Today I wuz born

Some thoughts on this day, the anniversary of my birth.

As Elton sang, "I don't have much money but boy if I did ..."

The thing with money, I have always had enough. Not excessive. I have food, shelter, medicine. When I was working, I could not afford big screen TVs or trips to Argentina. I could afford to buy anything I saw at the supermarket, including prime rib. I could afford to help my friend and her husband who struggled to raise a soccer-playing brood.

Now I need to learn to live on much, much less. In fact, more than a third of my income is spent on medical costs and insurance. Another third on housing and the third third on bills. Notice anything missing?

My body speaks volumes about age.

I wear my war wounds with pride -- in your face youth. I bet people wonder about the marks on my arms. No one finds the guts to ask. Maybe the o2 tank diverts those thoughts. I remember how I used to think. Now the understanding I have makes me ashamed for the younger me.

http://www.wikihow.com/Be-a-Girly-Girl

"No, not me, no way, Jose." I guess the ugly duckling never underwent her metamorphosis. While my contemporaries rolled their hair on oj cans, I watched Game of the Week. While the Vickies of high school practiced cheerleading moves, I read books. So I missed girly-girl lessons.

The hippie thing came and I found perfection. Jeans, T-shirts and no bra. After the days of girdles and hose, this was heaven.

Now nightshirts and long gowns anchor my wardrobe. I have lost about 65 pounds the last few years. Now I have two pairs of jeans and two shirts that fit. My dress up clothes.

"I've loved, I've laughed and cried ..."

Mostly the latter.

The golden relationship alludes me but I have wonderful friends. My boys offer unconditional love (unless I fail to feed them frequently).

Glad I wuz born

Dude, I miss you especially today.

Later.

Small world

My hiney still hurts, but I believe a bit less. I spent most of yesterday lying on the couch in a Tylenol haze. I caught glimpses of several football games but could not tell you a single play or even who won.

I have been chilly the past day or so, but rather than adjust the thermostat, I got out a warmer blanket for the couch. (Outside temperatures run in the 90s.) Satchmo makes it one of his sleep stops now. His napping places rotate during the day like a sunflower follows the sun.

Many days I just go through the motions of living. I know, I need to get out. But what if I do not want to? I fear the habit that becomes a necessity that becomes a phobia. So far, the little old lady mask works, but what if a time comes when it will not? Then what will be my crutch?

I am not ready to die, but this existence does not work either. The first step of change always is the hardest.

Dude.

Later.

Saturday serenade

My large blue trashcan lies on its side with a black tail slowly sweeping back and forth. Satchmo regularly trolls this trashcan. Momo chews and plastic ranks as a favorite. Right up there also: anything with stick'um on it, like envelopes or prescription labels. Perhaps a vitamin or mineral deficiency? Some cats suck material, so I guess chewing on plastic is not so bad, though ingesting it causes another set of problems.

Then there is the small dish I keep on my recycled footlocker/coffee table. In a former life, this container was an ashtray. Now it holds distilled water. The boys, particularly Momo, like this arrangement. Relatively fresh water all the time. I keep a jug of water by the footlocker.

Somewhere in the room, a cricket sends out his mating call, hoping Ms. Cricket finds his tune irresistible. I am afraid Ms. Cricket lies in the dumpster down the way. Maybe he realizes this because he no longer sings of love.

My tailbone makes life tough right now. Standing or walking poses no problem. Sitting or getting up hurts like heck. Tylenol dulls the pain but does not kill it. I can live with dull, but I need to watch the amount of Tylenol I take because of the interaction with Tracleer. I do not need a liver upset as well.

My health is much like fighting brush fires. You smother one smoldering spot and a second sizzles. We learn to live with the situation because the alternative is not. Our bodies break down no matter what our minds say. PH adds the wheels and pushes the process right along.

Where are you Dude?

Later.

Out of sight...

... out of mind.

Of course if I stay hidden all day, what do I expect? You have to give to get. I fail that requirement. I have fallen into this pattern of self-abuse. Ignoring everyone and then wondering why no one cares. I put myself out there again, then hide some more. Insecurities abound.

Today I am so sore I hardly can move. When I cough my tailbone hurts. I canceled lunch with Boopie and Alex.

The curtains hang again. The kitchen seems more friendly.

Dude.

Later.

Bodies break

Why I thought I could hop up on that chair escapes me. I think my mind says I am 20 and my body says, "Hey stupid."

I hit just to the right of the tailbone and somehow managed to bruise the area just above the cankle on the left.  Getting up and down takes forever right now. I have not gotten used to the location of the most pain. I bet I learn in a hurry.

The plan was to clean the very top of the window in the kitchen. Much of the grime lies on the outside, but I wanted the inside at least clean. I decided on the chair rather than the stool because the stool has a screw missing on one of the steps. Another dumb move.

I feel blessed that I did not break anything. I questioned the advisability even as I was trying to do it. I should have listened.

My body will not take sitting at the computer for long.

Miss you Dude.

Later.

The Cat Who ...

Meet the orphan. She has no momma around, but she knows cat.

Not having a kitten around for nearly nine years, I delighted in the miniature cat. She does all the things big cats do only teeny, tiny. A dynamo for 10 minutes, then, like one of those fainting goats, Morpheus grabs her. She melts into sweetness.

The baby was the victim of a couple of preteen boys who wanted the kitten. After parents of the preteens said absolutely not, the necessity of finding a home for the kitten somehow fell on Connie. She recruited me to hold said kitten while we tried the various shelters in town.

Connie would take the kitten and walk into the facility. A few minutes later, here she came with the kitten in her arms. One shelter killed the animals after three days if not adopted. Another was full. Dozens of calls resulted in no home.

Connie lives in a neighborhood with a continully rotating population of ferral cats. Some well-meaning somebody decided to feed the cats years ago. Feline leukemia runs rampant in the colony and Connie did not want to send the kitten to a life of misery until death took over.

I live in a smallish apartment. I have two cats. I have no doubts my boys would love to have a kitten, especially Satchmo who still has plenty of kitten left in him. I, on the other hand, can barely keep up with the cat food-litterbox cycle. And that issue is but one of many.

***

I cleaned the sliding glass doors in my bedroom and even gave the porch and walls a brushing with the broom. The glass on the doors had not been cleaned for, well, we will not go there. Now if I could find the energy to do that a couple more times, the glass would be sparkling. While I was slaving away, a yellowjacket decided to leave its mark on my index finger.

***

Connie took the kitchen curtains to wash. The window's nakedness emphasizes the emptiness. The kitchen does not look lived in although dishes and appliances take up space on the countertops. Lack of color. Dark wood cabinets, yellow range and vent hood, white dishwasher, small appliances and curtains.

***

Today looks more and more like a rest day. PH sucks.

I miss you, Dude.

Later.

War on buzz

The invasion starts. Yesterday the flies clung to the kitchen window looking for warmth. The air conditioning causes them grief. (I suppose the time of year also has something to do with their numbers.) Pogo and Satchmo displayed their great hunter skills for half a day and then grew weary of the game. So I purchased a fly swatter and joined the fun.

Jimini's relatives decided to take up residence in my apartment as well. The boys found this game more fun, after all these guys can jump. Still, after an hour or so with bodies littering the apartment from one end to the other, the lure of a nap won. I played my role of insect mortician and disposed of the bodies.

* * *

Connie and I used our brains yesterday and went to PetSmart and the grocery. Energy wise, two stops worked out well.

* * *

I emailed a copy of the spoon theory to my brother, who shared with mom. I am hoping the piece will help them understand why some days I cannot do anything. If you are unfamiliar with the spoon theory, below is the link. The story is lengthy, but quite good.

http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf

* * *

The past three months or so I seem to hide more. I realize I am failing my friends. Am I being selfish? Am I scared? How can I help my friends when I cannot help myself? Is this faulty thinking?

* * *

Always, Dude.

Later.