Saturday, 6:34 pm

Two days wasted, taking pills that aren’t working, and laying down hoping to sleep away the pain in my neck and temple. Finally today about 5:30 there was some relief and I have been up, moving slowly and feeling weak and groggy, but managing to clean the kitchen with some help from Don. It’s his supper night so he’s drying dishes and dreaming about food. Loverboy’s been working with calves all day but for two hours when his head was banging so hard he couldn’t stand it and had to come in and sleep. Till his dad started phoning for help and out he bolted again.

I am frying bacon for BLT sandwiches, that’s all the energy I have. Wanted to get to Grandma’s today and go to town for groceries, but couldn’t do either.

Don walked around the slushy yard, kicking his feet in puddles, all afternoon. Came in with wet feet. Barney played outside too but came in and spent a couple hours on his playstation games. Sneaked quietly into my room to plant kisses on my cheek and tuck his teddybear in beside me. When I got up, he was slicing cheese to put on crackers for a snack, and gave me several, then put butter and jam on bread and brought them to me on a small plate. “I’m sure nice, aren’t I?” he said, pleased with himself for taking care of me.

****************************************

I am trying to graciously accept less-than-perfection from myself and everyone else. I have been both surprised and delighted to find myself able to love in spite of occasional grotesque uglinesses. It’s an important step in my personal evolution. It’s time I grew up and got more realistic about life and human nature. I'm 44, for christ sake.

I don’t mean putting up with bullshit, either. I mean choosing my battles and not being so quick to assume that I am all-understanding or even as fair and reasonable as I think I am.

That’s not to say there aren’t moments when I wonder if all this faith, hope and charity are simple avoidance.

There are days when I am supremely frustrated and feel indignant, and they tend to cluster around my period. My feelings are valid. Yet my emotions and focus can intensify and narrow in a negative way, and if I get a bee or two in my bonnet, I am less objective and have more trouble than usual putting it all into perspective in the big picture. It’s all “What about *me*? Why am *I* dealing with with this crap? I can’t stand one more moment of it.”

My tolerance and understanding of human foibles decreases. I am at the end of my rope in a short instant. I am the noble hero of my story and the obstacles before me are so high and wide and daunting, I simply must point them out.

Though aware of this aspect of my personal rhythms, I fall into the trap of believing the sky is falling for a couple days every month. At these times I am a captive of my emotion and my thought spirals incessantly out of it. I think the details to death. Write them to death, too.

Writing does help. I feel purged afterward, as if I’ve come to my own defence and stated my case before the court of life and surely, given a bit of time, the world around me will smarten up.

It seems to.

Life may not be a bed of roses, but we have a gorgeous gloxinia blooming in our home. Don’s home with a cold and Barney will be off the bus in 20 minutes, charging in here to slather hot bread with butter and eat at least half a loaf by himself.

We are happy.

Not 100 per cent of the time. Just 99.

xoxoetc
Kate