|Just one more chair
||[Apr. 13th, 2011|03:02 pm]
I haven't posted a lot lately because frankly, I'm bored by my whining. And, of course, the things that make me whine are taking up near every shred of my day...and night...and brain...and breath. Like I have TIME to post. But you know...you FIND the damn time for the things that keep you sane, right. |
I have to admit that I may have, at least temporarily, found a little space of acceptance and peace. It may be that my nerve endings are just numb. But I suspect it's more like watching some amazing feat of strength or skill. Like watching that guy put ONE MORE CHAIR on that teetering stack of balancing chairs and he clambers up and reaches for ONE MORE....and you think, okay, now it's totally going to collapse and...yet it doesn't.
I keep threatening ONE MORE STRAW and yet...damn, at this point, even the Yankee in me is standing there, watching me clamber up and put one more chair...her mouth open, agog, and you know us Yankees...we may be agog, but as a matter of pride we dasn't let you see so.
(You youngsters may be wondering about the chair stack reference. This is what we used to do for fun, before YouTube. Some guy would stack several chairs, like kitchen table chairs, balancing them somewhat precariously on each other...and then he’d clamber up to the top of the several chair stack and have someone else hand up another chair. Which he would stack onto the chair he was on....and then climb up on top of THAT chair. It was pretty amazing. Because that stack of chairs was going to fall at any moment. And this wasn’t any of that CGI crap. Dude fell, dude was going to break something. Or even die. For real. Stop looking at me like that. It was a simpler time.)
(Disclaimer – for the record, my stuff is all little stuff. There are people under enormous strain of really, really HARD stuff. Really BIG stuff. What's weighing me down is the sheer freaking VOLUME of little stuff. The accumulative weight, if you will. I have my big girl panties ON...but I think I need a new pair. Seriously, it's like the ELASTIC is all shot. But please, this is NOT about poor me, woe is me, my life is miserable. I have it EASY compared to a lot of people, especially since half my stuff is stuff of my OWN MAKING, and/or stuff I have not yet chosen to walk away from.)
Which is why I can work on making it comedy. Way cheaper than therapy and less nicotine stain on the fingertips. So, right – are you feeling guilty about neglecting family?
Here’s how stressed out I am: I mean, I FORGOT that my mother was going in for surgery on Monday. Nice, huh? All of you who feel like crap because you don't call your mom enough, or were late with her birthday card...I WIN. Heard the phone ringing on Sunday night, about the time we usually call each other and thought "Oh, I JUST sat down, I'll call her tomorrow." Thank goodness she didn't die; I'd spend the rest of my life in THERAPY or have to go live in a convent or walk to some shrine on my KNEES. I mean, okay outpatient surgery, but in a 67 year old woman with compromised lungs, anesthesia is a big hairy deal. And I FORGOT. And was too LAZY to get off my fat patoot and take her potentially last phone call.
So, if you feel neglected because I didn't wish you Happy Birthday on Facebook, or send you a card, or even remember when I see you in person...seriously, in comparison to this, you're lucky I remember your NAME.
And do you know WHY I called on Monday night? Because I remembered suddenly? No. Because I had a doctor's appointment on Tuesday and needed some family history. AUGH. So, when I finally DID call her, it was for completely selfish reasons, because I needed something from her. Which I couldn't get because number one, with a Muffler of Guilt wrapped so tightly around my neck, I really couldn't bring myself to ask. And, number two, my poor mom was so vicodin'd up that it would have been pointless. Although I did get a chilling premonition of what she will sound like if she gets really sick and ailing...just like HER mother. Which made me think “oh, please, shoot me now...when she goes, let her go QUICKLY” which turned the Muffler of Guilt into a full-body spandex CatSuit of Guilt.
So, after clambering briefly out of the CatSuit of Guilt, I head off to a doctor's appointment to follow up on some nagging female issues...which of course turns out to be yet another "well, I don't know, it could be this...or this...or this...or this" Christ on pita chip, sometimes I long for an illness that has some clarity around it -- something that can be diagnosed without a SHRUG in the middle of the explanation. Hey, your leg is broken. Yep, definitely broken. Look right here at the x-ray. Uncontestable. We know exactly what to do and in a specified number of days you will be fixed. Why do I always wind up with either the ridiculous “hey, you have an eyelash stuck to your eardrum” or the undiagnosable – well, all the tests came back negative...are you sure you aren’t just MALINGERING? Which I suppose is why my response to most symptoms is yeah, well, this’ll pass eventually. I will just ignore it and then either get better or I’ll just get old enough so that it no longer matters.
But I was describing my symptoms to a friend and she called me an idiot and threatened to punch me in the head if I didn’t go to the doctor. And she can beat me arm wrestling, so I have to take that threat seriously.
So, in a trot...well, stagger, since I still had one foot caught in the CatSuit of Guilt and as usual, I get “Well, could be you're just at that AGE. OR there are these other seven possibilities, ranging on a scale from the good news of "you're just old and this too shall pass”, all the way to “Hey, you got a will yet?"
Awesome. And of course, you know EXACTLY where this professional pessimist goes: I can't DIE, my house is a disaster. The nice thing is, of course, this gives me something entirely NEW to obsess about during my 2am anxiety attacks, which is a relief, because seriously, I am in RE-RUNS.
Anyway, whatever. I’ve hung the CatSuit of Guilt up in the closet – after all, with my mother’s birthday, my father’s birthday, mother’s day and father’s day all coming up in the next two months, there’s no point in packing it away in the attic! My columbines are blooming, my toad lilies are out, my peas have germinated and I found a pair of new shoes I forgot I bought and they may well be the most comfortable pair I've ever put on, with 2 inch heels, nonetheless!
Besides, I think I can get another chair up on that stack. Hell, I think I can even wear these shoes and still get up to the top. Shoot, it’s easy from up here. Dude, hand me up that ottoman.