I’ve always made an effort to be completely honest on this here rambling blog of mine, and by honest I mean humorous. I would assume that most of you readers appreciate it, otherwise why would you be reading right? There is no financial compensation. I’m not throwing Andrew Jackson’s or even George Washington's your way and I have yet to do a giveaway of anything other than tips. My, my what a cheapskate am I! But somehow people still read my words or at least visit my site. I guess I shouldn’t assume that visits to my site always result in the reading of my posts. You could just be staring at the computer screen, drooling, because you got to my blog by accident when you Googled “pee like a racehorse.” If that was you, I sort of would like to know. We might be kindred spirits.
Anyway, I guess I would just like to say thanks for reading, no matter how often you visit or even if this is the only post of mine you will ever read. I’d like to pretend that I’d be okay just writing to an audience of one (the Husband), but that guy is so biased about me it’s not even funny. Plus I’m blackmailing him. If he was my only reader that would just be sad and sick. Cheers to you all for making me less pathetic.
Now if you’ll please indulge me, I’m going to stray from my normal course today.
While I do consider myself a very private person (surprise!), I also consider myself a very open person. Is this an oxymoron? Well if it is then I’m a walking talking oxymoron. Understandably not everyone is this way. Not everyone is a freak like me. Not everyone wants people knowing their business. For this reason I have tried to only blog about me and my thoughts, sometimes with a little peppering of the Husband (with every intention of asking for his permission), and my children who have not yet reached the age of caring. Other family and friends I offer immunity, unless otherwise stated in our relationship contract. That reminds me, Daryl, I’m still waiting for your signed copy (just kidding I don’t know any Daryls).
My nice arrangement hasn’t been working out lately though, due to recent events that affect me but aren’t really mine to talk about. Really messes up this whole self-involved blog of mine for sure, as it should. But then I have that nagging problem of festering thoughts gone unspoken. It’s a classic dilemma for those who blog and write for cathartic purposes. And I desperately need to cathart.
So what I write now is for me. I need to write this. I reek of selfishness. I’m coping.
So far I’ve tried to keep things light-hearted, focusing on immensely silly things, sometimes lovely things, and sometimes things that are just plain crazy. These things make me happy.
But the honest reality is that life doesn’t always fit into these carefree categories. Sometimes crappy things happen that make this blog seem so trivial and dare I say meaningless. Sometimes you just can’t bring yourself to partake in the unimportant.
Sometimes you find out someone near and dear has cancer. Damn cancer.
And suddenly this little web nook of mine is pointless. This could be said for a lot of things though, when something happens that messes up your world’s axis. Eating palatable food suddenly seems less important. Finding that perfect shade of lipstick seems trite. Showering seems like a waste of time. Exercise? Yeah right.
But here’s the very mature conclusion that I’ve come to over the past few days: Life doesn’t have to suck, even though sucky things happen. What my conclusion lacks in poetry it makes up for in truthfulness.
That means I’m not going to allow disgusting food to slide down my gullet or the gullets of my loved ones just so we don’t die of starvation. I’m going to make an effort and eat only deliciousness. I’m going to shave my legs and take bubble baths. I’m going to make my house pretty. I’m going to continue to make my kids put their toys away. I’m going to people watch and laugh when I see ridiculous things happening right before my eyes. I’m going to dance like a monkey on crack with my boys. I’m going to smile occasionally. And I’m going to blog. This is what helps me get by.
Because I’ve tried the other options. And they don’t work very long for people who want to live life, people such as myself.
Like anger. I tried that. A deep seething in my soul that made me want to scream so loud I’d kill the birds chirping outside. Cursing at everything (mostly under my breath lest my children pick up a bad habit) because none of the more civil-like words could adequately express the edge and sharpness going on inside my pissed off mind. Damn cancer. Angry at the weather man for being a couple degrees off. Angry at the leaves accumulating in my driveway. Angry that the hair on my armpits grows diagonally in one spot. Angry that this chocolate bar doesn’t taste more chocolaty. Damn cancer and damn everything.
But all this anger only led to Bosco asking Daddy why Mommy was so mad. Not exactly good parenting on my part right there.
So then I tried sadness. Tears. Unstoppable tears. Albeit necessary, at some point the tear ducts and puffy eyes needed a break. I could barely see, what with these beady little eyes I had going on.
Then I tried being contemplative, too contemplative (there is such a thing). Thinking. Over-thinking. Worrying. Asking questions, particularly to God. Questions that just turned into one huge ramble. God why? This is a nightmare. Why this nightmare? Surely there’s a purpose beyond the suckiness of it all. There is a purpose in all things right? Except for ants of course. Ants are purposeless. So what is the purpose of this damn cancer God? Please excuse my language. Actually can you help me with this anger first and then tell me the purpose?
And that brings me to where I’m at right now, reasonably contemplative with a mixture of clarity. This is my current forecast.
I know at least what I need to know right now.
I know that I’ve become in tune with the thousands of people and their families going through the same thing right this very minute. I know how they all feel. I now have true empathy.
I know what is good and true.
And more importantly . . . I know this isn’t so much about me. I may feel some of the emotional effects, but I’m not the one with the damn cancer (anger not totally gone yet apparently). I’m not the one who has to go through chemo and radiation, and all that goes along with that. I’m not the one who has to go to sleep each night and wake up each morning with this crap in my body. I don’t have to feel that particular pain and fear. I just have to do what I can do right now and that is be present, in mind and in spirit. Intently and actively present.
So that’s what I’m going to do.
Note: Sorrys are not my style right now. If you feel inclined to leave a comment because um, I love comments, do not say you are sorry or I will kick you in the crotch. Instead I will borrow an idea from Carina over at The Jet Set, one that she implemented when she blogged about a rather wretched Friday the 13th. Comments should offer something funny, inappropriate, or interesting. That will work quite nicely for me thank you very much.