"Hello? Is anybody up there? It's me. You know. The one who can't seem to find her way out of a damp paper bag with two hands and a flashlight. I haven't been doing very well lately, and I think I am either losing my mind completely, have a brain tumor the size of a sofa cushion, or I am, at the ripe old ago of almost 51, finally stepping into the living room of menopausal hell.
My logical brain tells me that this is all normal and that the combination of physical, emotional, and environmental causes are wreaking havoc on my equilibrium, but my logical brain can't come to the phone right now. It's tied up in the cargo hold of this airplane full of puppies and orphans that I am trying to fly through a hurricane.
The co-pilot is drunk, they ran out of peanuts and complimentary pretzels an hour ago, and for the life of me, I can't tell if that big black thing looming in the distance is a mountain or the escape hatch that will eventually open and let me off of this crazy thing.
In the midst of all of this there is laundry to do and teeth to brush and appointments to attend, and every now and then I slap on some chapstick and pretend to be a real person for a minute. I get emails and cards and letters and notes and comments from the most incredible people on the planet, and I breathe in the love and support from every single one of them like oxygen.
I count my blessings, I really do, but sometimes the counting comes with a whole heap of guilt and shame that I just can't seem to suck it up and remember that there are (literally) millions of people out there in the world with real problems and that most of them would be happy to trade places with me.
But I'm trying not to do that too much, because guilt and shame never did anybody any good...especially not a girl like me who just tried to live a small and happy life. I haven't cured cancer or solved world peace or brought food to the starving masses, but isn't it enough to just try to be a nice person and not be the boss of anybody except yourself?
So that's where I am at the moment. Processing and mulling and grieving and agonizing and worrying about things both big and small. Tomorrow I will haul myself out of this bed and try it again, and if we're lucky I'll take a bath and eat some peanut butter and will stitch all the things.
Thank you for this day. Thank you for Mom and Dad. Thank you for Stewey. Thank you for Bosco and Chrissy and all of my family and friends. Thank you for my house. Thank you for my blog. Thank you for my stitching. Thank you for a fridge, freezer, and pantry full of food. Thank you for my health. Thank you for my education. Thank you for all of the gifts and blessings that make this such a happy life. Please forgive my sins. Help me to be brave and kind and true, to be the light in someone's darkness, and to know that it will all work out according to your plan. Amen."
With that, the portly yet lovable spinster turns out the light, pats her little dog's daisy box good night, and finally closes her eyes.
The End.
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