Pop Goes The Weasel

 A week and a half ago, I was traveling. (I haven't even written about that yet. Help, I am so behind.) And as I stepped off of the small train onto the platform, to switch onto the other train to go back to the airport to go home, there was... a POP in my right calf. 

Ow. 

It was surprising that it wasn't actually audible -- it was that noticeable.  I was momentarily unable to walk on that leg. I was one of the last off the small train, so fortunately I didn't hold anyone up. I regained my balance, and hobbled to the next train as quickly as I could so as not to miss my connection, which was NOT quickly as all, because I could not bear full weight on that leg, nor swing it/extend it fully. 

I then had an hour on the next train to figure out what to do. Do I seek medical care there, or do I just make my way home to deal with it? The obvious choice was to go home; I didn't want to incur delays, hotel fees, out-of-network medical costs. The leg was not SO painful that I couldn't move. I would be sitting for the vast majority of the day, except when moving from train to airport, and from plane to plane. Choice made. I continued the 12-hour door-to-door journey home. 

The hardest part was the airport walking. I was very, very, slow, because I really couldn't walk normally at all, and needed to stay out of the way of everybody hurrying by. I opted to check my carry-on suitcase to minimize what I would have to take with me during the layover/gate change, which was helpful. The hardest part was getting from the final gate, to baggage claim, and out to long-term parking. So. Slow. So obviously limping. Awkward. Painful.

The next few days were a bit of a challenge. Doctor's visit, crutches. Compression sleeve. A little ibuprofen. Testing ordered. Things slowly are improving. 

The long and the short of it (I'm going to leave out the ABSOLUTE SHENANIGANS involved in getting what I thought should have been routine testing to figure out what happened, because I might dissolve into a tirade about the still-lacking-medical-care in this area of the desert) is: I have a 'greater than 75% tear' in the gastrocnemius muscle in my right calf. Yikes. 

Things are better now, in that the pain is fairly low (as a person with chronic migraine, pain is all relative -- and this is really not a lot unless I pivot strangely or try to move too quickly).  I am, however, extremely frustrated, because I don't at the moment have concrete information about how to ease back into regular activities. How do I get back to my regular treadmill use (incline/speed/length of time)? When do I start physical therapy, to make sure this doesn't happen again? 

Also, what the actual f*ck is this nonsense?  

I am very surly. I do not do well without being able to Take A Walk. 

The only consolation in this entire debacle has been -- and hear me out, for I know this will sound strange -- there is an actual, identifiable thing that is wrong. 

That may sound silly. But as an overweight, middle-aged woman seeking health care, the odds are more likely that my concerns, and my description of pain, will be minimized or treated as 'anxiety' or curable through weight loss, rather than as rooted in an actual problem. 

(I'm not minimizing the health benefits of shedding a few pounds. I know what they are, and I  know that I should.  But you know that.)

I... am tired. 

But, on we go. One (slightly limping) step at a time. 

Moon

The moon was peeking out over everything at the local park this weekend. Nice. 

Pay The Piper

Last week, I mailed out four envelopes to address a quarter of the myriad tax responsibilities I have. Tomorrow, I shall mail the rest (for various complicated reasons, certain forms are not due until the twentieth of the month), and then I shall be Done. Huzzah for Done.

I do not enjoy the level of Adult Responsibilities I bear. But I do what I have to do. As always. 

Song of the Vowels

The sculpture, in front of the tremendous library, depicts two harp players. Can you see it? I never knew its name before - so appropriate, for its location. 

Places To Which To Apparate

Right about now, would be lovely. 

Turn The Corner

 Herself speaks.

It's been nearly four months since the Inflection Point. The road has been an exceptionally arduous one, cold and solitary and endlessly uphill. Questions without answers. Reframing, restarting. One foot in front of the other. And sometimes, a lot of just sitting by the side of the road, contemplating. 

This morning, though, I had a new thought. It's the first time I've had this thought. 

I will likely never be enough for other people. 

And that's their loss. 

I do my best. I have ALWAYS done my best. 

I am Enough. 

And I am Good. 

I will likely backslide, and have doubts. But I will hold on to the fact that I really do try hard, and that I have always done my best. And that I really am Enough. And that I am Good. 

Hold on to that, when you doubt yourself, Gentle Reader. You are Enough. And you are Good. 

Zombie, Redux

 Today's earworm: Zombie (Bad Wolves). 

This version of the Cranberries' epic song is currently so very...
in my head.

Enjoy.

Thirty-One

 Lovely Offspring the First has turned thirty-one.  She is so sweet, so tender-hearted. Introspective, a lover of words and of Meaning, kind. I wish for the very best for her, always. 

The world is your Oyster, beautiful One. Go forth and conquer. We love you, always. 

Jab, Jab

Last Friday, I took myself to the pharmacy to get the latest COVID vaccine, and also decided to get the first of the shingles vaccine series. (I'll be traveling a bit soon, and seeing as every time I get on a plane, I come down with some form of Plague, it seems best to try to ward off as much of the ward-off-able Plagues as possible. And shingles, while not contagious, is absolutely wretched according to everyone I know who has had it, so let's try to prevent that too.) 

It wasn't bad. I have heard that people react a lot to the shingles vaccine, but honestly, other than being Tired the following day, and having arm soreness from both vaccines, it was fine. Let's keep our fingers crossed that the vaccines help. I do not enjoy trying to take care of All The Things plus tending extra to myself when ill, so if I can avoid a little bit of disease, I am all for it. 

Happy Easter!

Safety first!

Baba Yaga

One of the very strange side effects of the migraine meds appears to be, that when I'm going into full-blown migraine mode, I'll experience what can only be described as... a thinning of the line between awake and asleep. It isn't nightmares, or hallucinations; it's closer to sleep-talking and sleepwalking in the midst of a dream. There are very specific dreams that I'll have when a migraine is brewing, but I'll be closer to wakefulness as well, and will often talk, turn on the light to try to see better what's happening, or try to get up, until I realize -- oh, not real, and then I can lie back down and try to sink back into the depths of sleep again. I'm not quite awake enough to take the migraine meds right then, unfortunately. 

The dreams all have similar content, in a way: I'm anticipating something -- an end-point -- waiting for something to get to a goal, and if that goal is achieved, then something bad will happen. (This makes sense, because my brain is waiting for the migraine to arrive.) The imagery is always weirdly earthy; vines, nature themes, forest-y. (I feel like there may be a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode where the Enterprise turns into a vine-laden environment - perhaps Masks? That seems somehow reminiscent.) It's never frightening. It's just... anticipatory.

Two nights ago, I was working toward a migraine, and found myself roused out of sleep and contemplating what looked like some sort of fairy-tale crone -- Baba Yaga? -- standing next to the rocking chair in the bedroom. Hmmm. She clearly didn't belong. So I turned on the bedside table light. It was frustrating, because when I am mired in the migraine forest world, everything I do happens quite slowly despite an overarching slight sense of urgency about the whole situation. But: she was not really there. OK then. It's just a migraine. 

I've always been a vivid dreamer, so it all seems to be just an extension of that -- a crossover between dream world and migraine world. It's very odd. Not scary; kind of interesting. I do prefer vines and plants to Baba Yaga, though. 

Maybe next time, I'll see if I can hear or smell the migraine forest, or if it's all visual. If I'm going to be Migraine Queen, at least I can try to explore my realm. 

Like You Mean It

 Today's earworm: Like You Mean It (Steven Rodriguez).  

I heard it first on TikTok. Go figure.

Am I too old to enjoy this kind of music? The Offspring would probably be duly horrified.

Cover your eyes, children:

F**k me like you mean it
Make me believe it
Walk the wire, it's alright
Love me like you need it
'Cause I can feel it
Take it higher, show me why

Perhaps a woman can still dream.

Good Luck, Kate

 Well, we finally learned where Princess Kate has been.  She's come forward to explain that following her surgery, she was diagnosed with cancer. She didn't tell us what type, or what stage, or provide any details. (Nor is the public entitled to any of those details.) 

Oh, Kate. I'm sorry. It's hard enough to be in the public eye. To face such a diagnosis, and to have to manage your children's feelings, all while the world watches, must be very difficult. I wish nothing but the very best for you. 

Zoom a Zoom Zoom

 Herself speaks.    

I had a Zoom call with Cherished Friend last night. It had been a while since we'd last spoken -- since January, perhaps? -- which seems like a long, long time. It's somehow simultaneously easy, and extra hard, to allow time to slip by in between conversations, when Life is busy and there are houseguests on his end and social obligations on my end and time zone differences and when I am taking a bit of a trip on the Struggle Bus. I am hesitant to ask for a call, because I do not want to intrude on his Life; and yet, I want very much to have that call, so that for a couple of hours, he is more clearly a part of my Life, through the magic of the internet and Zoom. 

It was lovely, as it always is. 

-----

I have been thinking a lot lately about how I need to make some local friends: people with whom I can do small things like attend the little farmer's market nearby, take an occasional walk, go out to dinner with when Beloved Husband is out-of-town as he has been for much of the past two weeks. It would be really helpful if I could have someone serve as a body double to get onerous tasks done on occasion. And to talk with about things large and small, or about nothing at all.  It is not fair, or realistic, to rely on Beloved Husband for all of these things, because he is very busy, and has so many of his own activities. I need my own village of People to keep me company. I need Friends.

-----

Cherished Friend -- as I was reminded during our Zoom call last night -- is exactly the kind of Friend I enjoy most: intelligent, interesting, witty; the kind of person who makes you think about Stuff, who is sufficiently politically different to be challenging, but always willing to listen; and ultimately, kind. He does not make me feel stupid or inadequate for my point of view. And he listens. I am comfortable with him. I could talk with him for ages, except he lives sixteen hundred miles and two time zones away. 

I cannot imagine feeling as comfortable with anyone else.  And I'm stymied in my thoughts about making additional friends locally, because I don't actually want new friends locally: what I really want, is my Cherished Friend locally.

That's not to be. 

I do not want what I cannot have.

So I need to pull myself up by my bootstraps, be a grownup, and work with what I can have. Identify and make surface-level local friends, and keep my Cherished Friend where he belongs, in Oceanside. 

-----

Sometimes, when I am having a Hard Time, I worry that one day he will wake up and realize that he's not interested in maintaining the friendship any longer. That I am simultaneously Too Much and Not Enough, to be worth the effort over the time and the miles. Pathetic. Needy. No Thank You. 

And I could not fault him, really. His life is full enough, without his having to tend to a long distance friendship. I don't want to be an obligation or a burden. I'll go. 

Until that day, though, I'll be ever-so-glad to schedule the occasional video chat, and enjoy his company, through the magnificent tool that is Zoom. 

Ragmop and Goose

 I follow Ragmop and Goose on TikTok.  (General note to Congress: don't ban TikTok. Just don't. That's ridiculous. Why don't you spend your time on more worthwhile endeavors, like infrastructure or homelessness or healthcare or getting along and being productive? Just saying.)  

Ragmop and Goose: puppets of adorableness. They posted this ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL vignette on TikTok the other day. I've tried to paste it below, so you all can enjoy it, too. It's so... pure. Wholesome. Lovely.

It reminds me that there's still good in the world. Even when I am having trouble seeing it from the darkness where I sit.

You can also find Ragmop and Goose on the interwebs. And on Instagram too. Go follow them, and your heart will be a little bit lighter.

Cloudy

The clouds roll across the nearby mountains, and the winds (twenty-five miles per hour, or more) gust regularly. It's the Windy Season here in the desert.

It's migraine season. It's the worst. 

I wish I could go out into the middle of the desert, and feel it all roll right over me, through me, and become one with it. Perhaps, then, I could find equilibrium inside my head, and the pain inside would finally cease. 

Kansas

Beloved Husband and I went to see Kansas in concert. I'm not nearly as fond of live music events as he is, but knowing how important these types of Experiences are to him, I'd purchased these tickets especially with the thought that he would enjoy the occasion. And off we went.

It's hard to know how a band will be in person vs. in studio, but Kansas did not disappoint -- they were quite good live. A bit loud (but I do bring earplugs, because I am One Of Those People), but good. The audience mostly behaved (though the woman directly in front of me became a bit bored at one point and scrolled through her phone with the brightness on approximately the level of "dwarf star" -- cripes, ma'am, turn it down), the music felt good (I do enjoy the actual physical sensation of live music), and the classic songs were duly part of the repertoire. It was overall a success. 

Let's see what music event I can find for next time. 

Did I Explain It Enough?

Whither Kate?

 I'm not normally one to gossip or even to pay much attention to what's happening in people-related news, especially when it comes to the British Royal Family (because they and I have absolutely no relevance to each others' lives), but I'm compelled at this point to wonder: where is Princess Kate?

The British press is a weird, tabloid-driven entity, often cruel, overly prying most of the time, and weirdly tight-lipped at the moment. I'm sure there are many things we don't know about the Royal Family, and there are lies and half-truths and "alternative facts" that abound. Nevertheless, the sparse announcements about a surgery in January, a long hospital stay, an even longer recuperation expected at home out of the public eye, and her absolute absence from anything anywhere, is... concerning. 

There are other rumors that abound now, too. More nefarious. Ugly things, about domestic violence, her husband having a mistress; or worse health issues, eating disorders, mental health breakdowns; and just plain weirdnesses, such as her appearing on reality television as a masked singer. (Now that's ridiculous.) Who knows? No one is saying. Which is the strangest thing of all, really -- people aren't usually that silent.

I've always liked Kate Middleton, in a from-a-distance, she seems very nice and kind, and always looks so glamorous, sort of way -- she's a sort of woman to admire without knowing very much about her. I really hope she's doing OK. 

Thinking of you, Kate, and wishing you well, wherever you are, and whatever is happening.

Feel All The Things

 This morning I had a conversation with someone about Feeling the Feelings.

So many of us, trained from youth, to avoid, suppress, tamp down, all the Feeling of the Feelings. Especially negative Feelings (except Anger, especially in Men. Men are taught that it's OK to be Angry -- but nothing else.)  

How else can we be fully human, though, if not through Feeling All The Things? 

What is the worst thing that will happen, if we Feel A Feeling? 

-----

What we should all really do, is learn to be comfortable with sitting with other peoples' Feelings. Because sometimes, Feelings are most safely Felt, when in the company of others. 

Today's task, which I assign all of us:

Feel a Feeling. 

How is it? Are you comfortable? Uncomfortable? What does the Feeling tell you? What have you learned about the Feeling, and about yourself?

Do you need company in your Feeling?

If so, I am here for you. And your Feeling. 

TinyBun

This weekend, we worked on tidying the garage. (A monumental task, to be sure.) This included weeding some bins that contained old stuffed animals -- such as this wee tiny bun.  Rabbits have, in fact, long been a theme in the house.

So cute.

Theme

This past weekend, while Beloved Husband was away, one of the activities I assigned myself to get out of the house was to go to a local store and get a new tablecloth and runner for the dining area table.  There were Easter items on sale, and so I ended up with a rabbit-themed runner, plus a few other rabbit-themed tablecloths for the kitchen table as well. 

Why not? I'm in my Rabbit Era at the moment, having all the pet Buns and all. I'll look back on this time fondly one day, when the rabbits are all gone. Rabbits it is. 

Young at Heart

 Beloved Husband has completed another trip around the sun. Cheerful; eternally young-on-the-inside; a man who is fond of Dad Jokes, of four-wheel-driving in the desert and motorcycling and traveling along on the open roads; the human whom the rabbits all quickly approach in the hopes he will share bananas with them. 

He works hard, plays hard; enjoys spending time with his friends from a wide variety of walks of life, not only from business acquaintances but also from extracurricular activities, and even from as far back as high school. Everyone loves him, speaks highly of him, relies on him. 

It's a full life he leads, and each year seems to pass in the blink of an eye. I do the best I can to better his life every day --  to ensure that all the minutiae of Life are handled, so that he has the time and freedom for what he desires. 

Happy birthday, Beloved Husband. I hope you find time for all of the Good Things.  And I hope that all of your dreams come true. 

Picturesque Bun

Ms. Poppy likes to recline just near enough, that if I get up, I will disturb her. And so I sit, quietly, while she relaxes nearby. 

She sure is a pretty bun.

Weedy

 I spent an hour weeding the front yard. It was nice, in its own way. 

The yard sorely needed attention. Some of the weeds came up right away; others, though, had tenacious roots and clung petulantly to the rocky soil. 

Some weeds just looked plain menacing.  Audrey II-type weeds. Ominous. 

Yikes. 

Twenty-Nine

 Offspring the Second turned twenty-nine today.

He's fully fledged, living his own life. We don't hear from him terribly often -- he's always been his own person, a Man of Few Words, so it's not surprising.  As time goes by, I find myself missing him more: his quiet wit, his thoughtfulness, the way he would be kind to the elderly pets. His encyclopedic knowledge about all sorts of things. 

He will always be Infinitely Cooler than I am. I'm OK with that. I wish I could touch upon his orbit more often, witness his life a bit more. Maybe I'll try to find a time to go visit his neck of the woods, just to see how he lives. If that's OK with him -- I don't want to intrude. 

I'm so proud of him. I hope he knows. He's such a bright shining star, an intelligent, magnificent human being.

I wish good things for you always, Offspring the Second. Happy birthday. 

Supermassive

 Today's earworm: Supermassive Black Hole, by Muse. 

SO STUCK IN MY HEAD.

Enjoy.

Current Mood

Heart and Brain, nailing it as always. 

Catnap

Offspring the Third and his kitties are enjoying their Bachelor Pad. I am happy for them, though I do miss having them here with us under our roof. 

Scorched

What a beautiful little piece of poetry. 

Daydream

Sometimes I daydream
About being valued for who I am
And not just for what I can do

For others

And I pause

In the midst of all my Doing,

All my Paperwork, all my Tasks

And I contemplate

When I am loved

In a way that, unexpectedly, 

brings me a beverage

Just because

Or a way that

Tells me all the right words

In just the right moment --

And I sigh

And I shuffle my papers

And keep going.

Paperwork

 Herself speaks.

So, while I was traveling last week, I spent some time with my Mother, and helped her to sell Daddy's car. I am the Paperwork Person for such tasks: I went armed with the car title and the affidavit of spouse and my certificate as Personal Representative, and pulled up the Will and the registration and all the various Things we needed. Ta-daa! All the Papers. Mission accomplished. Mom was pleased and relieved, and I am pleased and relieved for her.

I have the tidy-up tasks now. I have communicated with the Registry of Motor Vehicles about cancelling the registration (special paperwork, as the Personal Representative of the estate), and I've put in a request to cancel the toll transponder. After the registration cancellation goes through, then I can work on speaking with the insurance, and then take care of the reimbursement of the excise tax for the town in which Mom lives. Piece by piece, all the papers. This is what I do. It is, essentially, who I am. 

I do not mind being the Paperwork Person. I feel accomplished, in a way, when all the bits are straightened out and everything is Done. I am Useful. I have Purpose. 

Every now and then, though, I am... Tired. 

I finish my Paperwork, and I have a tiny inner secret longing:

I wish I were paperwork, and that someone else would tend to me carefully, too.  

I am still not good at taking care of myself. 

I must continue to try, though. 

Positive

I traveled last week, and then WHOOPS fell into a black hole, and now it's a week later, and I've written nothing about the trip (or anything else), and I'm still behind on everything. But I'm trying to catch up. One day at a time. I'll get there. 

Positive potato believes in me! And I believe in you! We can do the Thing!

Night Flight

Bun in Bed

Magic Carpet Buns

Taking a Walk

Motivating! Must keep going....

Sunset

While trying to accomplish eight hundred thousand things today, I passed by the kitchen window and caught a glimpse of a deep red sunset. The photo didn't do it justice at all. It was unexpectedly beautiful. 

Thank you, Mother Nature. Lovely. 

Birthday Buns

The buns are three today.  Happy birthday, bunnies!!

Laze

The buns just lie about sometimes. 

It's a nice life they lead. 

I am happy for them. I do the best I can to make sure they have a good life, within the confines of my own life.

Good buns.

Sands of Time

Herself speaks.

Yesterday marked one year since my lovely Daddy's passing from this earth.  It's hard to believe it has been a full year, and yet only a year. 

It has been a long, terrible year. For many reasons, including the absence of my beloved, lovely Daddy.

-----

I drove out to White Sands. It was cool, and cloudy, and ever so quiet. I took a walk out, careful to mark my path lest I get lost in the sea of dunes. I sat for a while. I tried to talk to Daddy, but I didn't really know what to say.

I'm taking care of things.

I've tried my best.

I hope you are at peace.

I wrote, I miss you, into the sand.  The winds will blow it away in time. 

I walked back through the dunes. Back to reality. 

On we go. 

Dune

Flashback Trio

Facebook flashback reminds me of this lovely photo of our once-upon-a-time canine trio, who were all quite mesmerized by the cheese a family member was consuming. The photo is fuzzy now, but the memories are still all quite fond. I hope that, wherever their spirits are, they are enjoying endless amounts of cheese.

Good pups. 

Whither Weather

Yesterday, my phone randomly provided the weather in Xangri-lá. Perhaps it feels I need to do more traveling? 

Rabbit

Facebook Flashback reminded me that I posted this meme one year ago today. 

Well played, year of the rabbit. We now know that rabbits are fearsome, and not to be taken lightly. At all. Ever. 

On we go.  

Classics

I found this quote online the other day. 

It sounds like I need to read some Classes. Starting with Frankenstein. 

CHAIR

The buns have enjoyed hopping on the furniture lately. It's quite amusing. Good buns. 

Neurotypical Crystal Ball

 Herself speaks.

As we approach the anniversary of my lovely Daddy's passing from this earth, I find myself spending time thinking about my last visits with him and my mother. Sometimes, little snatches of conversation come back to me, and enlighten me in new ways. 

One evening, for example, we were talking about the various restaurants in the complex in which they live, and Daddy commented that the shuttle bus that makes circuits around the complex is a convenient way to get to some of the farther away ones (especially now that he was having some difficulty navigating the long corridors due to fatigue).  My mother interpreted his comment on the shuttle bus as a passive-aggressive statement about what needed to be done; I interpreted it as solely a factual statement about the available amenities. There had to be more discussion about the bus-the dinner places-the means of locomotion before things were ironed out. I professed my personal need to take statements at face value, and not be reading into statements because I was not a mind reader. 

It was a small moment. I am sure that it was a time that was hard for everyone -- for Daddy, who wanted more than anything not to be a burden on anyone; for Mom, who was extremely anxious about Daddy's declining health; and for me, too, as I was trying to balance their needs while also navigating being away from my own children and husband over the holidays for the first time ever. The smallest statements had the potential to inadvertently set nerves on edge. Best to speak plainly, was my modus operandi. Avoid misunderstanding. 

The insight I learned, in retrospect: some people impart information, and some people read in to information, and some people expect others to do the reading in to the information that they impart. 

------

I am a slow thinker. 

I am absolutely terrible at reading in to information. Subtlety escapes me, every single time. (It's like sarcasm: it just FLIES RIGHT OVER my head.) It takes me forever to ascertain someone's point, and I need time, and contemplative space, and the absence of other distractions, in order to arrive at a conclusion that would take a typical person mere moments. I might never get there -- I might blissfully skip off into my own world, having missed some critical suggestion entirely. 

This is why I value words so highly. 

And why I use too many of them whenever I try to explain myself: let there be no misunderstanding. Let me repeat myself in a hundred different ways, upside down and backwards and forwards, until you can See Me clearly, in all my words. 

------

I think that I might need to make Speak Plainly, my standard modus operandi.  After careful deliberation and contemplation, I would like to stop trying to read in to what other people say.  It is not in my skill set, and when I do it, I do so with poor results. No thank you. I turn in my neurotypical crystal ball for reading in to what everyone says. I'm not sure it has ever worked properly. I resign.

This will require certain changes to my behavior, no doubt. It will require more questions, for starters -- because I am not guessing what is happening or what I should be reading in to a particular situation any more, I will have to ask if it seems like there is a subtext that I need to be aware of. It will also require not taking responsibility for things other people do not tell me. For example: it's not my fault if I do not do something, if I didn't know it needed to be done because someone did not tell me so, and I did not think to guess or ask. I cannot go through life trying to imagine all possible permutations of every possible situation, in order to try to capture every conceivable scenario and read in to what is happening at every moment. Can you imagine the exhaustion? 

The hardest part will be trusting that others will provide explicitly, what they tried to suggest implicitly.

I cannot fix, what I don't know about. Can I absolve myself for the unknown?

I will try. 

Bonfire of the Vanities

A bonfire of the vanities (Italian: falò delle vanità) is a burning of objects condemned by religious authorities as occasions of sin.

This will be vague, because the details are not worth sharing. Yet, I think (hope) that I will feel better if I write about it. 

Once upon a time, there was a thing (an ongoing activity) that I always aspired to do. I tried very hard, I thought, to do that. And I thought that I did a good job. Despite hardships, obstacles, I continued to give it what I thought were my best efforts. I was self-satisfied. I didn't talk about my success at this effort, because it was a private effort, but I was nevertheless, secretly proud of myself. Ah, vanity. 

Pride: one of the seven deadly sins. 

Pride goes before a fall.

I learned recently that, although I thought I was being successful at doing the thing (according to my standards), I had not, in fact, met standards that were in fact critical to the job at hand. I had been painting with primarily two colors, and had been expected to paint consistently with three colors. There was an entire part of the rubric that I had not realized was important; my work-product, so to speak, was disappointingly inadequate. And had been, for ages. And I had smugly, vainly, continued to do a shoddy, incomplete and unsatisfactory job, for ages. I did not know. No one told me, until now. 

It was an earth-shattering, terrible realization. 

I have tried to move forward since then. It has been hard. Everything rings hollow. I continue to paint with my two colors, but the motions seem fruitless and insufficient now. I add the third color here and there, as I have done on occasion, and I resent that third color's importance and am bitter about my lack of knowledge about its importance before it seemed Too Late. I do not trust my own instincts any more. I am almost unbearably sad. 

Vanity number two: thinking that I was strong enough, self-sufficient enough, that nothing could break my heart. 

-----

It all seems quite melodramatic as I type it out like this. I don't mean for it to be that way. It is hard, as an adult, to move through life with so little positive feedback -- we don't get gold stars for accomplishing things any more -- and simultaneously try to tackle private failures while mustering a public brave face. 

Time heals all wounds. Or, at least, attenuates the impact of a blow enough so that we can correct our course and move forward again. 

At this point, all I really want is to feel as though I have managed to be a good human being.  A good mother, a good wife, a good friend, a good sister, a good daughter. I am doing the best I can.  Will it be enough, in the end?  

My epitaph should read: I tried. 

Box

Let's peek out cautiously and see what 2024 has in store for us.