Sometimes the
power of positive thinking fails me. After determinedly announcing I felt
better toward the end of last week, Friday I had to give in and admit I really
didn’t feel well. I decided to take the weekend to feel better; if I didn’t, I’d
call the doctor Monday. Friday, Saturday and most of today I didn’t do anything
I didn’t want to. Mostly I slept—a whole lot!—and read. I didn’t worry about
writing, cooking, etc. I ate very tentatively, very little. I’m making no
promises to myself, but I think it worked. I’ve felt halfway human yesterday and
pretty much all the way there today. After all my psychological explanations to
myself—I was worried about everything from my career to my upcoming trip or so
I told myself—I think I had a stomach bug. Jordan wisely asked, “Could we wait until
after our trip to worry about your career?” And a wise friend said, “Stop
worrying about how you’ll get on and off the boat. The crew is expert at that,
and it’s their job. Just relax and enjoy.” Besides, I know Jordan takes such
good care of me when we travel. Today she said I should call and get an x-ray
of my hip in case we have to show it at security. Seems extreme to me, but she
knows best.
Sophie has been a
sympathetic companion. Saturday morning, she hopped up on the bed when it was
time, she thought, for me to get up. Usually she only stays long enough to jiggle
me out of bed (she’s not a good cuddler), but this time she stayed probably
half an hour. She’d snuggled up close to me, and I’d think she had settled in—only
to have her twitch and shift positions every two minutes. It was required that
I have one hand on her at all times, and that hand had to be moving, even if
only ever so slightly—petting, rubbing, scratching, some sign I was paying attention.
Sometimes she’d end up with her face right in my face for a nose lick; other
times she buried her head in the crook of my shoulder. You get the point—she was
never still. Only when I asked, “Want to go potty?” did she jump down.
As I’ve said a
thousand times, I don’t think I could live happily without a dog.
Jacob was away at
camp last week, home yesterday, and leaves again tomorrow for a few days. I’m
going to bake some chocolate chip cookies for him to take. Right now.
I’m increasingly disturbed
by extreme trump supporters, their virulent hatred, and their blindness to the
truth. Many many things about trump disturb me, prime among them his war on our
environment and wild animals, but I am struck lately by the way he plays people
at his rallies, whips them up to a frenzy. Jim Acosta is right—someone is going
to be badly hurt. These are people it’s easy to whip up—the raw anger on their
faces is as amazing and frightening as their words. Many uneducated, they truly
believe he is decreasing their taxes and raising their income; they support his
antagonism toward international leaders; they praise his harsh immigration
policies. They seem to have no idea about future consequences and only live in
the moment of their anger. I am truly worried about the future of our country,
but I refuse to give up hope. Maybe, indeed, that was what was wrong with my
stomach.
Peace, friends. My
cookies are done—and so am I.
No comments:
Post a Comment