, for crying out loud.  

I did a little housecleaning. The house is still a mess. Who cares?

New teeth in an old mouth

 8:34 am

In an hour I'll be going with my husband to a dental surgeon who will prepare him for two new implanted teeth. He can't have anything to eat or drink before. That is, he has to face the situation decaffeinated and hangry. He seems edgy, cranky, and anxious. He likes to be left alone when he's like this, and I'm happy to comply. However, I'm empathizing like crazy in the other room, unbeknownst to him.

I'm wondering if I have enough soft things in the house for him to eat for the next couple of days.  I should have bought bananas yesterday so I could make him a smoothie later today. Oh well, I can always go grocery shopping.  Or, better yet, I could ORDER food to be delivered! 

10:00 am

They won't let me wait inside the reception room in the dental office because of COVID.  I have to sit in the car and wait for God knows how long. Luckily it is isn't blisteringly hot today. I am able to open the car windows and read my book while enjoying a slight breeze. What am I reading? The Plague of Doves, by Louise Erdrich.  Good stuff.  

11:30 am

Surgery is over and all went well.  The kindly dental assistant slowly walked him out to our car. I couldn't figure out if I should jump out and take over for her or not. So I didn't. I think that was the right thing to do? Narrow space between cars and all. It is SO hard to figure out when to prove one's love, or when to show restraint. I have a hard time with all that.

11:50 am

We are home. The kindly dental assistant easily put him in the passenger seat. And he was feeling no pain, thanks to modern medicine. That's why I drove. He usually drives and seemed uncomfortable with my driving. In spite of his mouth being stuffed with padding, he tried to tell me how to maneuver the roads.  Eventually he resorted to pointing at street signs, so I wouldn't miss them, ha!  He even gave me a thumbs up when I got in the right lane. I showed restraint AND proved my love at the same time. That one was easy.

12:10 pm

Apparently he took selfies of his sorry looking self immediately upon waking up from surgery in the doctor's office. Always the funny man!  He also posted them on his Facebook page. Sheesh. His FB friends are concerned.  I'm trying to pretend I didn't notice the post.  

1:20 pm

Groceries are on their way.  I ordered a lot of ice cream.  

1:21 pm

Is it wrong of me to be happy because I can drink all the wine alone tonight?

I love and hate Christmas

I love colored lights! The Surly Republican across the street goes all out decorating and illuminating his house. Every night I open the door and walk out on my porch to savor the display. I told him I enjoyed it. He barely answered, didn't make eye contact, and walked away. Sucks to be him.

Going through ornaments and thinking about the why or the who is always a profoundly moving experience. I hold them in my hand, thinking hard about people who gifted them to us. 

I enjoy giving presents. I realize gift giving is a poor excuse for showing love, but when it comes to that particular emotion I throw caution to the wind.

I'm heartened by the softening of hearts, opening of wallets, and end-of-the-year donations to the poor. I wish we were always open hearted, but at least we have this season to remind us how good generosity feels.

OMG! Consider the yummy cookies and scrumptious meals we only make at Christmas. These foods are precious because of their limited availability.  I'm like a little kid. I can't wait!

I hear from so many loved ones my heart nearly bursts. Wide open. Phantasmagorical blood spurting everywhere, y'all.  Ouch.  

Which brings me to the "hate" part of Christmas. I am emotionally overwhelmed. The stress of buying the right presents sets my head spinning. And I worry about eating and drinking too much over the next 3 weeks. Because I will. 

Down, but not out.

 I'm having a hard time writing blog posts. It's more inability than reluctance. 

I like to write first thing in the morning. However, I also try to exercise (biking, walking) in the morning as well. In the heat of the summer it is imperative to get out there very early, so my early morning creative routine is kind of shot until the Florida heat and humidity subsides.  

I will admit to being "a little" shell shocked of late. It's hard for me to focus. I should relax, ignore the political noise and re-center my self in this beautiful, yes beautiful, world.

Still, that hateful Trump and his evil cohorts try to distract us from beauty and goodness every damn day.  The unrealized poet in me is convinced he is the Devil, the anti-Christ. I am gobsmacked that people who think they are good Christians follow someone like him. In my fevered dreams they follow him straight to Hell.  

My Tennessee Grandmother was my own personal Pentecostal saint. She was known to talk in tongues when the spirit moved her. My Grandma was the personification of goodness, and she worked hard at understanding the difference between good and evil. She would never have voted for Trump. Like Kamala Harris, she knew a predator when she saw one.

Grandma taught me to say "Get behind me, Satan" when I was overwhelmed with worry or distraction. I haven't said that phrase in a long, long time. But I'm saying it today.

I have to laugh

I have to laugh at myself, I am becoming such a stick in the mud. I was just telling one of my granddaughter's I am an extrovert. Now I'm thinking, am I? Did I change in retirement? Because now my preferred days are those when I don't have to leave the house.

The other day I had three things to do (horrors!):

1. Go to physical therapy in the morning
2. Go someplace fun with my daughter and grandson in the afternoon
3. Go to someone's house to celebrate an event in the evening

I woke up in the middle of the night worrying about having so many places to go and things to do the next day. I tossed and I turned. My mind would not stop.

All that worrying and missed sleep for naught. 

1.  PT was simple and straightforward
2. The afternoon with M and N was so much fun.
3. The event celebration was quite enjoyable, and we left early

How many times have we all done this, woken up filled with worry about something that doesn't seem the least bit worrisome the next morning?

What is it about the night that makes anxiety so potent? 

This 9 of swords tarot card image is from the following site: http://www.sacred-texts.com/tarot/xr/index. It is from an original "Pamela-A Deck" version of the Rider-Waite-Smith Deck. My use is for informational purposes only.

Is all this crap the Wheel of Life?

I get tired of problems, 
politics, 
and people. 
I really do. 
I plod on 
hoping for the best. 
Always hoping 
love will be enough. 

Do you think it is?  The world has gone crazy.

These are my jagged thoughts 
with the sharp points protruding.

When I can remember to open my eyes to see, I see beauty

First world problems

Our air conditioning unit broke down last Sunday. That's always traumatic in July or August when 90-100° days, replete with drenching humidity, are common. Luckily, it was a relatively cool 86° with cloud cover and rainstorms.

The total repair charges end up being about $750. We will also be signing up for their yearly maintenance plan, which is $179 for the coming year. The guy told us that a new unit, which we "should really think about getting soon" would be $6,500. Yeah, right.

I think about this, and all the other charges for house maintenance. I wonder how many more years T and I will be able to afford to live in our own house.

Then I feel ashamed of my petty worries. Even if we were forced to sell and go into a small apartment we would still have enough. Enough is so much more than most people have. What a rough and tumble, frightening world we live in. 

Retirees dream of past workplaces

I had an unsettling dream last night. In it I was recalled from the comfortable peace of retirement to return to my old job to stage an important event for the department. I did a bad job of it. Yes, it was a nightmare.

The Associate Dean of Administration, my former mentor, showed up for this dream event. She angrily asked why I hadn't arranged for a specific faculty member to be there to hand out awards to graduate students. I replied, "I don't care." Sheesh. I was always defiant, but this reply takes the cake. Later in the dream I remembered that the particular professor she asked about died last weekend (in real life), but it was too late to undo the damage my flippant statement made. The AD of A was red-faced furious and ever so done with me. That still hurts.

My "dream" staff (consisting of co-workers from a couple of different actual real jobs) were disgusted with me.  I tried to apologize to them, and closed my eyes for a few moments as I spoke deep from my heart about all my faults. When I was done, I realized the staff members left. They never heard my apologies because they didn't care what I had to say.

My dear friend, the Director of Human Resources (D of HR) for the college, tried to intervene and save me. Bless her sweet heart, I do so love that woman. She lined up an interview with another department. I tried to tell her I was retired, and had earned the maximum work income Social Security would allow this year, but she insisted I must redeem myself. I was freaked out about losing Social Security income for the rest of this year AND had interview anxiety.  Aaack.

I forgot the exact time she had scheduled the interview for. My cell phone was dead. I had to call the D of HR on a public phone. Yes, there was still a public phone box in my dream reality, and it was free! I didn't have to dial. I simply screamed into the phone and she answered. It was also more of a perforated disk than any public phone I've ever seen, but I digress. She said the interview was in a half hour and I needed to get there right away. She would meet me and go through the interview with me (unheard of in reality, but much appreciated in dream-time). 

Unfortunately there was a flood I had to wade through on my way to the building. It slowed me down. I was afraid I wouldn't make it in time. When I finally arrived at the building I couldn't find the room. The D of HR found me wandering the halls and helped me find the room. 

Then I woke up.

I am thankful I didn't have to go through that interview.  I would have screwed that up, too.

This is an actual gargoyle from outside one of the buildings I used to work in

Waking up without a smile

I sort out a lot in that short period of time between waking and rising. 

I have said this before, being able to enjoy the morning is perhaps the greatest joy of retirement. I find the experience evolving as I become more comfortable being less productive. It is now less a stolen pleasure and more an important part of my day. 

If I can remember my dreams, I try and pay attention to what my unconscious mind was trying to tell me during the night. Unfortunately, I don't often remember my dreams. Too bad, because they can be quite informative. If only our unconscious minds could learn to speak English instead of Symbol, right?

I am now at my most mindful and self-aware in the morning. This is a huge change from my working years when mornings were spent on autopilot. It took me at least a year to figure out what to do with my mornings in retirement. I'm getting the hang of it, but for some reason I am still not "happy" once I get out of bed in the morning. Is this because of habit, guilt, or chemical imbalance? I don't understand. I am a reasonably happy person. I just can't get get rid of the morning blues. It takes a cup of coffee or three before I let my shoulders down.

I'm curious, does anyone over 7 years old wake up feeling like a million dollars? I use 7 as the cut off point because that's when the Catholic Church decided a child reached the age of reason, and I suspect reason is what obliterates joy. Actually, I think 5 might be a better age. Kids grow up faster these days.

The Great Bitch, Irma

We are trying to get ready for this monster hurricane. Irma will find her way to Central Florida on Sunday. We are trying to prepare both physically and mentally. We will likely lose power, for how long is anyone's guess. If you don't hear from me next week I am likely without electricity. Don't worry, I'm almost sure everything will be messy, but fine.

How do you prepare for a hurricane? Well, preparing is endless. Getting enough water stockpiled is hard when stores sold out a week ago. When a delivery arrives, people are waiting in line to get it and they buy it all up without a thought for others. Community spirit seems to kick in after a catastrophe hits. Before, everyone is desperately trying to protect their own.

I think we have enough bottled water to see us through a week without power, but I have taken to freezing tap water in gallon sized freezer bags just in case. If power goes out it should take them a while to melt, keeping the fridge cool a day or two longer. We have plenty of canned foods, cereal, and nuts in the pantry. Our extra batteries should arrive today via amazon.com. We have propane for the gas grill. T will drain the pool to accommodate torrential rain.

Gasoline is another scarce commodity. All gas tankers are going to South Florida so evacuees can have gas to travel north. Tom filled his car before the rush. My car is a little less than half full. We wasted gas driving around yesterday but could not find a gas station with any gasoline left.

The sand bag distribution center has a multiple hour wait, with cars lined up to the moon and back. Wasting precious gasoline to get sand bags! It's a conundrum. Consequently, our sandbox for little N has been raided; the sand turned into sandbags to keep all that water out of the house.

Highways are filled with people from South Florida trying to escape Irma at her worst. I worry they will run out of gas and be forced to endure Irma on the side of the highway in cars with kids, animals, and important papers. It happens. Can you imagine? We have not been told to evacuate, but schools are closed. I imagine if evacuation becomes mandatory, the gas tankers will begin stopping in Central Florida again? However, I hope once she makes landfall that bitch will settle down a little. I would be grateful for a Cat 2 storm. I really don't want to hit the road.

Our important papers and pills are in plastic freezer bags, too. I've moved many things off the ground in case of flooding. We have lots of toilet paper! Wine, too... Any potential outside projectiles (potted plants, deck furniture, pool cleaning implements, toys) will be moved to the shed or the garage. No basements in Florida! I'll move my computer away from my office window. Bathtubs will be filled with tap water for cleaning up and flushing toilets. Unfortunately, we do not have plywood to cover windows. That is also long gone in the stores. We will buy some afterwards for next time. For now, we take our chances. 

There is the added worry that our daughter and her family aren't preparing well enough. They are, they will, but still my mother/grandmother's heart is sore and stretched for miles. If I worry enough, will it ward off water and wind?

Sleeping In?

In some ways I still have not totally adjusted to this retirement thing. For many years I got up at 5:30 a.m. I sleep until between 7:00 and 7:30 a.m. now. When I imagined retirement I expected I would sleep in luxuriously for much longer than that. Unfortunately, I still retain the working woman's anxiety mindset. When I wake up, I feel like I must GET up. I tried to stay in bed, awake, for at least 15 minutes. That was fun, but I got bored. I also tried napping a few times. Then I couldn't get to sleep at night. Let's face it. I just can't sustain the effort it takes to relax. 

Does anyone know what the flowering plant in the foreground is called?

Traveling on fire

Not only am I NOT a good traveler, I am a red hot anxiety-ridden mess. Sure, I love being other places and I always have a great time. I just don't like traveling to get there and back, especially by air. As I was reminded during my recent trip, air travel consists of a series of hurdles one must silently endure without losing one's mind:

Will my alarm go off? Did I remember my pills, my phone charger? How early does one get to the airport, and what is the traffic pattern on the way? What if I get in an accident?  Aaaack!

Do I check my bag or try to stuff that sucker in an overhead bin? How heavy is it anyway, 'cause I'm no spring chicken. How long are the security check lines? Why did that alarm go off? Oh no, did I forget to take my cute little Swiss Army Knife out of my jeans pocket? Damn! I LOVE that knife.

Will the plane actually leave on time, or at all? Will we make our connection? Should I buy a Bloody Mary to calm myself down? Is the lounge even open at 8 a.m.? Do I have time to go to the bathroom? Why are bathroom lines so long?

What zone am I in and does that mean I'll board last? Will there be overhead space left by the time I board? Why am I the only one who can't figure out the in-flight wifi? Should I buy snacks from the flight attendant even though I'm not hungry? Will the proper lady sitting next to me judge me harshly if I order that Bloody Mary NOW?

When the plane lands and the seat belt sign goes off, do I jump up and try to wrestle my carry-on bag out of the bin, hoping against hope that I still have enough upper body strength to guide it smoothly to the aisle floor? Or should I sit patiently like the proper lady next to me, trusting people on the other side of the aisle to let me out?

I could go on and on, but I'll stop here to give you a break. Nope, I don't trust the world. Some people assume everything will go right. I assume the opposite. If I travel with others, I often get on their nerves. Surprised? Oh well, at this point I probably won't change. I am more likely to roll with the punches than go with the flow. Taking a deep breathe now and letting it all go. Ha! As if.

I am happy to be home where chaos can be a good thing.

Grounding myself

I went to see a Reiki master two weeks ago. Yep, my first time. I am open to and accepting of just about anything that doesn't hurt innocent people. But in my tight-fisted universe if it is not paid for by my health insurance, I usually don't go.

This Reiki master was having a sale, and you KNOW how hard it is to resist a sale! She's been learning Pranic Healing and needed warm bodies to practice on. My ailment? Anxiety, of course. What liberal American in their right mind is not experiencing anxiety at this point in time?

In my old stomping grounds in NYS, a practitioner might own an enormous, late 19th century Victorian house in town. S/he might rent apartments in the house to quirky graduate students who occasionally dropped by for tea. Everything she owned would be old, used and obviously potent. S/he would have ancient houseplants and overindulged pets.

This Orlando area practitioner lives in a modern, beautiful home in an upscale gated subdivision. Her house was elegantly appointed with stunning artifacts and fine art. The place was exquisitely tasteful. I experienced the sort of cognitive dissonance I suffer from ever since moving to Central Florida. I fear I will never belong here. The real problem is I am not sure I want to. I like old, used, and quirky. Don't get me wrong. She is a good person: kind, calm, and patient. I am the one who struggles with right and wrong.

I was laid out on her work table like a corpse, with my eyes closed. She worked slowly, walking around my body without touching me, except for my feet. She touched my feet. I wonder why?

The dark behind my closed eyes immediately changed to orange. That was strange; I do not see colors when my eyes are closed. I mentioned it to her. After that we did not speak until she was done. I was aware of her movement around my body, because colors changed depending on where she was. When she was on my left side colors popped, ranging from white to gray to pea green, blue, and yellow; all bubbling together like a lava lamp. When she was on my right the colors exploded into magenta, maroon, pink, orange, and purple. I wish I knew the language of colors, because my unconscious mind was speaking eloquently in that foreign tongue.

When finished, she asked if I saw other colors. I said "Yes, it was like a light show that changed depending on where you were in relation to my body." She told me she had never known that to happen to anyone before. That surprised me, it seemed so obvious and apropos. Perhaps it does happen to others, but people don't mention it?

Her recommendation? Become more grounded. I like clear instructions so I asked,"What exactly does that mean?" "Feel the earth, touch a tree, walk in a forest, dig in the dirt" she replied with a comforting smile. I have been weeding my garden beds ever since, feeling the sandy Florida soil and claiming it as my own. Truthfully I do feel less anxious, even as the world falls apart around me. 

PB and WHAT?

I love peanut butter. I am thankful I was not cursed with a peanut allergy. You might think I am being facetious or shallow, but I am quite sincere. Peanut butter enhances the quality of my life, and I WANT the quality of my life to be enhanced.

I eat peanut butter on toast, in oatmeal, cookies, and sandwiches. I have a favorite African groundnut stew recipe that my husband whips up. It never fails to make me happy when I'm feeling blue. I spread PB on pancakes, crackers, and celery. If I am feeling especially wicked, I will scoop it out of the jar and eat it neat, right off the damn spoon. Secretly, of course...

You see, peanut butter is a comfort food for me.  My other comfort foods are anything red, and milk chocolate. I know dark chocolate is better for you, but it just doesn't float my boat like milk chocolate. Still, I force myself to choose dark chocolate from time to time just in case I have somehow changed my mind. I try to keep an open mind about these things.

I fully realize one "should not" use food to comfort, soothe, or pacify one's tortured self; however, it works. Anyway, I hate "should nots." "Should nots" make me want to do the opposite.  So, in the interest of not gaining a million pounds during these dark nights of the soul, I am looking for alternate ideas. NOT alternative facts, mind you. Do you have healthier and lighter comfort food you choose when you are simply eating to fill that empty part deep down inside? Lay it on me. I want to know. 

Pomona in winter, no doubt yearning for apples and cherries

And THEN she told Mom when to die

The Baby Sister Chronicles: Part II 😎

My mother's Parkinson's Disease continued to progress. A couple years after the delirium incident she moved to an assisted living facility for a few more years. It was only in her last year she was bedridden and confined to a nursing home. Despite having a husband, 3 children, and a full time job, Baby Sister went to see her every single day, advocating and watching out for Mom. As you can imagine, they formed a special bond.

In late February 2015, Mom had a massive stroke rendering her more or less unresponsive. I had overnight duty at the nursing home for much of the last week Mom was actively dying. On the morning of the 7th day a favorite nurse came in to check Mom's vital signs. After a few moments the nurse said to me with great tenderness and liquid eyes, "Today is the day; she doesn't have much longer." I called the usual suspects and let them know to come right away. Sister C was the first to arrive. Big D was next. Baby Sister was at work and arrived later than the others. She was kind of dragging her feet! I have anxiety issues and I was afraid she would arrive too late. I repeatedly texted her to get her rear in gear. Baby Sister calmly and firmly insisted there was time. Why do I ever doubt her?

I was not sure if Mom could hear, but I kept telling her Baby Sister would be there soon. When Baby Sister arrived she went straight to the bed, kissed our mother three times on the forehead and said "Ma, we all love you so much, but now it's time to go to sleep." Within 15 minutes Mom took her last breath. 

Baby Sister is getting kind of embarrassed with all the attention, so I need to stop writing about her for a while.  However, I am only lying low and biding my time. This won't be the last you will hear about her.

To my followers - sorry for all the versions of this. 

Guilt Trippers and Fixers

In my not-so-humble, completely non-medical opinion there is no virtue to suffering in silence. Repressing your emotional pain is convenient for some people around you (the ones who do not want to notice you are in pain), but it is bad for your mental and physical health. Words have power. Speaking the truth "might" set you free."

There are obvious caveats to consider. I trust you to know what they are. Still, emotional pain will not go away by ignoring it. It wants to be felt, processed, and released. Unacknowledged emotional pain festers and screams like an angry crowd; it demands to be heard. If you want pain to dissipate then you will have to chew it up and spit it out, not suck it up. Geez-o-Pete, do you want to end up with the psychological equivalent of a sinus infection? Emotional pain is powerful stuff. Left unattended it will find insidious ways to get your attention despite all your good intentions for "soldiering on." 

If you are lucky, you might have a friend who is a good listener. Sadly, I am not talking about a "fixer" friend. Fixers are good hearted people who care about you and want very much to help. However, they have their own pain to contend with. Their pain makes it hard for them to just listen to you speak the unspeakable, even though they really, really want to. I know because I am a fixer... I am freakin' useless sometimes, jumping in ready to fight other people's fights, warding off evil, controlling the hell out of every thing, frantically filled with "good ideas" and best intentions. Sometimes I exhaust myself (and others). Maybe most of the time.

When I am in pain but I don't have a friend who is a good listener, I pay someone to listen to me. Why not? In fact, seeing a gifted therapist is often the best way for me. However, if I cannot afford (or find) a gifted therapist, then I keep a private journal. I write whatever comes to mind. I like to imagine converting emotional pain into words is a magical release spell. Humor me if you can. I'm trying to fix things here. Relaxare!

I try not to pay attention to guilt trippers. You know, the people who infer that your pain is self-indulgent and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If I feel it, it is real. I cannot help fight the world's pain if I haven't first resolved my own. Guilt trippers want to shut us up and shut us down. That doesn't seem helpful or kind, does it? To be honest (and compassionate) guilt trippers probably do this because they have their own unresolved pain. I get it. I know they mean well. Still, they can get in the way of personal growth just as effectively as us fixers.

I want to be helpful, kind, and compassionate. I also want to be thankful, grateful, and look on that damn bright side. Truly. But I also want to be honest, courageous, and strong. Sometimes that involves facing your own pain first. THEN you can safely help the passenger in the seat next to you put on their oxygen mask.

I might have stolen that last sentence from some other blogger's recent blog. It sounds disturbingly familiar. If I have stolen your thought and you read this, please comment so you can take credit for it. I will apologize. It will assuage my guilt.

Sometimes I think Jiminy Cricket was just a nagging, chirping grasshopper

Rise and Shine

I have become a morning person. I did not see that coming. In my working years I always woke up early, at 6:10 a.m. to be exact. I did not like getting up early in those days. Perhaps it was because I HAD to get up. I resented having to follow an established schedule. Still, it was the way of the world and I did it for many years. I was happy to have the job, the work, the money, the people who filled my life.

Now I am retired and I still wake up about 6:10 a.m. Now it is my choice to either rise and shine or to turn over and go back to sleep. Rarely do I choose the latter. NEWS FLASH: Early morning is a great pleasure. Who knew?

Sometimes I stay in bed for awhile, awake. When luxuriating in bed is meditative and relaxing it is a lovely way to start the morning. Unfortunately, staying in bed can also become an anxiety fest.  Then it is best to get up and start the day. There are things to do. Buddy the Cat wants to be fed, coffee needs to be made, and the computer wants to be started up. Flowers and vegetable plants must be inspected for overnight growth. More often than not T has already fed the cat and started the coffee. Then I stumble around, looking a sight and trying to find my bearings. No rush, no hurry. I can slowly find my way.

A frog, taking her own sweet time