Day Eighty One

 

Vernichtungsgefuhl

No, I'm not having a stroke. That's a German word for "a sense of impending doom." Really. This is how I feel today and I hate it. I fight the German in my DNA all the time. For most of my life, I didn't even realize that was what I was doing. Now, I try to embrace that tiny percentage that came from England. Stiff upper lip and all. Go ahead, drop a bomb on my ass! I'll just crawl out, dust myself off and make a cup of tea.


My beautiful cousin, who shares the German gene,
but teaches me all the time how to fight it!

I just can't shake the sense that a gut punch is on the way. I think life doles out pain in varying degrees. You have the Bee Stings, the Chronic, and the Gut Punches. They can overlap, too. I had a friend once who had three - count 'em - one (kidney), two (uterine), three (breast) - bouts with cancer. All unrelated. She fought them all and won.

I have the Chronic (fibromyalgia), with a few Bee Stings thrown in (injuries) - and then the Gut Punches (nah, I'm not putting them out there.) None of us can escape them. But, for every Chronic, there's a Comfort. For every Bee Sting, there's Healing. For every Gut Punch, there are those marvelous life moments that take your breath away. Like meeting your soul mate for the very first time; the birth of a baby or when your kid achieves a hard earned accomplishment.

The key to it is realizing we have absolutely no control over any of it. Oh, sure, we can wear our seat belts and practice safety first, but there's always the semi that crosses the median or the lightning bolt. I guess you could do what my mother did which was to always expect the worst. She was petrified to enjoy anything in life because all she could think of was the next disaster around the corner. I really think she was a prime candidate for Prozac, but she liked being miserable. She wore it like a diamond tiara.

It's been one of those days. I woke up feeling like I'd been in a car accident. Chance had another mishap. Then, my computer just decided to restart itself, right in the middle of writing my blog. See, everything is out of our control.

Some days you just have to fight the grimpy grizzlies...

But, by gum, I'm gonna turn this day around. The cats are helping.
Finn is trying to figure out how to open the cat door. He's only used it about two hundred times, but each time is a new experience for him.
Chance is hiding from me because he knows I'm pissed. I just ran my new vacuum through a puddle of his pee on the floor. You do the math.
Eli is plotting something. He is under the dining room table looking like Gollum.
Fancy is probably waiting to see what Eli is cooking up, just in case he needs to react.
Dash is bringing all twelve of his new balls, one by one, from his room into the rest of the house. Some have bells, some are crinkle balls, some are fuzzy. All hurt like hell when you step on them. My mind just went to dirty old lady-land when I read that back to myself. Hahaha

Could you show me one more time how to open this?

There. I'm feeling much better. I still think some yucky thing is going to happen. I'm overdue. But, whatever "it" is, I will crawl out from under it, dust myself off and make a cup of tea.




One of my cousin's posts. She is an inspiration to many.