Doing my part to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.
I’m not to sure how I am right now. Here is what I do know.
I’m depressed. I have no will to do anything or I am so frustrated that I’m ready to blow up. My body feels heavy, slow and my joints hurt. That’s not including the dislocated rib and the cold sores. I can’t think or speak well. I’m sleeping more and pretty much feel like a blob, with no distinct feelings or desires. I can’t taste anything.
What I’m capable of doing right now.
Getting dressed for a few hours. Reading, Pinterest and YouTube. Maybe eating.
I was backed into an emotional corner today and snapped. They say we have a flight or fight instinct, and I can stand a lot of crap but I am a fighter and take no prisoners when I start – someone is going down, and I’m out for blood.
I know what I said was the emotional truth but I wish I could have said it with more compassion.
I remembered an old joke about a couple who were traveling when the call of nature hit urgently, and the only place they could find was a biker bar. As they asked where the bathroom was, they could feel all faces on them.
‘It’s upstairs on your left they were told’ – the wife took off, leaving the husband behind to deal the loud and rough group in the room. Entering the first left-hand door, she was surprised to find a small room with only a tin can sticking out of the floor, but she could not stop – she had to go.
Finished with her dirty deed, she was glad to have her purse and extra supplies so she could clean up before returning downstairs but that is when she noticed how quiet it was. Afraid for her husband’s life she hurried down to find the bar empty and smelling rank. It was by far the worst bar she had ever been in and would certainly be leaving a nasty comment about it. Heading outside she found her husband along with all the bar patrons in animated conversation while spraying themselves down with water.
As it was a hot day, she thought maybe it was some kind of fun activity and joined her husband. After the wash down the men starting talking about the incident.
‘Which incident,’ she asked.
The men look at her in disbelief. ‘Where were you when the Shit hit the fan?’
That was the joke, but I have always wondered what happened after that. My life right now seems to be at that stage – crap everywhere, and I’m not sure how or where to start the clean-up. Sometimes I wish I could be like the monkeys from Madagascar – ‘Of course, we are going to fling poo’ or ‘If you have poo, fling it now.’ At least I could get rid of it.