Truthfully A Wee Problem

“Do you swear to tell the truth…” he intoned. I let my mind wander. Beloved had insisted that we attend this hearing, and I was already bored. Plus the hard bench made it impossible to sit still.

As the voices droned on, I wondered about the problem with the truth. I mean yes we want the truth. But do we really? The truth isn’t a soft and gentle thing.

The truth is what we need to hear or know, but is rarely what we really want to learn. We aren’t prepared for it. We want a soft landing of truth. Tell me the truth when the message is positive and gentle. Spare me from the hard, cold truth when it is going to be painful thanks.

But what is the truth? Is it just facts? Does it alter based on perception? Do we all have a slightly different take and variation of truth? Are we prone to believe someone is more truthful based on looks or social standing?

In courts, judges and juries have to determine what the truth is, even if everyone participating in the trial has sworn to tell the truth. This would suppose that no two people have the exact same understanding of truth. It also indicates that no two people will see the same thing in exactly the same way.

By about this time, Beloved had decided he had enough of the hard bench and we left. The problem with the truth stayed in the court room. And rattled a bit here and there in my head. But only a little.

Reflections

When you stare in the mirror do you see what you want to see or what other people see? When you look at your reflection is it an honest, fair look or have you already made decisions about your appearance based on your internal voice?

When I gaze into the mirror what I see is framed by my own ideas/concepts and such of what I have for and of myself. I have no clue what other people say, although I can assure you my eyes are never going to resemble bodies of water. They may get watery, but they aren’t going to be the North Sea. And yet that’s what Beloved sees. (He may need to get his eyes checked, but that’s another story.)

What the voice inside my head tells me most certainly colors how I perceive things, but I’m also aware that the voice is one of an internal critique and so I temper what it says with kindness. Kindness that I would easily give to another and yet find so hard to provide to myself.

Mostly though when I look in the mirror it’s to make sure I’m presentable to face the world or the day. I don’t give it much thought beyond that.

 

Red Carpet Walk With A Change

Listen I’m not the type to brag, but I did walk across the red carpet today.  Ok so I sort of tripped across the red carpet today, but hey we all start somewhere.  Okay okay so I’m not sure if the color of the carpet was red or not given how muddy it was, but let’s just say it was red.  And I totally, I mean totally, meant to stumble over the crease in the carpet.  It’s all about the entrance right? 😉

In a rare moment of feeling almost good, like how I used to feel, I ventured far away from the house.  And during my outing discovered  place with carpet rolled out once you walked through the door.  Carpet that I like to think was the red carpet rolled out, but in all actuality was probably whatever color worked for letting people wipe the mud off their feet.

And most likely while someone was doing the shuffle-wipe thing that some people do to remove dirt off their feet, the carpet was no longer flat on the floor. Enter me, stage right.  And a clumsy stumble, but save be use I did not fall down and viola you have my red carpet moment.  I know, not exactly glamorous, but there were stars involved.  You se I was heading into a store that carries crystal bowls, vases and other home decor.  And on the table right near the door we’re  some crystal stars.  So you see it was almost a Hollywood moment.  If you change just a few things! 😉

We Are Getting….Older?

Time marches on, you just don’t realize it when you are young.  I think the first time I realized that time waits for no one was when I was dealing with a tragedy.  It felt as if my life stood still and time for me was like swimming through thick pudding.  But the outside world carried on in normal time.  For the record, I’ve never gone swimming in any type of pudding.

The strange thing about time marching on is that at some point time has you father forward than you thought you’d be.  Beloved and one of his friends were out the other night and towards the end of their evening they encountered a few people in their early twenties.  At some point one of the younger people made a comment that it was cool to see old guys hanging out and enjoying the place.

Beloved and his friend both automatically started to look for the old guys while their younger companions asked them what had brought them to the club in the  first place.  Beloved said that was when it hit him…he had become the old guy.

No warning, no training or easing into this new position in life.  Hours earlier Beloved had no clue of what soon awaited him.  He said he after he realized he was the old guy he felt like someone should have provided him with a hat, a smoking pipe and other such items.  Just to ensure everyone recognizes that he is now an old guy.

How had time marched him to this point in his life without preparing him?  Father Time, Beloved has decided, has a sick sense of humour.  And it isn’t even funny.  Just ask the old guy! 😉

Little Things That Are Bigger Than They Should Be

The experts tell us it is the little things in life. As in take pleasure in the little things in life. Don’t sweat the little stuff (stuff is a thing right?) and they follow that up with how everything is ultimately just the little stuff. So I guess that means we are supposed to enjoy and not stress too much when it comes to everything.

But then there are the other little things. You know like how one person never puts his/her dirty dishes in the dish washer. Or how a person is always five minutes late. Those are all the little things people do on a daily basis that other people have a dislike life. A lot of times the person with the dislike for the behavior or attitude won’t say anything because, well in the end, it’s just a little thing right? But little things all add up and soon you can have a huge mountain of little things that have lead to a giant mess of can’t handle/take it any longer stuff.

Not that I’m complaining about any of that because I’m not. Nope, the little things that I guess I should enjoy but really don’t is how my desk isn’t’ exactly even with the credenza. I know, first world, privileged, problems. Shut your mouth and move to the end of the line. I get that. And really I wouldn’t complain or dislike it so much other than that I keep smacking my elbow on the edge that sticks out.

I know some people will assure me that the pain I feel from smacking a funny bone (which is only ever funny when it happens to someone else) is not that big of deal. Not when you consider there are people missing elbows so they can’t hit them, or do many other things that require the use of the arm and the elbow. There are other people who can’t move their arms and would like to move them, even if it meant the occasional smack of the elbow. And then there are people who can move their arms, have an elbow, but just have no feeling. I’m sure they’d like to have the pain sensation to alert them to the fact there may be an injury or at the least a bruise.

This last smack of the elbow was a bit more than just a smack, I chipped away more bone. So I have a very sore, purple and swollen elbow. And yes I know it’s still just a little thing. But it wasn’t’ expected, and it has created inconvenience and since most things in my life aren’t super bad (lupus does have a lot special moments however) I can fixate on this and make it a big thing or spend the same energy trying to find a way to avoid doing this in the future. Which I will move onto in a few moments. Like once the pain has settled enough and the movement is back more. Then I will work on the other part. Until that time, this little thing is a huge thing and it’s not funny. Only because it happened to me.

When Is Waiting Too Much

Waiting is not my strong suit.  It’s something, thankfully, I am provided repeated opportunities to work on getting better at doing.  However I suspect I am a very slow learner when it comes to this skill.

I was reminded again of how poor I am when it comes to practicing patience while I was waiting to be discharged from the hospital.  Oh how the first few minutes were filled with glee and giddy feelings at just being able to go home!  And there n started the problem.  Because then I focused on what I’d do when I got home, which reminded me that I wasn’t at home yet.  The more the time drew on the less graceful was my wait.  I almost got tired of waiting to be honest.

Or was it my impatience getting the best of me?  Is there even a difference between the two?  Does it even matter since I did get home, about two hours later.  I know that it hindsight that seems minor, but during those moments of waiting, it seemed like forever.

It did get me wondering about people who have to wait on someone else deciding that the person was ready to be set free, or at least some semblance of freedom.  I’m talking about people who are incarcerated with sentences that indicate they must serve a sentence between, say, five years to fifteen years.  So after five years the person may be out of the correctional institution, but not free.  What if after five years they decide nope you must wait a longer for another assessment to see if you are ready?  What if your sentence is longer and every two or three years you have to make an application for consideration for parole?

How do we expect those people to wait?  How does it impact their mental well-being?  Is it better for there to be a set sentence?

 

Flying Objects or What The Heck Is That Thing

A strange thing happened on the way to the airport today. An object flew into the open window of the car while we were driving. A pygmy pterodactyl to be exact. So not the full sized kind, just a much smaller version of the ones that are flying around everywhere this time of year. Just flew into the car to hitch a ride I guess. Maybe it was tired of having to glide or whatever it is that they do and decided the car was a better option.

It landed on my in-law who was sitting in the front passenger seat. Beloved was behind the wheel doing the driving and I was in the back seat, with the puppy. Because you need to know these things. The puppy was with us because we don’t leave her home alone yet. Only because we are found of our possessions and house in the condition they are currently in.

Anyway this pygmy pterodactyl flies into the car which makes my in-law start screaming. Probably out of surprise and shock. After all a pygmy pterodactyl doesn’t typically end up in vehicles that are driving the speed limit down a major road. Okay so what I’m really saying is lets not judge as to why the in-law started screaming, lets just stay with the story? Okay? Okay.

The in-law’s screaming, almost deafening screeches if you must know caused Beloved to swerve. Thankfully his idea of swerving is to go to the side of the road, pull over properly and park the car. I know, he’s rather practical that way. Once he had the car safely stopped, he turned to see what caused the screaming, I guess because he didn’t’ believe her when she said there was a pygmy pterodactyl in the car so he had to see for himself. Anyway he ends up laughing. Laughing so hard he is crying while the screaming is carrying on.

He gets out of the car, almost doubled over in laughter and opens the door. To let the pygmy pterodactyl out of the car. Only it was a dragonfly. Granted a larger than usual one. But not really a pygmy pterodactyl, which is a shame because I was all set to take photos. Just you know so we had proof or what have you.

The in-law is now shrieking about how Beloved is being disrespectful, and well the puppy is barking because that’s what puppies do when there are all sorts of commotions going on and the puppy had been just relaxing up to that point. And Beloved has almost stopped breathing from laughing so hard.

This is when the law officer pulls in behind us. To see what is wrong, or if we have a very ill person with us (I suppose he assumed Beloved would be the person in distress given that he was doubled over and a rather reddish plum shade) or basically if he could be of help. Anyway there was this very nice law officer, there to help us. And of course he has to ask what is the “problem”, while trying to see if Beloved is okay when the shrieking about a pygmy pterodactyl begins. Again.

Now this poor officer had no clue what to do, offer assistance to someone who is an odd color and clearly having difficulty breathing and is unable to speak. Or does he check out the wild claims of a pygmy pterodactyl? He opts to call for back-up. And ask me some questions while we are waiting.

The plane will of course take off as scheduled, minus the in-law, who now is carrying on about the fact it’s not safe at all. Not with pygmy pterodactyls flying around. And thus, my friends, did I end up at the hospital. They assessed Beloved and found he was fine, just laughing too hard so it appeared he couldn’t breathe (gee go figure). They have decided to keep the in-law in for a period of time. Just in case she needs to come off whatever substance she may have taken because how else can you explain her odd behavior?

Fallen & I Like It

I’ve fallen, it seems, down a rabbit hole of sorts. I thought perhaps I might encounter the white rabbit or the mad hatter, but alas neither have met me along my journey and I’ve not heard so much as one word about Alice.

I’ve fallen, it seems, down a rabbit hole of sorts. The kind of rabbit hole that happens to be impossibly small to fall down, and yet here I am. Looking up into a small, distant tunnel of what appears to be day light. And I’ve no clue how to reach it or how to climb out.

I’ve fallen, it seems, down a rabbit hole of my own making. Chasing theories wherever they lead me. Twisting and turning, doubling back and running into thickets of confusion until I couldn’t possibly even know for sure if I fell or climbed down into this hole.

I’ve fallen, it seems, down a rabbit hole that is my own mental trap. One that scares me a little, and yet I’m loathe to leave. For if nothing else it is my own rabbit hole of sorts My own making. Surely by that thought process I can find my way out or at least find a means to get to where I can find help to get out.

I’ve fallen, it seems, down a rabbit hole that I’m not too inclined to climb out of. It is interesting in these warrens. I have crossed over a million tunnels it would seem and each one has a whole new delight. Surprises, curiosities and discoveries all sit waiting for me as I work my way through this strange world.

Granted I haven’t really fallen down a rabbit hole, I’m far too big for that. Plus I’m pretty sure the puppy would have scared away everything as we went into the hole together. But often times when I’m working on research and ideas, it seems as though I end up in a never-ending maze of tunnels, each with something else up for offer. Each offer requiring exploration and examination to one degree or another.

In this state the world outside ceases to turn, the hours slip by unnoticed. As long as coffee, tea or water are nearby I am oblivious to anything other than the biological calls. A huge part of me wishes to stay down in this world of tunnels and dark spaces to explore. But that part of me isn’t as large as the part that needs to be involved with the greater world. But now and then, its nice to dive into a rabbit hole or two…

It’s Not Forver

It’s not forever he told me with a gentle smile.  As if those words would provide comfort. As if I’d never had a broken bone before.  As if I had never spent part of a lovely summer stuck in a cast.  Thankfully only a walking one this time.

No, is broken foot won’t be forever.  But it won’t be the last broken bone either, not since my bones are weakening.  Not since I hope Beloved and I Have chances to go dancing again.  Not unless Beloved gets timing a little better.  If those happen then maybe, just maybe the bone issue won’t result in another broken bone and someone telling me it’s not forever.

But then nothing in life is ever really forever.  Life ebbs and flows, small changes happen before your very eyes and nothing remains the same,  nothing remains forever or disappears forever.

My stitches from three weeks ago weren’t forever either.  Just as the slight scar that I still carry from four stitches when I was 16 won’t  be forever either.  Everything, when you look at them with the right lenses, is temporary.  It’s really just a way of how you view time and permanency.  After all time is a tricky thing, slipping by fast when you expect it and stalling when you need it to move faster.

So no doctor I don’t suppose my walking cast, nor my broken bones are forever.  It may just seem that way at times.  Not that I’m going to complain about the walking cast since it means I can’t go on the much-anticipated slug walk Beloved’s niece invited us to attend.  He will probably go,  but it’s not ideal with my cast.

And the walking cast won’t permit me to hang out at the beach, which is fine with me.  I’ve been dreading having to explain yet again how the sun and I have an uneasy relationship because of lupus.  Now because of lupus, or rather the medications I take to manage lupus, have allowed for a slight foot fracture to become something more than just a slight fracture.  A wee trip over light fantastic, or whatever Beloved tripped over, resulted in more damage than it should have to my foot.  But this too is not forever.

And by this train of thought, lupus as I know it isn’t forever either.  It will continue to change and bring new challenges to my life.  And there will be times lupus will seem to be forever and other times it will seem to have left and come back differently.  Because it can’t be forever if I don’t look at it that way.

3 Little Letters, That’s All

S.L.E.  Three little letters that turned my whole world around and upside down.  Of course three little letters stand for big words:  Systemic Lupus Erythematosus.  Or as I like to think of it, an immune system on steroids and confused. 😉

Those three little letters didn’t just teach me about fancy words, either.  They’ve taught me far more about myself than I ever would have learned otherwise.  I learned that I am stronger than I thought.  I learned im far more stubborn than I would have ever suspected.  I learned what it is to be desperate and what it means to hold hope in my hands.

These three little letters affect me in so many ways.  And yet how the impact me may not be the same as their impact on person who also shares those letters.

I once thought it best to cope with these three little letters on my own.  They’ve shown me life is better not alone.  They force me to interact and rely on others.

In some ways I wish I never had these little letters in my life.  And yet in other ways these letters have improved me.  Not physically, for S.LE. destroys the physical, but mentally and emotionally.  But all in all I’d give up these letters because they are high maintenance, which makes sense because lupus makes me high maintenance!  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!