A cautionary tale?

Last night, not too long after I had turned off the lights, my doorbell rang. My apartment complex lies in a modest neighborhood but the complex itself shows signs of its age. Since the rent falls in the lower bracket, so does the tenant population.

I opened the door to a woman, who at first glance was a hipster. Jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Spiked blonde hair. She asked for a woman whom I was not. She told me she had locked her keys in her car and asked if I had a phone she could use. I brought the phone to the door and let her call her daughter in Perryton. She had no coat and I let her into the apartment to wait for the locksmith to arrive. Seeing her in the light, she must have been in her middle to late 50s.

I sat on the couch while she stood at the door waiting for the man to arrive. She talked nervously about how her 38-year-old daughter caused her trouble. Then she told me this was the third time in a month she had locked her keys in her car. She offered to pay me for use of the phone. Finally, the man came and the woman left.

I have energy to clean today, which means this ugly mess will soon stop hanging over me. I also have to track down my Tracleer shipment. Accredo scheduled the delivery for yesterday. Nope, did not make it. I called the complex office. Nope, not there. (UPS delivered my Tyvaso to the office this time. Accredo requires a signature. I wonder who signed?) I have noticed a new UPS guy, too. If I were to give him a grade: epic fail!! In the meantime, I have 1.5 days of Tracleer left. I have a FT friend who has an appropriate name for this situation: Helena Handbasket.

I am one lucky woman. I miss you, Dude.

Later.

As time goes by

Two years ago I lost someone whom I did not know well but at the same time I knew for as long as time and space itself. I will never know what if, but I do know what.

I ponder why you made such an impact, Dude.

You came into my life at a time when my life had turned upside down. I lost a career of close to 40 years. I had no time to make adjustments or even to make choices. I felt hopeless and vulnerable and numb. I was alone with me. All my friends worked and soon many of them dropped me from their lives. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.

Then, by chance or fate, I met you online. I fell in love with you in a long-distance, will never meet kind of way. You filled a hole in my being. I felt, as I am sure most of your many, many friends did, needed by you as well. Talking to you about your issues made mine disappear for awhile. You confided in me, and I grew protective like an animal momma with her babies. You hit a bumpy stretch and I wanted to do everything I could to make that path smooth. You hurt and I wanted to hold you and wipe the pain away. Yet even in that mess of a time, you showed me how one can let go of the anger and move on.

I grew to know you by the way you reacted to events in your life. I knew how you felt about the folks in your "real life," how you compartmentalized. Did you set up the Post-Thanksgiving Fantasy Hockey League with the players you did consciously or subconsciously? What would you think about how events played out after you died?

Once you told me you were sorry. Once you told me thank you. Two simple phrases that were more precious than any gifts you could have purchased.

That first year I grieved for you with an intensity I never believed possible. How could your death affect me so when I knew you for such a short time? I managed to get through the year with help from a couple of unlikely  friends who have continued to help me. I hope I have helped them in return.

Yep, Dude. I miss you. You still have a place in my heart.

Laters.

Pre-Thanksgiving thanks

OK, so maybe I can write today.

I am thankful for the little gestures. I am thankful for understanding people. I am thankful for kitties who look adoringly at me as they purr and pat my face with their paws. I am thankful for friends who step in to help others at my behest. I am thankful for the time I got to spend with you, Dude.

I hope to get out and run some errands with Connie. I am, however, sinking fast after a shower and washing my hair. Time to hit the couch for a recharge.

Laters, Dude.

P.S. I called Doc. I started a prednisone taper at 40 mg and I am taking three antibiotic pills a day, plus nebbing albuterol 4 times a day. I am a mean medicine machine. Ha!!

SOS

Life buzzes all around me. The holidays loom. Me, I want to hide. Life conspires against shutting myself away. For one thing, the kitties love to eat and they are not shy about letting me know they have no food in their dishes. I avoid leaving my haven.

Why do men seem to forgive more easily than women?

The great debate continues: Am I sick enough to call Doc? I have been sick two weeks tomorrow. OK. I think I answered my own question.

I worry too much, Dude.

Later.

Thankful

I teetered on the edge of the abyss again. Again someone rescued me.

Later, Dude.

What a mess

I am having that debate with myself. You know the one: Am I sick enough to call Doc? I have bronchitis I am pretty sure. Do I try harder to do the albuterol and Mucinex, which I only half-assed did to begin with? If I wait until Monday to see if I am better, will I have to go to the hospital because I waited? Doc will want to see me I am pretty sure and I really do not want to clean up and go. I will have to decide soon because the office closes at noon.

The cloud hanging above has dissipated some; more like nagging now. I find something to worry about if I have nothing.

Later, Dude.

Tired, so tired

I am tired today. Tired of my self-imposed isolation. Tired of feeling helpless when my friends need help that I cannot provide. Tired of offering help only to have it rejected. Tired of wanting to do more beyond my capabilities. Tired of feeling like a second-class sickie. Tired of pushing away those who attempt to break the barrier between us. Tired of feeling guilty for actions or situations over which I have no control. Tired of feeling like I cannot do enough. Tired that I worry about others' perception of me. Tired of how a simple gesture can become an obsession. Tired of feeling no one cares. Tired of disparity.

Miss you, Dude. Laters.