Shadows

For years, as adults, we live in the world our entire lives. We work, we live, we raise children, we make friends, we laugh, we cry, we grow older, the children grow up and leave, or sometimes they get sick and die long before they should. We adopt dogs and cats and treat them like our babies. We collect things around us that remind us of happy times, that give us pleasure to look at. We build homes around us where we feel comfortable and safe. We learn to drive and have cars that allow us freedom, so we can take care of what we need to do, and sometimes take ourselves to attend the theater, or meet friends at a local restaurant where we can kick back and enjoy each others' company. If we're lucky, we find work that gives us great pleasure and satisfaction. Life isn't perfect, but it's good. We have enough to eat and a comfortable place to live. We have love around us. We have independence to live our lives as we wish, within limits. We make new friends and like to go to new places with them, explore things like wine tasting tours or going to a local theater in the round. And when our loved ones need help, we reach out to them and find them help, and hold them when they're sad, then rejoice with them when things are good again.

This is life. This is being in the world. This is belonging, and being a part of living, growing existence.

Then, out of the blue, just as you're crossing the threshold of being considered old, something goes wrong with your body. You can no longer walk or take care of yourself. You're moved into a nursing home. It's not really a home. It's just a place to stay. Forever. All those things you collected around you that made you happy have to go because there's no room for them. All your wonderful books, most of them autographed, are going elsewhere. Your comfortable chair, your blonde knotty pine bedroom furniture with the pastel flowers etched into the wood, now belongs to somebody else. Your dishes, your expensive Le Crueset pots and pans that you discovered on sale in the back of Sam's Warehouse at the astounding bargain price of $50 that you cooked meal after meal in, always with joy, now gone. Who knows where.

That was years ago. You can barely remember them anymore. Now you live in a nursing home in half a room, al the end of a hall, behind a curtain. You have a wheelchair that someone has to push you around in, like a baby. But when you ask to get up in it so you can sit outside to enjoy the rare temperate weather, you're told they don't have time. Worse, sometimes they say they'll do it, but they just never seem to get around to it.

Most of your friends live in a town 70 miles away. You've been away going on five years now. You've faded from their memories. It's human nature. Out of sight, out of mind. Being stuck in bed, there's no opportunity to make friends. There's one nurse who's very sweet and caring. She helps ease the loneliness. And there's one friend who visits loyally as often as he can. Without his friendship, you feel like you'd just wither away from the isolation.

You thought you'd made friends with a new aide. But you were wrong. Without explanation, he started ignoring you, acting like you don't exist. You don't understand. It hurts. A lot. You can think of a hundred possible reasons this is happening, and all of them must be your fault. But what? This has happened to you before, when someone you thought cared suddenly turned his back on you without explanation. That time it was someone you trusted implicitly. That time it hurt so much you didn't think you could live with that much pain and felt the best thing for everybody would be if you just didn't exist anymore. That was nearly 10 years ago. You still don't understand what you did wrong and it still hurts.

So right now, you're reminded so much of that terrible time that you wake up crying every day. It doesn't matter if you're friends with the aide. You'll work your way through the confusion and pain eventually. 

But you've realized something from this experience. You are no longer an active part of this world. You've passed the point where you can make new friends. You're an old woman who lives in a nursing home, subject to all of society's stereotypes, prejudices, and assumptions. You're not a person, not a part of society anymore. You're a shadow, devoid of personality or substance. When you talk, people don't hear you. When aides take care of you, you're not a person, you're just some generic body they get paid to take care of.

You're not alive to them. You're a shadow. So it's little wonder the aide you thought of as a friend is treating you like you don't exist. It's because, to him, you don't.

I love you all. How could I not? I just have never been able to hang onto anger or hate. Yes, I do get angry, but simply can't maintain it, unless it's towards myself. I'm working on that, but it's not an easy habit to break. Love yourselves with all your hearts, wonderful peeps. You have no idea how magnificent your spirits truly are. You shine.

Fading Away

The gift I was given is fading fast. Instead of experiencing them, the gifts are turning into memories, accessed only through my feeble, inadequate human consciousness. I never thought it would be a forever thing but I do wish, of course, it had lasted longer. I can still see and feel how gorgeous and amazing it was and how free I felt. But I know that, before long, the memories will become like ink drawings of a brilliant autumn forest.

Already, when I look at my friend, I no longer see his spirit shining through him. I remember, kind of abstractly, that it was breathtakingly beautiful, but I couldn't in any way describe it except that it was bright and infinite and full of love. I was fortunate to see it with the clarity that I had when all this began, because I got a better understanding of what we are inside our human skins and how we all have potential that our minds don't recognize. It seems the lessons I learned are sticking with me and probably will because they are important to the growing of my soul.

As for my friend, I just see the human part of him now, but that is enough. He is a beautiful and wise person. We necessarily have boundaries on our relationship that must be respected, so being friends with him will be a bit complicated and, likely, somewhat limited, but will be exactly how it's meant to be. I love his spirit. How could I not, after seeing inside it, but I don't expect the human parts of us to feel that way. Time will tell how things will turn out.

I am changed because of that gift. I am more willing to love and to accept love. Life isn't something to be all that serious about. Well, I have to remind myself of that sometimes. And I still get furious when I see people being mistreated. I can't help that. It's a part of who I am as a human being.

Was all this my imagination? I've asked myself that. And I have to answer no. It was real. I know that, because if I had imagined it, I would still be imagining it. I would have held onto it with everything I had because it was that beautiful and joyous. I would have sacrificed every shred of my sanity to stay there.

So, no. I'm all too sane. It was a gift that the Universe gave me to lift me out of the infinitely deep well of despair I was falling into. Now I just need to sort out all the things I learned from it. I will meditate more. I will learn to slow my brain down and quiet it. That will be a challenge, since my brain is like twin spoiled toddlers who demand to be constantly entertained. And if don't give in to their tantrums, they lead me into very dark, frightening places in my mind that I avoid at all costs. So there can be an expensive price to pay if I don't get my methods right.

Something is telling me that I need to get some help with that problem, but I know who to ask, so no worries.

I'm grateful for the tolerance and understanding that my new friend showed me and continues to show.  I hope he never forgets my description of the spirit I saw in him because that was very real. Believing in that will be helpful, I'm certain, in his life adventures and in the advancing of his soul. And that, alone, would make me feel like this life is worthwhile, especially my life since I became a paraplegic.

Yes, yes. I realize my life has been worthwhile at least once in awhile, but this would be the first time I felt something other than helpless and burdensome since my legs forgot how to walk.

Thank you, Universe, for the incredible and generous gift. Thank you, angels, for answering my prayers for help. Thank you, new/old friend for letting me see you as spirit. And thank you to all my friends and family for loving me anyway, even though you think I've slipped a few gears.

Peace, love and joy to all of you, for always.

The Gift

I have a new friend. Actually, he's an old friend, too. I recently wrote about recognizing him. I hadn't seen him in ages so it took me a long time to recognize him. It wasn't his face I finally recognized. That's changed a lot. It's a nice face with blazingly blue eyes that's easy to look at, but it's not the same.

It was his spirit. When I was jolted into the ability to see that, I was shocked. I've spent most of my life, since I was around 5, closed up to protect myself from letting others inflict pain on my childish, vulnerable heart. It worked. Mostly. But that also blocked me from opening my heart to giving and receiving unconditional love from bright spirits around me. I didn't even know they existed. I was independent, strong, and safe. I was also a fairy child, living alone in a world of fantasy, where I could exist without fear of being touched, emotionally.

I did have a crusader heart, as well. I made it my mission to defend those whom I saw being picked on for the sake of being mean to them. I befriended them so they wouldn't be alone. I built them up and made them laugh. I encouraged them to like themselves. I got them to the point where they had enough self-confidence that they didn't need me anymore. And then I let them fly. But I never did that for myself, and I was so folded in on myself that nobody could see how much I needed what I so freely gave to others. It was nobody's fault. I was an extremely self-contained human. My own family didn't even see it, and they loved me dearly.

I'm still a crusader. But now they call me a liberal. Heh.

So here I am, over six decades old, just learning how to open myself up so I can fly, too. That's why I was so shocked when I recognized the shining spirit of this person walk past, as familiar to my heart as the sun is to my eyes. I didn't know what to do or what to think. I thought, Oh.My.Goodness! What did I just see? What WAS that? I know him! I could see his oh-so familiar spirit shining out of his body like the comfortable beacon of the porchlight at my childhood home. 

First, I was so astonished I forgot to breathe. Then I thought, oh geez. This guy is practically a stranger to me, and an 18-year-old fresh out out of high school to boot! Have I finally snapped?

But, at the same time, I was jubilant. I KNEW AND RECOGNIZED an old friend! I had been working on breaking down all my emotional walls for nearly a year and had only recently thought of a way to open my heart -- and that was only because I was so desperately emotionally exhausted that I had to find some peace and calmness within myself. I was so far from flying, I was close to sinking under the muck at the bottom of that old familiar hole I kept having to claw my way out of.

I'm sure he doesn't see all this the way I do. I probably startled the hell out of him when I told him, but he was cool about it. He has some wisdom in him that I'd like to learn. Could be he has a much older soul than I do. My spirit has already opened up to so much wisdom since this happened that my mind can't sort it all out. I've been like a baby that's just figured out how to walk and am charging and lurching wildly around in my unfettered enthusiasm for this newfound freedom.

And that also may have been startling the hell out of him. Not to worry. I will settle down and calm myself. I just feel like I did as a child at the beach. There's so much newness to take in. I'm overwhelmed by it all. And the feelings! I've never been this open to feeling unconditional love before, or this much joy. It's better than... I don't know. I can't come up with anything in my life experience that even comes close.

I've learned how to fly.

A good friend told me that my new/old friend's presence at this stage of my life experience is the Universe's gift to me. While I was in so much emotional pain that it was almost unbearable, I prayed to my angels, pled with them, begged them for help and, if not help, then to let me go back Home where I could rest. I was sure my despair would block them from hearing. Then they sent me a gift in an unlikely package as an answer. And they let me have the way to see him. Thank you, sweet angels. I hope to also be a gift to him in some small way before life moves us apart again.

Thank you, too, bright spirit. I assure you, you are under no pressure. Just being you is perfect. Your spirit heart knows exactly what to do and be. It is wide open so that you touch everyone you come into contact with. You probably don't even realize it. It's simply who you are. But I have been given the privilege of seeing that bright light of yours.

I hope that all of you can feel and see what I've been gifted, and more, during your life experiences. Because it truly is an incredible gift to have. ❤️

Barefoot Child

I hated wearing shoes when I was young, even all the way up into my twenties. Of course, I was required to wear shoes to school. During the summer months, shoes were a necessity unless I stayed in the grass, which was always cool to my sidewalk-seared feet. 

Sometimes, now, I lay back in my bed and think about how it felt, especially how cool the grass was and how the blades tickled when I walked. We had a pretty thick lawn, so my feet would sink down into it and the grass would curve up the sides of my feet and tickle me there, too, at least until the lawn was mowed. The soles of my feet were so calloused and thick by the time I was in my teens I could walk on broken glass and not get cut. Not that it's something to be proud of. But, you know, I grew up in the south, where 40 degrees farenheit was considered heavy coat weather. I rarely ever wore a coat, either.

But now it seems the memories are fading a bit each time I try to remember how it felt. Of course, I was a child. I didn't take the time to pay close attention to things like that. I was too busy exploring and learning and enjoying life. Which was as it should be. But if I had ever had a clue that one day, out of the blue, I would lose the ability to feel anything at all on my legs and feet, maybe I'd have played in the grass more as an adult.

Too late now. But I have an excellent back-up memory. Several, in fact, of playing on the beach. We lived fairly close to the Gulf of Mexico. Our favorite stretch of beach was completely deserted. Our family would go out in the morning on a weekend and I could tell when we were getting close to the shore because the sky would gradually turn a gorgeous shade of blue. There were mounds of sand beside the road that ran along the shore so we couldn't see the water until my dad crossed a break in the sand dunes and we spun our tires through the loose sand onto the firmer sand of the beach. He'd park and my sister and I lept out of the car almost before it stopped moviing. There were no seatbelts to hold us back in those days. I remember running as fast as I could to the shallow waves. Then, just as the edge of a wave barely touched my toes, I'd run just as quickly away from it, giggling with total delight.

While I played this game of chase, my dad wandered up and down the beach, gathering driftwood so we could cook our dinner over a fire later. At least, I assume he did. I was too engaged in my fun to notice. But a pile of driftwood would magically appear, as would the fire later on. When you're a child you don't question that kind of magic.

After I tired of chasing and being chased by the waves, i'd wade in the water, then stand still as the waves washed across my feet. I watched with fascination as, with each wave that washed in and out, my feet would gradually be covered by sand. After they disappeared up to my ankles, I'd get a frisson of panic and quickly pull them out with a "spawp!" sound.

Mom probably yelled herself hoarse, constantly hollering for us to come back. The thing is, distance is deceptive when you walk along the edge of the waves of a large body of water. Before you know it, you're a lot farther away than you think from where you started. So I'm sure Mom kept an eagle eye on her two girls to make sure we didn't stray too far. Of course, I didn't know why she kept yelling. I didn't even wonder. I was a little girl and all my senses were overflowing with the warmth of the sun and how squishy the sand felt between my toes and how blue-green the water was against the whitecaps and how far the water went and what the sandpipers looked like when they ran across the sand, and how special the air smelled, so different from the air at home. And if Mommy called, I cheerfully came because she was there and Daddy was there and that made this wonderful place I was experiencing safe.

As the day turned into late afternoon, the driftwood magically became a fire. Mom had pulled out the cast-iron skillet she'd brought. Fairies peeled and sliced potatoes and onions into the skillet and added some oil, then Mom cooked the veggies over the fire. I'm pretty sure the fairies fed the peelings to seagulls. I'm not sure, because by this time I was completely focused on the food. 

By the time we'd skewered our hot dogs on to straightened-out wire clotheshangers (which were painted black and probably poisoned us somehow) and ate our half-burned hotdogs, followed by charcoaled marshmallows which were cooked on the same coathangers so that they tasted like gooey melted sweetness which surrounded bits of crunchy charcoaled hot dog, the sun had set.

We sat by the fire, and I know I must have been half, if not fully, asleep. I have the vaguest of memories, like disconnected polka dots in my mind, of Mom and Dad cleaning up, but nothing of getting into the car. The next thing I knew, I was in bed, it was the next morning, I was sunburned, and everything in my life was perfect.

So now, I have saved these memories from the vagaries of my aging brain and I can visit them whenever my memory starts to slide away from me. And I can always remember when life was perfect. Thank you for indulging me.

Many wishes for all of you to always be able to revisit these kinds of days.

Smarter Than a Roomba

I let my brain take some time out. Instead of letting it go faster and faster until it can't stand up straight and starts wandering in a frenzy, bouncing off thoughts like a super-ball that my cats used to chase randomly around, I made it stop. Instead, I listened to guided meditation, or concentrated on hours of relaxing music, which usually made me drift off to sleep. So I also slept a lot. Sometimes, I would let my mind wander to happy memories, but not if I started feeling sad. I forced my thoughts toward other things if that happened.

This was a struggle, not letting myself struggle, and I'm not finished yet. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to be finished. I want to be calm-minded and at peace, because when I manage to allow that, amazing things happen.

For example, there is a CNA working here who is a shining light. He's almost 19 and has a long journey yet to make through his life. But he is clearly a healer. He's worked here awhile, and is now only working 3 days a week so he can attend college. So I don't see him that much. I was relaxing this afternoon, keeping my mind as clear as possible, when I saw him walk into the bathroom to help someone. There was nothing remarkable about it. He didn't even glance my way.

But I heard a voice in my head shout, "I KNOW him!" It wasn't as if I don't know him. That's silly. He's been helping take care of me for months. It was more like I've known him for decades, or millenia, long since before he was born. Heck, even since before I was born! Sounds kind of crazy, but I haven't lost my wits -- yet. I told my nurse and she looked skeptical, so I told her, "it's not as if I called him by a different name and claimed he was my husband in a former life. I just recognized him." She was still skeptical. I guess she's heard stranger things from people who really have lost their wits.

I took a chance and told this CNA about it. He was either a great actor or was receptive to the idea. I told him that some believe we have soul groups, or tribes, and that members of our tribes will sometimes show up in each others' incarnations to help, or learn from each other or to teach one another. I think he might be a member of my tribe. We talked a little about what god might be but I also told him that we're not going to know for certain until we leave this life. I didn't tell him, though, that I can picture the long path of his life or that it gleams like gold. Like I said, he's a healer and his light will shine strongly. It already does and he's just beginning.

Stuff like this only happens to me after I've cleared my mind and heart. When I look back on it, after I'm back to "normal" I'm amazed by it.

My point really is that I have not been smarter than a Roomba. Watch one. Or watch a video of a Roomba wandering around a room with a cat sitting calmly on top of it, enjoying the ride. The Roomba never bumps repeatedly into something, time after time after time. If it did, the cat would be disturbed and would find another place to sit. Instead, the Roomba twirls around and goes a different direction.

I haven't been as smart as the Roomba OR the cat. I've pounded my head against various brick walls over and over and over until I get mad at myself because I don't make any progress. Then I get depressed/overwhelmed/exhausted or all three at once. Then FINALLY I give myself a break and allow myself to seek peace and calmness.

Now I get it. This is what I should do first, not as a last resort. I roll my eyes and shake my head at the denseness of my human self. I also embrace the lovability of my stubborn self. We are one, she and I, but we see things so much differently at times.

Peace, calm, love and acceptance to all of you. Also, I wish you the ability to find humor in your faults.

Of This World

There's an old country song that mentions looking for love in all the wrong places. I never thought about it much. I thought it had something to do with honky-tonks and fast-living women. And that was probably its main message. But I wasn't much of a wild child back then. I had some adventures, but by that point in my life I was going to college full time, working, and raising a toddler by myself. I didn't have the energy to be wild.

But, of course, like everyone else, I really was looking for love. And during my lifetime I was lucky enough to find it. My concept of love, anyway. Now, I'm wondering if, like the song, I was looking in the wrong places. I was looking for love outside myself.

There's no way I can explain what I mean without sounding egotistical. I don't mean I think I'm the be-all of love. It's like there's this invisible, untouchable, inexplicable never-ending waterfall of something inside my soul that isn't just love. It's so much more than that, like a spark compared to a roaring fire. I know it's there. Once in a great while I manage to touch it, just a drop of it, and my entire being, my head, my body, my consciousness, my spirit, my soul is flooded with this feeling that is love and not-love. It's not of this world and yet it encompasses this world along with everything here and not-here.

And I know, not with my brain, but with my soul, that every one of us has this inside us.

In those nano-seconds that I manage to tap into it, it's like a brilliant light shines out of me that reaches into every nook and cranny in existence.

I'm such a novice. I hope I will learn how to experience this for longer periods of time. I'm selfish. I want more. I fly outside myself when I do this. I have no limits. Every place, every moment, every dimension, every thought, every bit of knowledge and understanding, every connection to every person and entity everywhere is available to me, and vice-versa.

And whatever gladness that I contain or have ever contained is spread across the universe and all its dimensions in a flash.

It's a lot like being a child again, twirling in circles just for fun and laughing, giggling, chortling for no reason at all.

But I am of this world, and that is not, so the twirling comes to a stop and I'm back in my bed, unable to walk, alone again.

Oh, but wasn't it glorious while it lasted? I must do that again, soon. And, somehow, I know in my heart, that I will.

Next time, come with me, won't you? ❤️

I Woke Up Crying Today

My nurse, who is a true sweetheart, came in and asked me why I was crying. I had to tell her I didn't know why. It wasn't the dream I'd been having. That was a full-fledged romantic thriller starring Audry Hepburn and Cary Grant. Something created wholly from my subconscious. Very exciting, too.

But, thinking back a few years, for a long time after my husband left me I would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing. Then, later, the same thing would happen after my little girl died of cancer. So it must have something to do with grief. But, for the life of me, I can't pinpoint what I'm grieving for. For nothing? For everything? For my independence? For the inevitable changes that are sure to occur now that my best friend has revealed how irritating she finds me? For the loss of how comfortable I used to feel with her? For the realization that my life will never change for the better? For my loneliness?

What's the point of going on with a list. It's everything and nothing. By some miracle, when suicide went from a possibility to disappear from my thoughts altogether, even became a distasteful idea, it stayed gone. So that's not a way out of my misery. All I can really do is wait and endure. Maybe things will get better. Maybe they won't. 

Right now,  nothing I do, watch, hear, read, think, see, or remember gives me comfort.  Will this last a day, a week, a month, forever? I don't know. All I know is right now. Right now, I exist in sadness. Seize the moment. Ha.

Life isn't easy and I've been through some tough times, as has everyone. But never before have I come to a total standstill, mired in unhappiness without a way to struggle out of it. I seem to be my own worst enemy now. All this thinking and reasoning gets me nowhere. What is, is.

I managed to sleep nearly 12 hours last night. Maybe that's what I need -- to block out my conscious mind as much as possible and let my subconscious mind take over for awhile. Last night it provided me with some pretty good entertainment, after all.

We'll see.

Peace and comfort to you all. ❤️

Love is Patient, Love is Kind....

I talked to my best friend last night. I didn't talk about myself or my feelings because I knew I would recover after awhile. I'm a lot like Tigger. I tend to bounce back.

So I guided our conversation to reminicing about her mother, both good and bad, but mostly funny stories. Then I kept quiet and just let her talk. Hospice told her that her mother probably won't last out the week. She's conflicted when it comes to how she feels about it because her mother was good at feeding, clothing her, and she worked hard to keep a roof over their heads, but her mother never showed her any love or acceptance. And she was physically abusive. When my friend was in her teens, her mother would wake her up in the mornings by punching her in the stomach. Things like that.

 Yet, my friend took her mother into her own home and has taken care of her for at least five years. Her mother hadn't changed. There was no mellowing from her mom. The entire five years, my friend's mother has spewed out constant criticism and complaints. One time she held a knife to my friend's throat and threatened to kill her. The police and a social worker got involved and nothing was done, but her mom learned a lesson. After that, my friend locked her bedroom door every night so her mother couldn't come in and kill her while she slept. She wasn't being paranoid. Her mother had told her that's what she intended to do.

This is why I'm always telling my friend that she's an angel. She doesn't think she loves her mother, and she has little reason to, but I think she does, somewhere deep inside. I think her mother's decline is hitting her harder than she wants to admit.

So I can't be mad at her, and I don't want anyone else to be mad at her, either. We're still best friends and we love each other. So what if she slipped up? I forgive that. I also forgive myself for getting so wrapped up in my own struggles and not being a better friend to her.

I'm not much for organized religion, and I sure don't believe everything in the Bible comes straight from a deity, but the Bible does have some beautiful and wise passages. I was brought up in a loving, Christian home and can remember my mother reading to us from the Bible. She didn't just blindly quote it, though. She always had a point. One of my favorites was 1 Corinthians 13:1-8. I can almost hear her sweet voice teaching us what love is.

I love my best friend and I know that, to be a caring friend, I need to give her time to work though her troubles. Yeah, I have troubles, too. Who doesn't? But this has to be her time to lean on me, and I need to find a way to handle my problems without putting more pressure on her. I think she knows that she can lean on me anytime she needs to. That's what friends do.

Peace and love. ❤️ Many thanks for your caring. It means a lot.

Who Do the Hell Do I Think I Am?

I've bumbled, surrounded by a glass box, through the years of my life, thinking I was trying my best and that my best was pretty much all right. I even felt sometimes that I was doing a good job. My anchor was my best friend. No matter what happened, good or bad, I knew in the depths of my heart that she loved me and accepted me, flaws and all, and that we would always be there for each other. 

Until last night. I never, in all the years of our friendship, asked her for money, though she generously gave me some now and then. i was grateful, because I only get about $100 a month. For three years, my income was $20 a month.

I have some aromatherapy lotion that helps me sleep. To me, it's very expensive at $13 a bottle. I don't have to have it. After all, I'll hardly die if I don't have some. But when I smooth it onto my skin, it soothes and relaxes me. It makes me feel special, almost as if I didn't have to get rid of everything I owned when I became a paraplegic and had to move into a nursing home. You know, like I was able to have something special, just for me. Then I saw yesterday that it was on sale for only $5 a bottle. For one day only. Problem was, it was 2 days before my social security arrived. By the time that came, the sale would be over and the lotion would be too expensive again.

So I did something I don't remember ever doing before. I called my friend and asked if she would buy some for me. That was a horrible mistake. She got really angry and hung up without even saying goodbye.

Later I called her back and told her I was sorry. She'd given me some money months earlier and chided me because I'd already spent it. I guess she had expected me to save it instead of spend it. I don't know. That's probably what she would have done.

She went on to tell me how many times she'd bitten her tongue because I'd irritated her. This was a revelation to me. I'd been believing all these years that she'd loved me as I was. She hid it well. I'd been believing she accepted me, faults and all. I was foolish. Like I said, I was living in a glass room.

Nobody's ever loved me unconditionally, other than my mother. Every person who has loved me since I became an adult, has eventually turned on me. Who do I think I am? I don't even think it's possible for someone to love me unconditionally. Is this my life lesson? Am I too arrogant and need to be taken down a few pegs?

Well, it's worked. I'm nobody. I'm nothing. And as for my friend, she gets all the credit for tolerating me and hiding her irritation. I added nothing but irritation to the relationship.

Now that I've learned the lesson -- and I've been so dense that I've had to have it pounded into my head since I was in gradeschool -- could I go Home now? Please. I know I don't deserve any mercy. I've been an irritation to others my whole life.  A taker. Selish and self-centered.

Please, God, angels. Please take me Home. I don't want to be here anymore. I have no hatred or anger in my heart, not even toward myself. I'm so tired. Please let me rest now.

I Got the Heebie-Jeebie, Heart-Thumpin', Fight-or-Flight Blues

I don't often feel like this, thank goodness, but the past few days I've had it bad. I don't want to read. I don't want to watch shows or movies. I don't want to learn anything new. I don't want to write or talk or laugh. I don't want to do any of the things that usually help me cope, because I am beyond coping right now. I don't want to cry, either, though sometimes I do in spite of myself. I don't feel spiritual. I don't feel hope. I don't even feel like I'm a part of the world. I feel most like a fly trapped in amber.

It's as if my life is made of quicksand and I'm gradually sinking down into it, to the point where, eventually, I will disappear altogether. But I won't be dead. I'll just be there, somewhere under the surface, smothering but never being released by death. Just unable to breathe or break free, forever. And no one will be able to help me because I've disappeared so they don't know they can. I become part of the past, faded and eventually forgotten.

I am unutterably dismal. This level of misery is inevitably dramatic and I apologize for that. I'm being unfair to people who love me. I apologize for that, too. Feeling this way is selfish and egocentric, as all pain is. No excuse. Just reasons.

There's no point to this blog entry. I was thinking maybe putting it into written words would help somehow. I don't know if it's helped me or not.

But I do know what I want to do. I want to go to sleep and stay asleep until things get better. Because, as I told my therapist, at least in my dreams I can walk.

Sorry for the downer. 

I'll keep these in mind: ❤️

Not Again

Yep, it's been about a month since my last entry. I spent about a week of that month in the hospital. Again. I had atrial fibrillation. Again. At least my blood pressure and heart rate haven't been high since then. They've even been a little low. In the hospital, my heart rate went down, at one point, to 30. But not to worry. It's been in the 40s and 50s since then. Can't complain. Once in awhile I feel like I'm riding a very slow carousel, except that I'm lying still and the world is spinning around.

I got up in my baby-buggy "wheelchair" last week. It was OK for awhile. I had my mental health therapy session sitting up, which was a nice change, and it was a good session. He pointed out that I usually go into a depression after I've been sick, and I realized the truth in that. He said something about how, then, I had to start from the beginning again. But that didn't ring true to me. So I said, "No... Not really, because I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I've evolved since then."

He slowly nodded his head. "You're right," he agreed, "and I'm happy you recognize that."

When our session was over he wheeled me into the dining room, situated me at a table with some ladies where I could I could see most of the room and went on his way. I was enjoying listening to the hub-bub in the room and had struck up a conversation with a couple of the ladies. I was really enjoying myself.

Without warning, someone came up behind me, saying something about that being somebody's spot and started pulling me away. I had to scramble to get all my things off the table in order not to leave them behind, it was so fast. This person preemptorily moved me to an empty table near the wall and parked me there. My chair is built so that I'm unable to see behind me or to either side of me, so I could only see a small bit of the room. Lunch was served. I ate alone.

About 12:30 I saw one of the aides from my hall and told her I needed to go back to my room. She said that as soon as she could get the lift (there is only one in the entire building, and it keeps breaking down) they would do that. The next time I saw her, sometime in the next hour, she was coming out of the break room, presumably coming off her break. She crossed the opposite side of the room and didn't make eye contact with me.

Meanwhile, I noticed that my colostomy bag was about to burst. So a request had turned into an emergency situation. Eventually, a nurse, (in order to protect her identity, I'll just call her Nurse Bitch) wandered by and I waved her down. I explained the situation and asked her to tell the aides on my hall what was going on. Twenty or so minutes later, I waved her down again and asked her what they said.

She answered, "Oh, I don't know. They were busy putting somebody to bed."

So I said, "Well, you know, if this busts, everybody's going to be unhappy."

With a little smirk,  she told  me, "Well, I won't be unhappy because I won't have to deal with it!" And she walked off.

I was on the verge of a meltdown by then, So I got out my cellphone and called the front desk. I told the nurse who answered the whole story and we hung up. Next thing I knew she was paging the nursing home administrator. He found me, pushed me down the hall and parked me just outside my room, then headed to find the aides and tell them to get me taken care of.

It wasn't their fault. They were insanely busy and didn't know about my emergency because Nurse Bitch had never talked to them.

By the time The administrator got involved I was in full meltdown mode: crying, angry, swearing. You name it. And I told him that these kinds of situations were exactly the reasons I never wanted to get up in my chair.

I was finally put back to bed at 3 pm, 2-1/2 hours after I had been promised it would be in a few minutes.

This happens almost every time I get up. I can't move my chair 1/4 inch. Someone else has to move it. And when I first found out about it, I predicted that I would just be parked somewhere and forgotten. I'd say a good 90-95% of the time that's exactly what happens. It's not like I'm a person. I'm just a lump of meat sitting, forgotten, in some out of the way place.

I hate it. I'd just as soon stay in bed. It's more cheerful and more comfortable. And at least I can push a button to get help when I need it.

So don't ask me when I'll be getting up in my chair again. It may be quite awhile from now.

Thanks for plowing through this canticle of negativity. I appreciate your caring hearts. ❤️

Stating the Obvious

Part 2 of my hospital stay revelations.

I was feeling a lot more myself after a few days and my throat wasn't hurting, so I went back to being my chatterbox self. A great guy named Vince came on shift as my tech. So, while he was doing things around my room, I told him about Lyra. Of course I did. I tell EVERYBODY about Lyra. I enjoy telling people about her because I like sharing her story with others and because it helps me keep her alive in my mind.

Vince was extremely receptive to me and seemed to enjoy listening about Lyra so, over a couple of days, I went into greater detail about her. He just gobbled it all up. He turned out to be not only receptive but open-mindedly spiritual as well.

Since Lyra died I've been struggling to figure out why I'm still alive. For a long while I felt like I was utterly useless, and I truly was. I'm still unable to do anything for myself or anyone else and I've lost almost any semblance of independence. So I was at a total loss as to what my purpose in life could possibly be. And I yearned to leave this life and go Home to spirit. I even had a plan and was slowly putting it into motion. But when I thought back to all the potentially fatal  illnesses I've survived, like hemmoraging after a tonsillectomy in 1952, and having emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder in the 1970s, and having Hepatitis A in the 1970s, and having the flesh-eating bacterium invade my abdomen in 1998, then getting bacterial meningitis which is what caused my paraplegia in 2010, I figured there must be SOME reason for me to be alive. But what? I could not imagine what it could be.

Eventually I realized that I could use my one and only talent of putting words together. That was the only power I had left. But I had no idea what to write. So I started this blog, and have been writing it, somewhat sporadically, for nearly a year. But, I knew, it wasn't the answer to my question.

So I was lying in my hospital bed, regaling Vince with tales of Lyra's life when he turned, looked at me, and said, "You should write about Lyra's story." And in my mind I heard what sounded like a chorus of angels and saw a light brighter than the sun. And I thought, "Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" It was so obvious I couldn't imagine why I hadn't thought of it myself. But I knew, the second Vince said it, that THIS is my purpose!

I told Vince that and, later, told him that if Lyra's story ever gets published as a book, I will say in the acknowledgements, "Many thanks to Vince, for stating the obvious."

So, as has always been my habit before writing, I am mulling this around in the back of my mind. I'm also thinking about who I need permission from to include their names and possibly pictures. This is, after all, a true story about Lyra's life. However, I will change names and omit photos of those who want to stay anonymous. 

There you have my second revelation. It seems kind of stupid that I had to be in the hospital and suffer so much pain just to get a couple of revelations, especially since writing about Lyra wasn't a new idea. In fact, that had been suggested to me by other people. I guess I wasn't ready for it before. I wasn't in a place of acceptance until my illness wiped away all of my other concerns and left the way open for Vince to reach my inner self. Who knows? I just know that it feels right, and I have no doubt that I will accomplish my goal.

And now, there's not even a thought or wish of dying. I want to live because I know what my purpose is for being here.

Thank you to all that made this suggestion. Sorry it fell on deaf ears. Love, hope, and peace to you all.

Lyra as a baby. She was grinning, of course. ❤️

:-D

When Angels Speak

Revelation time. Most of the time I was in the hospital for an impacted bowel I was either in too much pain or felt just plain too awful to think coherently. Also, I was averaging 4 hours of sleep a day because, at night, somebody was waking me up every two hours to do something to me and, days, somebody was always pretty much constantly doing something to me or for me. Being a patient in a hospital is not for the faint of heart.

After a few days of sleep deprivation I felt well enough to dig in my heels . I was determined to get some sleep. I didn't want to watch tv. I didn't want to play on the internet. I didn't want to read, nor listen to music. I wanted to sleep. So around 2 in the afternoon I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. At around 4:30 I gave up.

It later occurred to me that, while I lay there, awake and relaxed, I entered a kind of meditative state. I am a big failure at meditation. My thoughts buzz randomly around my head like out of control drivers traveling at high speeds around a traffic circle in Rome. A few minutes of trying to meditate and my thoughts sprint in all directions at one time. So I give up.

That's why I'm astounded that I managed to quiet my mind that day. I think it must have been the combination of exhaustion, illness, and desperation that got me to that point.

I was brought up in the Methodist church so I've heard about guardian angels all my life. I gave up on organized religion long ago, but started seeking out spiritual truths after my little girl died from cancer in 2011. That, coming fairly soon after I lost the ability to walk, had laid me pretty low, emotionally. I confess, I wallowed in that chasm of despair for a couple of years.

But learning about and exploring spirituality, and the help of a mental health therapist, saved me. I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to step off into eternal oblivion.

So the first of my two spiritual revelations happened while I lay there trying to sleep. I'd read a lot about how to contact my angels, but never managed to do it. Maybe that was because I'm skeptical about things I can't see for myself. But I was feeling pretty desperate so I figured what the hey -- I may as well give it another try.

I said to them, silently, "Angels, help me. Help me cope. I don't know what to do. Please help me." And I thanked them with love.

Then, almost immediately, they answered me in my mind. It wasn't in words, exactly, or in pictures. It was kind of both and neither at the same time. Because of that, I can't quote what they said. But the message was very clear. They told me I need to love myself unconditionally, I need to forgive myself for all the mistakes I've made in this lifetime, and I need to accept myself completely, just the way I am.

This sounds crazy, right? Was I actually just having a chat with my own subconcious? Who knows? They didn't tell me how to go about doing these things, but I did get a mental picture of me opening up my inner self like one would open a treasure chest full of radiant light. And I felt at peace. That's stuck with me, with just a couple of short dips into sadness. I guess it doesn't really matter where the message came from. It just matters that I received it.

I want everyone to understand that I don't expect anyone to believe me, or to take any of this as an invitation to adopt my beliefs. We are, I think, each on our own journey. We can walk together for awhile and share in each other's journey, but I'm pretty sure we each have to find our own way the best we can. My intention is not to convince anyone that I'm right and they're wrong. I'm simply offering this to you as food for thought. Or you can dismiss it out of hand, even laugh at it. It doesn't matter in the long run. We each have free will, and so we can choose whatever path we want to travel.

Well, again, this is awfully long. The other revelation I experienced will have to wait until my next blog entry. Sorry. I promise I will do my best to write about it tomorrow.

Thank you for letting me share my story with you. Peace and joy to you all.

What happened?

You might be wondering that, because it's been over a month since I wrote my last blog entry. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I'll try to figure it out.  First, I got tired of beating my head againts walls and backed way off from trying, futiley, to fight my way out of going nowhere. I didn't give up, exactly, but I did realize that I need to choose my battles more wisely. Once I did, I was much happier. For awhile all I did was watch tv shows and movies, along with a few documentaries, on my iPad. I was kicking back, trying to renew my mental, emotional and spiritual energy. It worked pretty well and that also made me happier.

However, I had some infections going that had me feeling bad and causing me pain. My doctor doesn't like prescribing medicine, especially pain meds and antibiotics.  So, for weeks, I just lay in bed feeling pretty awful. It culminated, eventually, into a severe pain on my left side. I was sent to the emergecy room. They did a ct scan but couldn't see anything so they sent me back to the nursing home. The next day, the pain got worse and worse until my stomach grew distended and hard and I spent the entire night screaming with pain. It wasn't as painful as giving birth, but it was close.

So the next morning I went back to the emergency room. This time they did an x-ray and found the problem. I had a bowel impaction, which meant that nothing was getting through. Think about that for a quick moment. Don't dwell on it, though, because it's an icky mental image.

So they put a tube down my nose and admitted me into the hospital. I was there 8 days.

I won't go into the gritty details of my treatments. They, happily, involved getting intravenous antibiotics, which coincidently cleared up my infections, so yay for that. And I got this dandy IV pain medicine which, when given too quickly, made me throw up, which you do NOT want to do when you have a tube going down your throat. But, at the same time, it gave me a hell of a rush, which sent me back to the '60s. I never actually shot anything up back then, but the rush from my pain med gave me a better understanding of why people get hooked on that kind of thing. And how it can turn into a very steep slippery slope. I even considered lying about my pain to get more, but, thankfully, resisted the urge.

Gradually, day by day, I got better and better. They finally took the tube out of my nose, and my sore throat got better until I could talk again. Not being able to talk -- now, THAT was painful.

The experience was extremely educational and I learned some real spiritual lessons, as well. In fact, I had a true spirtual revelation. Two of them.

This entry is too long to tell you about them today, but I will explain about these revelations in my next entry. I promise not to let 6 weeks go by between entries this time.

Thank you to everyone who gave me love and support while I was sick. You're the best. Love and peace. ❤️

Life. Don't talk to me about life.

I have scabies. If, like me, you have never heard of this before, especially not in regard to it invading your own personal body, here's the down-low:

Scabies consists of itty-bitty, teeny-tiny mites that burrow under your skin and lay eggs. And, oh god, does it itch! This causes the kind of itching that makes you want to run around like a hysterical cartoon character, howling and trying to dig them out of your skin.

I noticed some bumps on my scalp many weeks ago and had my doctor take a look at them. His response all those weeks ago was to wait and see. It didn't take long for the mites to find their way down to my forearm. It itched, I scratched, and now I have a bunch of angry-looking red spots on my arm.

How did I get scabies? I don't really know, since I have been up in my baby buggy (aka wheelchair that someone has to push me around in) exactly once since I first noticed something terribly wrong was happening on/in my scalp. So, since I have been in bed and only ever have two visitors -- and my therapist sits across the room from me -- I have to assume they either hitched a ride on someone who works here, or on my bed linens. Who knows?

Once my doc came back and it dawned on him what was happening, he said he'd prescribe a cream to apply from the neck down. I asked, "But what about my scalp?" He didn't answer. He just kept walking away. So I repeated, a little more loudly, "But what about my scalp? He just kept walking toward the door. So I said, with a lot more emphasis, "BUT WHAT ABOUT MY SCAAAAALP?" He reached the door and left.

So today the nurse walked in with the tube of cream he'd ordered. I told her it would be a waste of time and money to apply it without treating my scalp at the same time. At my request, she called the doc's office and requested a prescription for medicated shampoo. He answered, succinctly, that there was no shampoo to treat this. No suggestions, no ideas, just no. I searched far and wide on the net and, sure enough, he is right, except for some horse shampoo. I could use that, diluted with some regular shampoo, but decided this idea of covering every inch of my body with one small tube of cream, then leaving it on for 24 hours and showering it off the following day was a pretty stupid idea if I can't treat my scalp, too. So I asked them to call back and tell the doc I want the pill version of treatment. He hates prescribing any kind of medicine so chances are he'll refuse. 

If that happens, then I'll let them lather me with the cream he prescribed. I know they can't put it on my scalp because he ordered it to be applied from the neck down. But I can defy his orders. I'll just yank the tube away from the aide, put a globfull in my hand and massage my scalp with it, myself. I don't know what else I could do. But taking a couple of pills would be so much easier and more effective.

My life just gets more and more delightful as time goes on, doesn't it? Why, I'm a veritable ray of sunshine.

Hope your life is constantly on the upswing. And avoid scabies at all costs.

Here I Go Again

Sorry it's been so long since I wrote my blog. I pretty much backed away from everything and everybody for awhile because I was so directionless and confused that even my own thoughts were like trying to walk through a whirlwind.

I had been working on tearing down the walls of my best and most effective defense mechanism, which was excellent when I was in grades 5 through 12, but had the unfortunate effect of shutting out a lot of emotions and spontaneity when I became an adult. But I made one major error. I didn't have anything ready to take its place. Like I told my therapist, I was like a hit and run victim for any emotion that came along. They were out of control, and I had some panic attacks that proved it.

So I pulled back into my cave to try and sort things out. It was not a good existence, but was necessary if I didn't want my life to become one long panic attack.

The good part of trying that panic-filled experiment was that it loosened up my inhibitions a bit. When I hear catchy music, I just start dancing and don't care who sees me. I'm sure I look comical, reclining in bed with my arms waving, shoulders twitching and moving my torso around as best I can. If someone sees me, then fine. They can dance, too. The last time was when I was listening to Slacker Radio and they played "Staying Alive" by the BeeGees. I just couldn't help myself.

So I'm having more fun now.

Then I was blessed with a visit from my best friend and, awhile later, from my daughter, Josi, who lives too far away from me to visit often. That visit was wonderful. It really lifted my spirits.

Oh, by the way, I may be mentioning Dialectical Behavior Therapy a lot. I read an overview of it and, from what I could tell, it looks a lot like what I'd come up with to make my life easier. I was attracted to it because it is structured, so much better than what I have been doing, which was bouncing around different ideas like an out of control super-bouncy-ball which had been thrown into a tiny empty closet. That was exhausting, because I was the ball.

From now on, my mottos will be, "que será será," "c'est la vie" and "shit happens." 

So root for me. Right now I'm still riding the high from my daughter's visit, but that won't last forever, and dark days are sure to roll in like unexpected thunderstorms. Me, myself and I will be working to learn how not to get struck by emotional lightning when they arrive.

Love and serenity to you all. ❤️

Attitude of Gratitude

Awhile back I posted three to five things I was grateful for in a gratitude journal every day. I was amazed at what a difference it made in my perspective on life. Don't know why I stopped. I hit a brick wall, I guess, and lost my way.

Seems to me that making a daily list here would help keep my blog from spiraling into the depths of despair. So I am going to add this habit to the beginning of my blog and see what comes from it.

I am grateful for:

Letting go of my lifelong habit of always keeping my emotions in control, challenging as it is to forge forward without an effective defense mechanism.

The result of letting go of being under strict self-control means that I am more capable of being more spontaneous. And I'm finding that to be a lot of fun.

My children, Josi and Mike. I'm proud of both of them. I'm grateful that we have a loving relationship, even though we live far apart.

My capability of patience and tolerance. They grew out of my now-defunct defense mechanism, but apparently didn't need to be sacrificed along with it. I'm grateful for that. They make my life much more tolerable.

I think that's all I'll do for tonight. There are other things that are chaotically whirling around in my mind but I'm  too confused about them to say anything sensible.

May your lives be full of grace and may you have multitudes of things to be grateful for.  Love, joy and peace to all.

Lyra, about 18 months. A fantastic reason for me to be grateful.

Summoning Up My Feisty Soul

My blood sugar has been hovering from the 300s to the 600s since before last Christmas. Unfortunately, they've had no success at sending me to see an endocrinilogist so nobody really knows why my blood sugar is so high. The easiest reason to blame is what I eat. So every time I see a doctor or nurse, I am inevitably bombarded with accusations that I'm eating too many carbohydrates and sweets so I am to blame for this high blood sugar by making bad food choices. The fact is they don't know what I'm eating. I try to tell them but they don't believe me. They all but call me a liar. Meanwhile, I'm convinced that something is going wrong in my body. I'm not a doctor so I can only guess. Maybe my liver is creating too mant glucogens. Maybe my pancreas isn't producing insulin at all anymore. Maybe I've become more resistent to insulin. I'm just a layman living inside this body. Imagine what a doctor might discover that I don't have any knowledge about. The body is a complicated, intricate organism.

I'm pretty fed up at these accusations and dismissals of my opinions. In fact, I finally blew my top when tonight's nurse accused me of eating some bbq sauce on my sandwich because it is "so sugary." I had two tablespoons, which is one serving and contains 16 grams of sugar. A teaspoon of sugar is hardly going to shoot my blood sugar into the 400s. She also accused me of drinking regular Doctor Pepper and blamed that for my high blood sugar. Except that was diet Doctor Pepper. She didn't even bother to look. See why I'm frustrated and angry? I am being treated like a stupid, willful child and I am far from being that.

There's nothing I can do about this except see an endocrinologist and I'm going to have to raise hell to get them to make an appointment for me. They've been promising for months. So I guess I'll become a big pest about it.

I'm trying to think positive. I really am. But I feel like I'm in a fight without any weapons.  And I feel as if I'm being blamed, square-on, for my high blood sugar. I'm not stupid. I know what foods are healthy for me to eat. I have no way of procuring them, however. I suppose I'm just supposed to magically pull them out of thin air because this place certainly doesn't provide healthy food.

I'm planning to put all this aside as much as I can and concentrate on how it felt to run along the Gulf of Mexico and feel the sand and the waves squish between my toes and how, if I stood still and just let the shallow waves wash across my feet, how my feet would sink until they were covered by the wet sand. Since, as a child, I only lived 45 miles from the beach, there were many, many fun trips down there with family and friends.

I don't much like my life at the moment. I think I'll retreat to better days. That, and remembering playing barefoot in deep, green summer grass. I can almost smell it.

Angels, please help me find tranquility and help those around me take action to allow me to get well. Also, please surround me with love so I don't feel so alone. Thank you. Also, please give my love to my little spirit, Lyra, to let her know I love her just as much as when she shared this earth with us. Many thanks. ❤

I wish all of you love, comfort and tranquility. And fun -- lots of fun.

Mischievous Me

It happened again. I don't know what has gotten into me, but I just can't seem to stop myself. One of my friends on Facebook posted something that prompted people to begin a discussion about vegetarianism. I don't mind if people stop eating meat as long as they don't want me to stop eating meat, too. But a lot of people get really worked up about it, almost as worked up as Christian proselytizers, and they practically foam at the mouth about why it's bad to eat meat. Not all vegetarians are this way, but there are a few of them who have crossed my path. 

I'm an omnivore and don't plan to change my ways. I've heard all the many reasons I should feel guilty, even that I should feel guilty about how badly animals are treated in commercial establishments while the animals are still alive.

If those commercial producers would listen to me, I would give them a tongue lashing that would make their ears bleed and they would change their ways. But they don't care what I think. I think they're irresponsible inhumane goons, for what it's worth. But I can't do anything about it. Hell, I don't even have a choice of what I eat anymore, most of the time. That's one of the drawbacks of living in an institution.

I may be a bit defensive about being an omnivore after those numerous lectures. Probably am. So I started talking about how plants feel pain and scream when they're picked and cooked or eaten in a salad. I ended the post, "How could you?"

Oh, boy. That livened up the discussion. They really set me straight about how that's not true. I was even told by my friend that the participant who was arguing the most vehemently is a Botonist, so I should believe her.

I just replied, "Heh heh heh"

I don't know if they got that I had been putting them on or not, or whether they got miffed. I haven't checked to see if there was any reaction. That's the problem with being mischievous. The outcome is usually uncertain. The best thing about it is that it makes me laugh, anyway.

Us bedbound paraplegics gotta get our laughs where we can.

Happiness to the lot of you. And if you were a participant in the aforementioned discussion, no malice was meant. I hope you can find the humor there.

Naughty Girl

Sometimes I can't help myself. There is a streak of mischief in me that I commonly supress, but sometimes, especially when I feel rebellious, it just jumps out unexpectedly and, even while I'm being mischievous, I am astonished at myself. Neverthless, it pleases me. I become quite cheerful afterward.

Today I wasn't really all that bad. A very nice man, who contacted me after I joined the National Association for Spinal Injuries ( or something like that) visited me today. He's is going to advocate for me to see if he can get a doctor friend of his to take on my orthopedic surgery. I don't know what else he does. We'll see.

My naughtiness popped up when we started talking about Christianity. He is evidently a devoted Christian. I told him that I was not. I told him that I believe there is something greater than we are and that I love Jesus of Nazareth, but I cannot and will never believe that accepting Jesus as one's savior is the only way to reach heaven; that there are many, many pathways to reach Heaven. I told him that I believe God is pure love and wouldn't turn souls away because of what religion they believe in.

Then he said that the Bible says it's true. And I said that the Bible isn't always right

I should have shut up at the start of the conversation, but my inner imp was on a roll. Unfortunately, I never had a chance to tell him that my beliefs are just for myself,  squeezed out of events and experiences in my life and whatever he believed was all right with me. I wasn't saying he was wrong or that I was right. All I said was just me, as a traveller wandering through life, looking for my own pathway.

So, keep in mind, if my imp suddenly makes an appearance, don't take it too seriously. It'll quickly disappear again and I'll return to being morose and a deep-thinker again.

Sorry about missing my blog yesterday. I'm not awfully sure anybody's reading it, except for two or three friends. It's good to have an audience but, as any of you who are writers,know, it's a solitary endeavor and if you're writing to get accolades, you're probably going to be disappointed.

Anyway, yesterday I got involved in watching Doctor Who episodes starring David Tennant (yum!) and lost track of time. No excuse. I was just mesmerized. :-)

Have a happy day of distractions, peeps. Every now and then your brain needs a rest. ❤

Drool!

Rock-a-Billy Bedtime

A couple of aides came in earlier to do my peri-care and change the sheets on my bed. One of them had something attached to her uniform that was playing rock and rap music, but very quietly. 

I said, "Wanna see me dance?"

The other aide said, "You can dance?" She didn't believe me.

I said, "Hell yeah! I can ROCK  this bed!" And I started to dance.

The first aide turned up the music. Then both aides started to dance, too. We were having a Dance Partay!

It was lots of fun. It didn't last long, but it didn't need to. We were all grinning like a bunch of Cheshire cats. It really cheered up all three of us.

So I guess the answer when I have the doldrums is to turn on "Boom Boom Pow!" and give in to the beat.

I will never be a professional dancer, but I can move my arms, shoulders and head in inventive ways. And I can grin.

Come on , fellow travelers. Try dancing while you're sitting down. You'll be surprised at what you can do from there. And it's a lot of fun to do.

Have a groovy time. Dancing is outta sight. Do that as much as you can. If it's against your religion, surely sitting down and waving your arms in the air is OK. I hope so.

Love and peace and so much joy that you can't resist grinning like a Cheshire cat. ❤

Rebel Without a Cause

The hardest mood for me to deal with is "fight or flight" because I'm unable to do either. A nurse, who is new to this hall, argued with me because the aides were about to clean my peri area with a hospital version of Wet Wipes. I had been told by my regular nurse, who is familiar with my care, not to let the aides use them to clean me because they're bad for my skin. So I told the aides not to use them. The new nurse charged in like a pit bull at a neighborhood dog fight and started arguing with everything I said like it was a presidential debate and the world would be doomed if she didn't win. . She was so aggressive and fierce I gave up. She wasn't listening anyway. It was a case where she didn't believe me. How could an old woman like me, who lives in a nursing home, know anything about my own care? Hah! Impossible!

That was sarcasm. I could not reach her and that frustrated me because I really wanted to get up, feint with my left and then give her a good punch in the nose with my right. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't do anything, as usual.

I wonder what would happen if I gave in and screamed at the top of my lungs (and when I use my Sgt. Mom voice I am LOUD) to express how frustrated I am? My conscience is telling me that I would scare the bejabbers out of old folks here, possibly send some of them away to the afterlife, and, worst of all, confuse my roommate who doesn't need any help in that direction. So I can't do that, either.

Darn.

There's just nowhere for me to put all these emotions except inside me. And I can't vent them on anyone but myself. This is not a healthy situation, but I don't have any ideas on how to handle it.

So I'm not only a rebel without a cause, I'm a rebel with nobody to rebel against except myself. Circles. More and more circles. That's the way my life is right now. Same old same old.

And I'm bouncing off the walls inside my skull. I guess I need to keep practising my tolerance and patience instead of spinning my wheels. That doesn't get me anywhere. So que será será, right? What will be will be.

Pull your sombreros down over your eyes, prop your feet up on a chair and relax. What's so important that it can't wait for a siesta? I plan to siesta as much as possible, amigos. You all get a good rest, too.

Love you.

Personal Time

I wasn't running away when I skipped writing the past few days' blogs. I was trying to get my head straight. Spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling. That is, after I stopped crying and could focus my vision agaIn. I got really angry, mostly at myself, which is what I have tended to do throughout my life when things go wrong or I make a mistake. Couple that with the frustration of not being able to do anything about it and you get a hysterical anxiety attack complete with hitting the only person within reach. That would be me. I didn't put any force behind it, in order to avoid bruises. At the peak of my sorrow and anger and frustration, i exercised tremendous restraint. I did not scratch bloody gouges in my arms and face, which would have certainly helped distract me from my inner pain, but decided that would probably land me in a hellhole of a psych ward, possibly in restraints which would make my life much, much worse. Besides, I didn't deserve to be hurt that way.

Eventually I indulged myself by watching a lot of interesting documentaries. One of those was "The illusion of Time", a Nova show. It was thought-provoking. I recommend it. I couldn't help applying their ideas about time to the way my life has been the past four years. They said, in spite of the way we manage to sync time all over the world, the reality is that we each experience time in our own way. You know, like it seems to take forever to reach your cabin on the lake when you're heading out on vacation, but time seems to fly when you're kissing and snuggling with your sweetie. It's totally a subjective experience.

I suppose a lot of people visualize time as a never-ending line that stretches behind them and ahead of them. I always envisioned it as a spiral, like a spring. Now I don't know.  Scientists say that time and space are inseparable. What does this have to do with my situation? Not sure. It's just fun to think about.

All I know is that the less that things happen in my life, the faster time seems to go. You'd think it'd be the opposite, but when things disrupt my usual routine of nothingness, time seems to slow down so I can pay closer attention to them.

My therapist, today, suggested I talk to the administrator here like I write. He said my writing is eloquent. Alas, they are two very different forms of communication. I wish I had the administrator's email address. I'd send him an email. But he's just a pawn of the corporate office. I don't know if he has much, if any, power. He did visit me, pat my hand and advise that I think happy thoughts. This was  when I was in the throes of my panic attack. I was crying too hard to say anything, which was fortunate, because if I had been capable of expressing myself, I would have guffawed in his face at the ludicrous ineffectiveness of what he said. I think he means well and wasn't just being idiotic, though.

Anyway, I've calmed down. I still feel like somebody stomped on me with hobnail boots.  And I'm weary of the fight, almost as defeated as I was the time my second husband, drunk and stoned, held a knife across my throat. I told him, "oh go ahead. Kill me  and put me out of my misery." But mostly I just feel like sleeping. It's the only kind of break a person in my situation gets. Handicapped folks don't get vacations from their disabilities. Wish we could. Wouldn't that be great?

Peace. May your lives be eventful in positive ways. ❤