Some days you just have to give in and have that slice of pizza or two. Or perhaps it’s a day that just calls for a slice of cake. Some days, these are the only things to get us through. We shouldn’t feel guilty about giving in to this once in a while.
Today was a pizza day for me. Well okay, if I had thought it through more closely cake might have been the answer. But pizza worked. So yes even though it’s not ideal for me to consume it, I tossed caution into the wind and had pizza.
Friends, I was bold. I was fierce. I ate two slices. I know, shocking. But I refuse to feel guilty about this. It was a rough day. Pizza was a healing balm after a day with many hiccups and issues.
Beloved partook of the pizza as well and there is plenty left for him to munch on later on if he so wishes. I have had my pizza fill for a good while now. Now cake, well cake may be another issue. Come to think of it chocolate may be used as well. But not now. For now I am in a place of contentment. And I refuse to feel guilty about reaching for one or two slices of pizza. I also refuse to feel guilty for making the choice to have pizza based on the day I had. Besides, I know it’s not ideal with lupus nor the medications I take. But it’s not the end of the world either.
What does it take for you to feel secure and safe? Is it a number of locks on your door? Perhaps an alarm system in your house that is set to all your windows and doors. Maybe it’s a large dog to keep watch. Or perhaps other humans pulling watch duty in rotation. Then again perhaps it’s just the right address, on the right side of town on the right side of tracks. Maybe that’s all it takes for you to feel secure and safe.
There was a time when it was nothing to feel safe. Just knowing certain people were there to take care of me, chase the monsters from under my bed and do all the worrying about the big stuff. Of course as I went out to explore things a bit more beyond the comfort of home, it took different things to feel safe. Such as walking in a group when it was dark, and the lighting was poor. It was knowing that I could run to safety if needed. It was looking the door, slamming a dead-bolt and securing windows.
But when you have been harmed in some way, it may take more to feel safe. It may take a village of sorts to help you feel safe and secure. Frankly after a traumatic experience I literally wanted a bolt hole or priest’s style hole. Just some safe place, hidden, that I could lock myself into if needed to avoid harm and such. Of course, I didn’t get it. And over time, and a lot of rethinking of things, I was able to come to terms with the violation of my space versus what happens to some people. But do I feel safe and secure? Not always. Not always even if Beloved is home.
The four-footed one is a master at curling up into a tiny little ball and falling into a nice sleep. I have been envious of this skill for a while now. Well not so much the curling up into a little ball. Other than when I’m in severe pain. Then and only then do I want to curl up into a wee ball so I can roll around like an armadillo.
It is, instead her ability to fall asleep that I’m envious of. She can sleep regardless of where she is. Guests in the house? No worries she can still curl up and be dreaming. In the car? Again, curl up and let the sleep come. Visiting friends? If there’s a place to curl up, she can sleep.
Me? I can’t sleep if the sun is up. Unless I’m very sick. I can’t sleep on trains or planes or any place public. Hospitals are a nightmare for me because they expect you to sleep, but there are strangers walking in and out of you space. It’s public. It’s just not possible.
I struggle to sleep in hotels, other people’s houses. It isn’t because I’m not sleeping in my own bed, although that helps. Rather it is a number of things that get in the way. For some reason all of that seems public or unsafe places to sleep. Regardless of how tired I am I struggle to sleep or find pleasant dreams.
Ah to curl up, to dream, to sleep. And so I still try. Maybe if I turn around three times before I settle down…
The four-footed one discovered Arthur today. Arthur is a dear friend who has been with me for years. He witnessed my lowest of lows, my stumbling attempts at being graceful, and heated me whoop with glee. He has been there when no one else was around and allowed me to have others closer to me at other times.
Arthur has waited for me while I’ve spent time chasing after others. He’s listened to me carry on about people and heard my darkest fears. He never judges nor does he grow tired of my antics. Arthur just waits, patiently for me to return.
This morning while I was sorting out material, the four-footed one snuck into Arthur’s room. The door must have been left open a crack for her to get in. (Arthur doesn’t normally have guests in his space.) When I was ready to leave the house I called for my dear four-footed companion. My calls were ignored, forcing me to go on the hunt for her. And when there was nowhere else to look, I pushed open Arthur’s door. And found the four-footed snuggled up against Arthur.
Given his age I was concerned that she may have been too rough or tough for him. Instead she was resting gently between his aged paws. Arthur, you see, was my first dog. Granted a stuffed one that was the size of a small St Bernard. The four-footed one has a thing for stuffed animals and is less than gentle with them. So I was worried. But the two of them were just cozy together. Arthur’s happy face reminded me again, he accepts everyone and offers unconditional love the way the four-footed one does, only more gently.
There’s nothing like warm, toasty feet on a cool morning. There’s nothing like warm feet on a cold autumn night. And ere is nothing like warm feet in the middle of the day. Basically I’d prefer to have warm fee to of cold feet. Lupus, well technically Raynaud’s, leave me with cold feet all too often.
But not any more. The four-footed one has taken to napping. On my feet. Which means they get nice and warm. Of course it also means putting up with the odd jab of a boney knee or such. And it does mean that sometimes she is on my feet in such a way that she makes them go numb. Not that I mind any of those moments.
The down part of having the four-footed one step in as my foot warmer is that she moves. Off my feet. Leaving me cold feet. And I’m not a fan of cold feet.
I’m not sure how she developed this fetish for my feet, and I’m not complaining. Except when she rolls off my feet. Or when I need to move, but she’s sleeping peacefully on my feet and I know if I do move or get up, she won’t come back to my feet when I return. And then I, left with, well, cold feet.
The four-footed one decided today was good for nothing more than resting. She wasn’t really interested in going for any of her usual walks, playing with her toys or seeking out a new adventure. It may be because she has found a favorite blanket.
Yesterday I was given a nice, micro fleece blanket as a gift. I brought my gift home and tossed it on a chair, planning to move it later on. The four-footed one had other plans. First she sniffed the new item. After a few sniffs she planned on testing it. For softness and comfort. And somehow that testing plan resulted in a whole day of quality control work on her part.
Yes it’s true dear friends, my four-footed friend, in the name of ensuring I’d have maximum comfort sacrificed a whole day to rigorously testing out my new blanket. The one I haven’t been able to touch since putting it on the chair. Which I guess is the sacrifice I made. Which in light of all she has given up today (walks, playing with her toys, adventures, running around the house and barking at anyone who dares to come near the house) seems like nothing. Except it’s my blanket and I haven’t even got to use it yet!
I hate shoe shopping, I consider it a necessary evil in life. Sure some people have walked barefoot enough that the bottom of their feet are kind of the soles of some, shoes. I happen not to be that kind of person.
So I bought some shoes. Shoes which should be comfortable and require no breaking in. I know this because I’ve had these types of shoes before. Evidently what happened before is not necessarily the rules we operate on today. You see I wore my nice shoes today and promptly gave myself some charming blisters. The kind of blisters that have wept and bleed and make walking a rather interesting endeavour now.
I know, I have no one to blame it myself. I shouldn’t have assumed that shoes would be comfortable enough. Just because the same type of shoes were kind to me before doesn’t mean they always will be. So my blisters are yet another lesson or reminder in the dangers of making assumptions. Because evidently I have not grasped the dangers of making assumptions and acting upon those assumptions. Or rather I get the concept, however I believe it can’t happen to me. Until it does and then I want to moan and complain, but about what? My own decisions? That seems rather silly to do. So I will simply tend to my blisters and reassess my feelings around shoe shopping.