Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Self Pity

And her mood can change.
Just.
Like.
That.

Maybe I am bipolar?
(Rhetorical question).

Had a dream last night that the kids were little and we were playing this game that we used to play. We would run around the house - through the kitchen, into the dining room, through the living room, into the foyer, and back around into the kitchen.  And if we got far enough ahead of another we would hide in the doorway of the basement and scare the next person coming around the circle.  And we would laugh and scream and start again.  It was so much fun.  I miss those days.  I will never play that game again.

Nothing is done with ease:
Typing.
Writing.
Maneuvering the mouse.
Getting out of bed.
Getting into bed.
Walking to the bathroom.
Shifting on the toilet seat.
Dressing.
Putting on my socks.
Scratching my face.
Holding a utensil.
Sitting on the couch.
Getting up from the couch.
Cutting a bagel.
Spreading cream cheese on a bagel.
Holding onto a variety of things.
Picking up all the things I drop.
Cleaning.
Loading the dishwasher.
Unloading the dishwasher.
Hugging.
Opening a water bottle.
Taking things out of the fridge.
Putting things back in the fridge.
Pouring iced tea.
Opening a pill bottle.
Crying.
Laughing.
Holding hands.
Putting on chapstick.
Brushing my teeth.
Washing my hair.
Shaving my legs.
Changing my ostomy bag.
Standing.
Getting in the car.
Getting out of the car.
Going up the steps.
Going down the steps.
Going anywhere.
Turning around.
Folding laundry.

I still do these things.  They are not done with ease, but with effort.  They are not done with comfort or familiarity, but with conscious and deliberate movements.

Today I am tired and cranky and riddled with self pity.  I will not apologize for my mood or my words.  I want another chance.







1 comment: