Beloved, not being from North America struggles sometimes to understand why certain things are held onto as near and dear to the heart and other things are ignored. Such as the need to own one’s own piece of property and while ignoring how one can work oneself to death just to have the money to acquire land. He finds it amusing that people will put work before everything else to get the money for a down payment on land and then continue to work like crazy to make all the payments.
He grew up knowing that he wouldn’t ever really afford land. A small flat perhaps, but not a single-family dwelling unit that stands alone. Not one with a white picket fence and 2.5 cars in garage. So he didn’t spend his early adult years working three jobs for a down payment on something he would forever more be a slave to.
Then he came here and realized it was the thing to do. Own a house, own a piece of land. And he watched people he knew work insane numbers of hours at the cost of time spent with loved ones just so they could afford a piece of dirt. Dirt that ultimately does not belong to you because when you die, move or what have you the dirt can be sold to someone else. When he was first here he said that land doesn’t enrich anyone’s life.
And then we bought a small house. Very small. Too small really. Because it was cute and we liked bumping into each other in the hallway. (That got old, but we love the house so there is that issue still there.) And suddenly this man who claimed land does not enrich people’s lives is spouting all sorts of stuff about the need to feel the earth on one’s hands to be truly fulfilled. The man who claimed he did not need property now not only needs property, but feels a need to put his stamp all over it.
Wait until we have to move and say goodbye to our wee bit of land. What will he do then? Will he revert back to the comments about how land has caused nothing but damage, wars and strife or will he still feel the same? I wonder if he will settle for a flower box of dirt to put his hands in!
I’m not a huge list person. I have an informal list of things I’m working on or doing, but it’s a loose list. It isn’t written down, just what’s in my head, but if it were to be written down it would be in pencil with almost no pressure put on it. And the paper it would be written on would be a tiny scrap of something, you know the kind that’s just perfect for a piece of chewed gum to fit into.
This morning I woke up and decided I had maybe three things I would consider doing. I got on with my morning routine and then suddenly I was all out of energy. And I felt, well, very unwell. So I got ride of my list and opted to get done what absolutely needed doing. accepting that the rest could wait. For another day. Or later on if for some reason lupus decided to cooperate. (Wishful thinking for the most part.)
Now in the past, I would have considered this all to be a failure. Failure to get the few things accomplished I had planned on getting accomplished. Settling to get done the one thing I absolutely had to get done would, in the past be a sign of giving in, almost a weakness. But that was the past.
I’ve learned that if I don’t heed these warnings there will be many more days where things just won’t be gotten to for a long time. Some things will have to be forgotten at this rate. And at that point the failures are bigger. Big enough to result in barely getting out of bed or managing to take care of myself. Big enough to result in unwanted, but exceedingly necessary trips to the hospital. So yeah that kind of failure.
So today when that sudden exhaustion and other feelings hit me, I just did what needed doing and curled up with the four-footed one. We watched mindless shows and napped. We did not worry about what we failed to get done. Instead we celebrated the success of holding lupus to a specific line. That line is minimal interruption in my life. One day is minimal versus a week or so in the hospital. And this, my friends, is why I don’t worry too much about my t0-do lists.
There was no fate worse than being the person last picked on a team when I was in elementary school. Death, in fact, would be better than being the last person picked. If you happened to be competitive in any way, but not very good at the activity being set up, you would want to ensure not only that you weren’t the last person picked, but that so-and-so was picked after you. Ideally there would be a few people who’d be picked after you.
If you weren’t into competition and/or really did not care, well then being picked last was completely okay. It simply did not mater to you.
These days it isn’t so much being picked last that can be a fate worse than death. At least not in my world. Nope, that special honor now goes to how long I’m stuck waiting on doctors or other medical professionals. There is nothing worse to be stuck in a waiting room well past your scheduled appointment only to be taken into another room to have to wait even longer. I understand that doctors and medical professionals are busy. I know there are other people who need help as well. But please don’t make me be the person who is waiting the longest. (Okay so I am a bit competitive!)
What I do when I arrive for my appointment is see how many people are in the waiting room. I look the group over and make a silly decision about how I need to be taken in before some of these people and get back out before they are released. It isn’t like I have any control over these things. Yet still, I cannot be the last person.
Of course I am relived when I get called before some of the other folks. But this is temporary because then it becomes a question of how long do I spend waiting to see the person I have the appointment with. And the longer I wait, the more it becomes the same as being that last person picked when I was a child.
There have been times I’ve wondered if they have forgotten about me, and just when I’m getting ready to leave the room, in walks the person I have my appointment with. Of course there are apologies and explanations and somehow I can’t help but wonder why don’t I get that attention. Which is silly because I do get the same attention and if I need extra time I am able to get that as well.
Even though I know all of this, please, don’t leave me in the room too long. And please don’t put all those other people before me!
Deadlines. We all have them. How we deal with them is up to each of us. Some of us hide from them, pretending they don’t exist, however they just loom over our heads until they are right above us, pressing down with incredible weight. Some of us get with right on whatever it is so we more than meet the deadline. We end up well ahead of the game. In those cases the deadline seems to have little weight on us.
Now life might be interesting without deadlines, but what would we really get done if we didn’t have to get it done by a specific time? How many things would just pile up and never get looked at or dealt with? So yes we need them, perhaps not too many of them and maybe, just maybe we need to figure out how to manage them a little better as far as assigning them or doing the work to get them met.
Speaking of deadlines, I’m pretty sure I have something that needs to be done, but I can’t remember what it is was because I just pushed into the later pile. And today my later pile is rather large!
Apparently I have tight feet. Extra tight. They need to be rolled out, or at least that’s what my therapist said. That was right before he got me a hard small ball and put it under my toes.
Then my therapist said I should stand on both m,y find basically roll my foot over the ball for a bit starting at my toes and slowly working the ball thru my arch and then in to the back of the foot.
Once I finished ha little bit of paradise he suggested I do the exact same thing to my other foot. Because apparently he thinks I don’t feel pain. Or I have a very short memory. Or my feet are extra tight. Anyway he calls this therapy and I, I call it toe-ture. (Get it? Toe ture instead of torture?)
After I finished this little bit of exercise my therapist massaged my feet. And it should have felt love, but it didn’t. Because of course I had basically bruised the heck out of my feet with that ball. And no my feet did not feel any looser. Although my heartstrings did When he said we had to do the same thing every day for the next few days. You see my heart sunk down to my feet, loosening the strings that held it in place.
Maybe, just maybe I will keep my tight feet and painful steps. Because I’m not so sure torture is what the doctor ordered.
Me and my shadow, well in this case lupus is my shadow, go everywhere together. It isn’t that I’m afraid to go alone or for that matter be by myself. But I can’t say the same thing about lupus. Lupus, it would seem, goes through phases of being actively involved in whatever I’m doing or resting.
Of course adding the four-footed one to that equation means that it is very rare indeed when I find myself alone these days. Not that I’m complaining about the four-footed one in my life, heck there are days I wish I could steal her energy. Lupus on the other hand seems to have no qualms about stealing my energy. Frankly I should learn that trick from lupus, but would I want to do that to the four-footed one?
And the problem with all of this is that well for starters my bed is getting crowded. Crowded with my body, the four-footed one claiming a great deal of space for herself and lupus. Lupus just sort of slips in and takes over whatever space it can find.
On top of my bed being overly crowded the house seems to be shrinking. Now this is partially due to the four-footed one being overly active, so she now appears to be here, there and everywhere at basically the same time. (She’s done grown now.) Lupus on the other hand seems to be growing incredibly huge without any food (well other than my energy and such) at times. Sure sometimes when lupus is hiding the house goes back to it’s normal size, but when lupus is more active I’m afraid it will burst out of the house and up through the roof!
These past few days as the four-footed one and I have gone for our walks, lupus has tagged along. Not right besides us because there simply isn’t enough room on the sidewalk for all three of us, but just behind us. I have been tempted to outrun lupus, but I know deep down that I can’t outrun lupus. I’m fortunate if I keep it walking way behind me and give it the slip when I cut across a corner and duck behind a tree.
I fully realize that lupus will always be a partner in my life, wanted or not, but I’d like to lose my shadow a little more frequently if I could.
There are certain individuals who cannot resist a good puddle. It doesn’t matter how big the puddle is, it must be entered with much enthusiasm. Don’t worry about how dirty or clean the water is either, that’s not the point. The point is to enter into the water and just enjoy it.
The problem with these individuals is that their joy upon entering the puddle cannot be restrained. It is as if the water loosens the control and restraint they show throughout their lives. And thus the great splashing must occur. It isn’t their fault really. I mean they seem unable to control themselves. I try to remind myself of this when I encounter these individuals. Well that and give them a wide berth because I’d rather not get splashed or soaked if it can be helped. For the record this strategy has worked fairly well so far in my life.
Until. Until I discovered that the four-footed one had found puddles. When she was younger she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Then she started walking through them, but not splashing. However now, well now she has found the joy in splashing through puddles. The bigger the splash the better. (I’m pretty sure her theory is to splash the water up over her back. I suspect this has very little to do with her getting wet and a great deal to do with getting as many casualties as she can.)
It is impossible to give the four-footed one a wide berth, not when she’s attached to me via a leash. And this time of puddles are a given. Pulling her away from one results in letting her get close or into another one. It also means that this time of year I end up getting wet, from ankles to above the knees, depending upon the size of puddle she has managed to find. So if you should see me out and about wearing rain pants and there is no rain present, please just don’t comment on my odd attire. Just know it’s to protect myself. From the splasher that suddenly entered my life.