So . . . it’s been a while. And, man oh man, do I have some good excuses. I was at the ER 3 times in one week. The first time so they could put me through painful and humiliating tests and then fail to diagnosis my apendicitis. The second time was for more humiliating tests and a correct diagnosis of apendicitis . . . and then a 5 day stay in the hospital. (Side note: after my suregery, because the first ER and then my surgeon messed up, I couldn’t/can’t pee on my own. And let me tell you — there’s nothing that makes a girl feel sexy and confident like a warm bag of your own pee strapped to your leg!) THEN I was back at the ER the day after I got out of the hospital because I couldn’t breathe. THEN our car broke. THEN the house we are trying to sell broke (while people were looking at it) — the AC went out, the downstairs toilet leaked all over the hardwood floors, and the fire alarm was beeping. And then over the weekend our cat got hit and killed by a car.
If any one or two of these things had happened in isolation it would be manageable. Doable. It would be life being life. But all these things at once is a bit much. I know there are people out there in the world – in this country, town, and block – that are experiencing much worse things. Terrible, horrible, inhumane, unimaginable things. And yet . . . I still feel beat up. I feel scared. I feel like something is going to jump out and get me.
While driving, I am certain each and every car is going to hit us. While walking down the block I’m sure I’m going to get side swiped by a truck. Or stung by a bee. At the grocery store the lady in the produce isle in the red tank top with a sequenced cat on it is looking at me funny. I think that she and her sequenced cat are going to push me down and steal my cheese and tomatoes. Somehow it is not reassuring to me that this actually does not happen. On Sunday we took Zoey to a farm to see the animals. I was convinced that the yellow-eyed goat was going to paw at the ground, let lose with a foamy snarl from his mouth, and chew through the fence to attack me with rabid, spiky teeth. Now, as far as I know, goats don’t generally have spikey teeth. Or rabies. Or even exceedingly violent outbursts. And yet . . .
The world just seems to be a dangerous place right now. More so than usual. For now, I’m holding on and going through the motions. For now, I am lucky to have people that love me when I’m a little bit crazy and a little bit scared. And when I have a sexy bag of pee strapped to my leg.