I've taken to cutting my hair. Never a good sign.
I think I do this when I feel out of control, like when I was pregnant. The bigger was my belly, the smaller were the hairs on my head until I was holding my newborn sporting a Dachau hairdo.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend. Although, apparently there are an alarmingly large number of people who would not find Holocaust references offensive since they don't believe it happened in the first place.
Have you seen this?
I mean, WHAT THE HELL?
Not the best thing for me to be reading in my current state. Which is a sort of manic depression. Not the sort that has me flying all over the world, maxing out my credit cards one second and driving to a mountain cliff to toss my belongings over the edge the next second which is something someone I know did, in fact, do.
My manic depressed state comes disguised as a tse-tse fly infection until midnight when I stand in front of the fridge clearing every shelf into my expanding gut. For speed, you know, because of the mania. I put lip to shelf and then tip at just the right angle and items slide right in. Very efficient.
I feel out of control. My efforts at self-betterment backfire. I read Why French Women Don't Get Fat and soon I am drinking wine with every meal, enjoying my buttered baguettes and savoring daily bites of dark chocolate and what happens? The weight, she piles on. Mon dieu! C'ést vrai! Quelle horreur!
Earlier this week I had a new patient appointment with the family doctor I found for, well, the family. Dave was going to see her too but she's too far away for his tastes. He likes convenience, have I mentioned? He wants to find a doctor in our bathroom, waiting with his clipboard and blank expression, asking the same questions answered on the phone and at the front desk and then again when the nurse comes in and out in the flowered top and powder blue pants.
But not this doc. My new doc. She came in with her laptop, sat down in front of me balancing the computer on her knees and chatted for about forty minutes. I sat across from her, my torso dripping down the wall, barely able to keep my eyes open.
THE FATIGUE! Is it normal? What is going on?
She asked questions and I kept jolting awake, Huh? Wha'? wiping the drool from my chin with my limp hand.
And that is how the intake went. It ended with a baseline EKG and a stack of lab slips being pressed into my hand the way my great grandmother used to close my fingers around a nickel at the end of a visit. We're going to take all my blood out, examine it, shoot it up with amphetamines and put it back in while my boob gets flattened into a dinner plate and I run on the treadmill, or something like that. I don't remember exactly what was said. I think I fell asleep.
I've been neglectful of the blog, of your blogs, of emails and phone calls. Dave's been sick since Saturday. The sitter cancelled again.
WHAT ARE WE, ICKY?
Why don't I open the door to a veritable flood of young college girls bobbing in the melting snow on our front lawn, just dying to play with the boy and cook us organic meals and spit shine the tub?
Okay. It'll all work out. Spring is almost here. That is what sustains me. Spring! Dying easter eggs! The hopeful blossoms of crocuses, hyacinth, the trumpeting daffodils, heralding softer winds and brighter skies!
Oh, and speaking of that, Fluffy and I have been having a great time reading The Trumpet of the Swan. We recently re-read an all-time favorite, Make Way For Ducklings and now I can't wait to get to Boston for a visit. For the first time, being in the Public Gardens, taking a ride on the swan boats, and feeding the ducks will mean something to him. And therefore to me.
Because we are the same person.
Of course not.
But in a way, yes.
But, no! How codependent of me!
But listen to this: when your kids are doing well, you are doing well. When your kids are struggling, you are struggling.
I love the Al-Anon and you can recite every slogan and put up banners emblazoned with the steps and detach until you're a whisper white cloud looking down serenely on all mankind but it's still true.
And that is that.