Show Down At The Cry-Baby Corral

One of the strangest byproducts of being diagnosed with something significant has to be the other doors that open up. It’s related to a change of perspective, I suppose – the “big deals” suddenly aren’t. Likewise permission is granted and excuses are made because of one’s “condition”.

If you’re pregnant, for instance, moodiness is immediately excused, as are nasty eating habits and not caring that your socks don’t match. (I suppose if one cannot SEE ones socks, it makes little difference if they match or not.)

Today, for absolutely no reason at all, I was in a funk. It was nice outside (‘tho a bit breezy for my taste) and the cats were doing their best to keep me entertained, but I sat on my butt all day watching Soprano’s DVDs, eating just horridly-bad-for-me food and avoiding the things I should have been doing … like balancing my checkbook, or cleaning up the kitchen.

Also, I noticed that part of the funk came with a rather big chip on my shoulder. For what it is worth, I am very good about noticing moods in myself and, if there were anyone around to warn “look out – I’m not a happy person today. You’d do best to lay low all day”, I would. Ok, well I did tell the cats that – but they’re cats – laying low all day is kinda their job, after all.

I was reading some various items and continued to find myself thinking “really? That's your biggest problem? Do you know what I’d give to have that be my biggest problem?” I’m not at all proud to admit this, but after the fifth time of finding myself doing this, I realized that I was feeling sorry for myself.

Since “all this” began, I have actively avoided riding on the pity pony around the cry-baby corral. My task, as I’ve laid it out for myself, is to do everything in my power to be sure that my Aunt and my Cousin get through their battles, and then (and *only* then) will I selfishly focus on me (she said, with irony … and pity). Now I have a whole squad of doctors, caregivers, nurses, and medical professionals that have given me the green light to go into full-on breakdown mode whenever I’d like. But I don’t understand what that would solve really. I mean – it wouldn’t change anything … save for making the cats even more clingy to me. (They’re very sensitive to my moods, and seem to know when I “need” to be treated to extra purrs and when it is best to just to get lost.)

At least once a week, I draw a very long, very hot bubble bath, grab a good book, and soak for a few chapters – or until I fall asleep. But today, the only thing leakier than the bath faucet was me. And it came without warning – and with some pretty significant anger … dare I say “rage?” … that I didn’t expect. It scared me and as some may tell you, I don’t scare easily.

I’m writing this at 5:45pm – and I’m still vaguely livid. I’m unsure as to what triggered this “attack”, and yes, it’s possible that it was just time for me to randomly let all this out of my system. Whatever it is, I sure hope I get it together before I try to sleep tonight. I like falling asleep to the purrs.