Reality is the leading cause of stress among those in touch with it. Lily Tomlin
You have to love your neighbors. There is no other choice, especially when you wish they would disappear off the face of the earth. For the 2nd week in a row now I sat down on the patio to enjoy a quiet cup of morning coffee and the cacophony started up. I don’t know what the hell this particular neighbor across the alley is doing, but I’m becoming increasingly convinced that they are operating a lumber mill out of their garage, or perhaps a steel refinery.
They just moved in so I guess they are fixing up their new nest. Although I can’t imagine what is left to do in that house. The previous occupants spent a long and noisy 2 months fixing up that house less than a year ago, including replacing the roof.
I may be a little cranky because I’m angry with my daughter… extremely angry. It is the result of being worried sick about her and wanting to spank her at the same time. Last week she scared the hell out of me with the news of an iffy mammogram report. She had a needle biopsy on Monday and was supposed to get definite results on Wednesday. It is now Friday morning and I have not heard a peep out of her, no phone calls, and no text messages. She has not responded to my pleas for information either.
The trouble with my darling daughter is that she is a melodrama junky, the more the better. This fits right in with her personality. She has this infuriating habit of calling me up in hysterics with some crisis du jour and then drops off the map. I guess with her that old saying “no news is good news” applies quite well. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.
I read somewhere that the only thing you have to do to succeed in life is just get up one more time than you get knocked down. If that is true, then I’m declaring myself a success. If or when I get knocked down again I’ll get up again.
This past week has been the pits. I feel like a got dragged backwards through a barbwire knothole. My outlet for just about anything is writing. When I sit down to make a post and realize that I’m paralyzed – that’s when I know I’m trouble. When I can’t even write it’s serious.
I started out as a child. Before you panic, I’m kidding. Not going to tell my whole life story to you…just yet. My life is an incredible adventure interspersed with incredible stress and sadness. It’s the nature of the beast when you grew up in the midst of mental illness. Despite what any experts say, insanity is contagious, you catch from your children, or parents, or siblings. Whoever in you life who is nuttier than a fruitcake. It rubs off you in some bass ackwards kind of way. What I’m diagnosed with is clinical depression.
People who don’t know me that well say “What you? You’re the happiest person I know!” Yea Yea. The class clown, the life of the party, the one cracking the jokes, the one being strong when others are freaking out. Mr. Husband reads my posts, so I know as soon as he reads this he’s going to choke on his coffee.
He’s seen the dark side. That person who gets so down that she can’t even figure out what underwear to put on in the morning, let alone make any kind of important decision. He’s seen the person who cries 48 hours nonstop, using up 4 boxes of tissue and 2 bottles of nose spray. He knows that person who only gets out of bed to get a cup of coffee to have enough energy to go back to bed.
That person is me also. Cheerfulness turns to sarcasm and cynicism fast when I’m depressed. Someone says “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Oh? When life gives you lemons you get lemon juice in your eye and choke on the seeds. Someone else says “there’s a silver lining to every dark cloud.” Phoeey on that! If you see a dark cloud, chances are a tornado is going drop down out of it and blow you house away.
When you laugh the world laughs with you, when you cry, you cry alone. I bet Mr. Husband wishes that was true on occasion. When the tears decide to come I’ll cry anywhere, a restaurant, an airplane, the Ferris wheel, zip lining across the Amazon river. OK, I haven’t really done the Amazon thing, but it’s on my list.
My latest dark cloud of doom came in the form of a slew of poison pen letters from my daughter this past week. It ended with going to the funeral of a friends mother. I stood there at that grave and thought to myself, “Self, you have spent your whole life up until now, trying to get love, or even a civil word now and then, from people who are not capable or willing to give it. You have spent your whole life trying to be strong so people can ride you around like a trick pony.”
I’m not doing it anymore. I’m tired of carrying the world around on my shoulders. It’s no damn wonder I have a crick in my neck.
On a happy note, I am managing to keep up my word count for the NaNoWriMo challenge. I’m looking forward to what the story is going to be at the end of November.
Today is my darling daughter’s 40th birthday. Happy Birthday to her. She entered the world at 6:15 am. The doctor was grateful for her early arrival. He didn’t have to miss the Cowboys game. I wasn’t awake for the actual birth. The nurse told me they knocked me out because I was yelling and cursing like a sailor. Well? You try giving birth as fast as you can so no one misses a damn football game. Go on I dare ya!
They told me that I said “oh my God, is that my kid?” when they first showed her to me. She had a huge shock of black hair which they combed into a Mohawk. Go figure. Punk wasn’t the fashion yet. I guess they didn’t want to scare me too much. Later I discovered that without the comb-over she looked like she was electrocuted. She also had one finger hooked on her lower eyelid, pulling it down to about her elbow. I knew right then that it was going to be a strange trip.
It certainly has been so far. I love her more than life itself. But there have been times over the years that I’ve wanted to strangle her with my bare hands. She started making noise before she could talk and hasn’t shut up since. Back then they carted babies around in what looked like a giant egg crate on wheels. As the nurse wheeled them down the hall one baby was yelling about 3 times as loud as the other babies. I actually said out loud “Oh dear, I feel sorry for the mother of that baby.” That baby was my daughter, of course.
She got quiet as soon as they handed her to me. She stared at me solemnly and started sucking on her hand. There was a blister on her hand where she was doing that in the womb. Love at first sight is difficult when you are woozy from anesthetic, but we grew on each other fast. When she discovered that I could feed her she got right to it and has been hungry ever since.
Any parent could write a book about all the experiences they had with a child. It goes on for your entire life. So this story is far from finished. I hope she has a wonderful birthday.