Squalor of the Mind

I've posted about being "emo" before. Wallowing in the squalor of my mind, tired, crabby, churlish. The mood elevator stuck between the impatient/frustrated and the irritated/bothered floors.

I try to add more upbeat stuff in addition to the emo junk. I'm not Brain Tail though. I've not been gifted with the natural ability to bring people hope during times of great strain; pointing out that through all things, God is in charge. That's not my muse. My muse gleefully places skinny gas pump humping citizens in my path so that I must write about them or explode.

So speaking about emo, I'm thinking about one friend in particular who has gone through some tough times in the last few years for sure. But all in all, life is good; has a home, bills are well paid, money in the bank, two cars in the garage, is healthy, and has all the mental faculties one needs. Got a job that is sucking the life force out, but still - got a job.

It put me in mind of my 16 year old daughter. One night about 8 months back, while I was moaning about all the things I didn't have and whining about the cards that were dealt me, she started ticking off the losses she had endured in her short life and how she chose to deal with them.

"I could be miserable. It would be easy. My dad lives 800 miles away, but you know what? I have a dad. We moved away from the only home I ever knew my whole life and I lost all my friends, but you know what? I made new ones and I love them. My brothers don't live near me any more, but I know they love me. Stop looking at what you don't have and start looking at what you do have and just be thankful for that."

This is the girl who told me how beautiful my wrinkles were, which I have to repeat because it makes me happy.

I was admiring my daughter’s hands the other day. Smooth, slender, and lovely. I compared her hands to mine and mine came up wanting. Wanting botox. But my youngest child exclaimed, “Oh, I LOVE your hands!”

“You are just being nice, they are hideous.”

“Oh NO. Look at them, they’re beautiful!”

“Oh, really.” I was unimpressed.

“I look at these hands and I see life! I can see all the foreheads you’ve checked for fevers, all the neck rubs, the aspirins you gave us, the peanut butter sandwiches you’ve made. Do you know you are able to make a peanut butter sandwich with one swipe of the knife?” she kept stroking and admiring my hands as I stared at her with an open mouth.

“How do you make peanut butter spread across the bread like that? That amazes me! I tried to do that once and I just ripped the bread. These hands have washed thousands of dishes, folded tons of clothes, swept floors, driven me places. These hands have loved and hugged and lived! Look at my hands! They haven’t lived! They’ve done nothing! I love your hands! I think they are beautiful! And your face,” she started to smooth my cheeks. “Look at those lines! Look at those smile lines by your eyes! I love those, you’ve laughed so much, you’ve smiled so much, they make you so beautiful!”

We are so accustomed to focus on what we don't have, on the negative, that we forget the blessings we have been given. May we remember to thank God for what we have and what we have lost.

Suzzannah

I ranted. I railed. I simmered. I hated. No, sorry, to clarify; I REEEEEALLLLLY didn't like. There was perverseness because my mood amused me. I was in a foul mood and I wasn't going to do a thing to pull myself out of it. Colleagues from the Layoff Job will recall the "Mood Elevator" and our attempts to move up to the next floor. I was on the surly bitch floor and got off. I had no plans to get back on and push the up button.

I promised you though that I would go do 30 minutes in the gym. I was true to my word. I found that telling myself I'm only committed to 30 minutes gets me in the gym. 30 minutes is as long as an episode of "Frasier", and slightly less lengthy as an episode of "Coffee Prince". I can get my butt off the couch for 30 minutes and walk.

I timed my exercise to coincide with Sam Waterston's appearance on "Law & Order". I went in knowing that I'd watch Sam until the end, which meant an extra five minutes. Good for me!!

28.46 minutes into my treadmillinery an older woman came in and smiled and climbed onto the stationary bicycle. "Hi! You're pretty regular coming in here every day! How much have you lost?"

Weeeeellllll, crap. Several things recommended themselves to my mind; #1) Technically, I have a minute and fifteen seconds to go, and she obviously wants to talk; and then right behind that and more urgently; #2) how does she know how often I come in here? Does she live in my building? Chick send her in? WTF??

I smiled at her. "Not enough!" I answered jovially. To indicate I had no leanings of a social nature, I kept trying to watch sweet sweet Sam Waterston. My new friend laughed. "Well, I've lost 82 pounds!" I don't care who you are, that catches your attention, one is forced to respond.

"Wow! Good for you!", I replied. I'm almost done. I looked at my timer. 37 seconds to go. Would she be offended if I got off the machine and left? I could do it tactfully. She continued.

"No, well, I didn't lose it a good way like you. I got cancer and I don't want you to lose it like that." Suzzannah went on to tell me she had first been diagnosed with colon cancer. It had spread to her stomach, thyroid, pancreas and most recently it was in her liver. She's starting chemo again next week. Her doctor tells her to go in and get some exercise, but she's just too tired tonight. Still she came in.

We talked for a while. In fact, I did 52 minutes on the treadmill tonight while getting to know Suzannah. 69 years old from France, married twice, and almost a third time, 4 children: all amazingly accomplished, whose grandmother worked for Coco Chanel. Suzzannah used to live near Stevie Nicks in Arizona. She has had compatriots in illness who took their own lives because of their cancer. She empathized but said "This is not a dress rehearsal, it's the only life you get". She was too tired to keep going on the stationary bike, and yet she encouraged me to keep coming back, keep smiling, and keep walking.

And I had the temerity to whine yesterday for no reason. I'm ashamed.

Hateful Again

Hateful again today, with no apparent hormonal or chemical origin, so I’m thinking that it must be some hidden satanic imp poking at a fold in my brain tissue causing me to hate. Let me revise slightly; it’s not really hate, I can’t hate. But I REEEEEEEEALLLLLLLY don’t like anyone or anything today, and ‘hate’ is easier to type than ‘REEEEEEEEALLLLLLLY don’t like’.

Earlier this week I had a pervasive sense of ennui. I had just gotten back from a trip to upstate NY to see my son graduate from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute; a New Ivy, thank you very much. It was a wonderful but busy weekend and I was exhausted.

I told a friend this week that I decided Ennui will be an entity for me ~ and that she's a woman. She starts off all nice, stroking my hair, telling me to take care of myself, urging me to take it easy, to relax. She pours me a glass of wine. Then when I listen to her, she makes me eat a bacon fat sandwich dressed with a stick of butter for dinner washing it all down with a quart of vegetable oil. She's a bitch, is Ennui. My friend encouraged me to go to the gym, which I did and I hated, was glad when it was over, but was glad I did it.

Being a woman, I don’t think Ennui appreciated being ignored. She called to the previously mentioned minions and instructed them to start poking my brain releasing toxins. Foul inevitably set in. So I reached out to a few people who said that they were feeling ugly today as well. I read my horoscope:

"You might feel like your emotions are being marginalized today by someone who is usually very supportive. Others could be standing in your way now, yet it would be counter-productive to unleash your pent-up frustrations at them. Even if you successfully restrain your anger, you may just end up hotter under the collar. Try to keep your energy moving all day by staying busy with your work"

…and noted that my biorhythms were all crashing down together. Not that I really pay those things any mind, but I found it interesting that my petulance corresponded with the downswing in my biorhythms and that even the stars were against me. Doomed I tell you, doomed.

Guest Blogger made me laugh. We reminisced briefly about a strange and interesting vacation spent in Colorado several years ago, including the Flatulence Tale, and a recollection of some surly women draped in what I can only call an urban sprawl across the overburdened and thoroughly inadequate furniture. She recommended I call my good friend Kenny who’s always good for what ails me. She then invited me to her house Sunday night for her son's post natal festivities. The ill-chosen sentence sounded like "Afterbirth Day Party".

During lunch, I continued reading “The Hakawati” by Rabih Alameddine; an enchanting book that continued to help take me out of myself, further thwarting Ennui and her imps. I will go to the gym tonight. I will walk on the treadmill, I will step on the stepper. Stepper always makes me sweat; I need exertion. I might start a new Korean drama. Either Que Sera Sera or Yi San. I haven’t decided. Spoilers tell me Yi San may not end so well. I could just pull out My Name is Kim Sam Soon or Dae Jang Geum; but I think I need some kdrama.

You know, life’s not so bad. With any luck, I’ll be back in fine fettle by Saturday.