JUST US CHICKENS AGAIN...

Mister Spinster has left the cave to hunt for dinner, and I am here with the Chicken Sisters, my damn good, and the morning paper.

Aaaaaahhhhhh......

I love the Mister, I really do, and I love being out and about and seeing and visiting and pickleballing and golfing and whatnot, but this alone time is critical for me to just be me. In a million years I never would have believed just how much of an introvert I really am. I always thought that I drew my strength from other people, but the truth is that I get completely off balance if I don't have a few minutes or hours to just sink back inside my head to re-group.

I suppose that Oprah or the writers of The Secret would say that this craving for alone/quiet time means I'm not living as my authentic self in public....and I think I'm OK with that. My authentic self is a hot mess nervous wreck misfit that can't get out of her own way. The self that comes out when I am alone and in my head, though, is a total badass ninja of wit, competence, and fearlessness.

What can I say? I'm the portly spinster equivalent of Walter Mitty.

All of this navel gazing today is the end result of a trauma that happened at dialysis yesterday. One of my chair buddies crashed...and hard...and all we could do was sit there and watch and cry and pray while the team worked on her. It was absolutely awful, and I flashed back to when my dad crashed right in front of me in the hospital and was a 90-minute CPR code. He died about four times, but they kept bringing him back until they were able to get him down into the intensive care cardiac cockpit. 

The lady yesterday was just sitting there having a sandwich and talking to the social worker, and all of a sudden there were nurses and crash carts and things happening at breakneck speed. I knew I loved and admired the staff at the dialysis center before this happened...now I am just in awe of them.

Hmmmmm...so much contemplating for a Tuesday morning.

Sorry, Dearies. I really didn't mean to explore all of the feelings in my punky little head today on this here blog, but I guess it's better than driving to the McDonald's and ordering the entire breakfast menu. Dr. Melfi would probably tell me that I am making great strides in coping with complex internal processing issues...blah, blah, blah.

I think I'm just doing my thing.

So we're off like a herd of very tired, quiet, contemplative turtles today. If the clouds allow, I am going to pull on the old lady bathing costume and get in the pool for a float. And later, if the course isn't too wet for riding carts, the Mister and I will hit the golf ball. There will be some stitching today (she says, while shaking her fist at the sky), as the stitchy gods are my witness!

I hope your Tuesday is swell and considerably less emotional squirrel in traffic. Come tell me all about it!