It Is and Is Not a Big Deal

wisdomforblogThe count down to the boy having his tonsils removed is down to one day.  It both is and is not a big deal.  It’s a big deal.  My baby having surgery is a big deal.  Any where from 4 days to 10 days of recovery is a big deal.  Liquid Vicodin for 4 year olds is a big deal.  All of that.  And it isn’t a big deal because it’s the hand shake of surgeries.  It’s a good deal because his health will improve with better sleep, more oxygen, possibly even improved appetite.  And all that is stressful.  I have brief fantasies that I will be a productive wench while he recuperates, but I should probably allow for the possibility that I’ll be really busy being a nurse those three days I get to be home with him afterward.

We haven’t heard from his father since we learned that he was in Colorado.  Ostensibly he was visiting his parents.  My mom is nervous he’s laying in wait to spring a surprise visit on us.  She makes sure the doors are locked at all times.  Her nerves are a bit contagious.  So that’s happening.

My car became ill with consumption.  Incapacitated.  Dead until I miracle hundreds of dollars into my life.  Can I make a compelling kickstarter for this?  Seems ridiculous and even shameful to think of such things.  So yeah, there’s that too.

The car and not having savings enough to do the things that would maintain my health and the health of my car and home was a real kick in the teeth, especially as: the holidays.  I’ve really grown to love the holidays in my adult life.  Especially with kids, I relish creating as much magic and merriment as I can.  But it’s a boat load of cranberries to pretend it isn’t adding to my stress.  I am doing my best to minimize that, but really what is most likely happening is I’m watching the finish line approach, knowing things are not done and thinking, Oh Well.  The heat will be on, I’ll stress myself to bits the night or two before trying to do something, anything for those friends and co-workers “I should” give “something” to.   Because, as Garrison Keillor put it on PHC today, “what if I don’t?”  They may just get cards reading “Friendship” and I will remind them that it’s a gift I give 24/7.  That’ll humble ’em! Bah. Humbug.


All that was actually the preface to what I was going to do tonight, because I wanted to do something (there’s that sentiment again!).  I have written and saved three posts this weekend.  They’re raw.  They’re uncut.  Here are passages from each that mean something universal, I think.  From me to you: LIFE and all its baubles….

How does she lead in to a long-winded kvetch with so many feelings choking the narrow passage out? Her complaints feel ordinary and impossible at the same time. She is certain she is not doing very well because she eats somewhere between 5 and 8 meals a day. Any time there is an inch of space between herself, and what her world demands of her, tsunamis of guilt, shame, and fear drive toward her. She has a list of needs she can’t meet: therapist, chiropractor, mechanic, baby sitter. She knows the root of all these problems is money and she is so ashamed of being so completely cash poor she freezes up. She knows the job hunt must result in finding a full-time job. She knows the situation is dire and not improving but she is frozen with fear. Frozen amid mental images of clichéd adult life: hated job, downtrodden ambition, spirit buried, health maintained at the utter minimal.

Her optimistic spirit attempts to gain a hold by telling her she should find the right job. One that will allow her at least a half hour of creativity a day. One that won’t beat her to death with preordained support models and procedures. She tells herself the job doesn’t matter, the character does. Then she clobbers herself with shame. Shame says through her: I’m not like that. I try, and fail every time. If only I had a mentor to show me how to be better.

Today was not a good day mentally. Please, sit in review with me, so we can see if it was a good day in my world, as opposed to in my head… 

There was an Elf on the Shelf discovery to be had, puzzles from yesterday to pick up, cars to be parked, crashed, driven, a game of keep away… whatever it was, I played with them. Time when I’m able to play with them is precious, golden. We’re having a good day right?

Then why am I so filled up with negativity and shame? We’ll get to that later perhaps… The day, as you have seen, was fine. Stellar, in some regards. And yet, by the end of it I was drained like the keg at a frat party. My thoughts to myself were angry and uncharitable. I’m tired.

My habit of expressing many different kinds of intimate feelings via sexual intercourse can also be seen as the act of pulling my root chakra energy back into myself. Energetically that behavior causes sloth, an inability to start or finish things, decreased confidence and self-worth, fear of my own creative energy. Physically it results in poor digestive finishing, constipation, abdominal cramps, tight knee and hip joints, achy back muscles, weight retention, the build up of toxic enzymes in the lower organ systems.

To release the root chakra. To push that energy down and out. To push that strength down and out reminds me to love myself. Energetically I am enlivened, relaxed, freed of stress in my mind. Physically my entire system benefits from improved spinal alignment and balance, relaxed muscles and organs. I sit up taller, engage my core muscles, unclench my forehead and eyebrows.

I take care of myself. I love myself.

Who am I writing to? When I imagine “a reader” is it everyone (me) and no one (me)?  There is me, the writer and you, the reader.  I am not you. You can not read my mind or my emoji strings.  I can write to you about the experience: the a, b, and c.  How he was genuine, self-deprecating and charming in the first.  How he asked me out to dinner and dancing for our first date.  How he palpably did not kiss me until I kissed him.

What a balm that is to all my wounds from dating while masochistic

And that is all tonight.  I am finding the boundaries and speaking the truths.  The smaller the truth, the more immediate and human, the better.


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