Beautiful Trauma

Herself speaks.

P!nk, one of my favorite pop stars, has a new album out, titled Beautiful Trauma.

The music is excellent. The title annoys me.

There is nothing beautiful about trauma. The idea that we are somehow made better, spiritually or otherwise, by undergoing pain and difficulty is a fallacy that we tell ourselves to help us to get through arduous circumstances. 

We don't get a medal for suffering. We get nothing, except for suffering.
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I am currently coordinating medical care for myself. I've reached an Age and state of health where there are certain physical systems that warrant periodic preventive/maintenance care, and there are other physical systems that (at the moment) spontaneously require additional care. It is frustrating for a number of reasons, the very least of which is the amount of time and mental energy and phone calls required to get everything lined up properly without conflicting.

(I do feel compelled to say as a side note that I am grateful for the health insurance I have. I am, very much so. Yet thoughts that "other people have it worse health-wise" or "other people don't even have insurance," though correct, do not much mitigate my current state of annoyance and frustration at all the minor bodily issues I am encountering. Perhaps this is self-centered thinking. Ultimately, though, this is about self -- the body I inhabit.)

I tend to want to avoid problems -- especially physical complaints -- in the hopes that they resolve themselves on their own. Sometimes, they do. Sometimes, they don't. And I have to fight against a strange yet deeply-ingrained idea, that to admit to a need for medical care is somehow a failure, a sign of personal weakness. To be vulnerable, especially physically, is so very intolerable a thought, that I push to the limits of my acceptance of things that aren't quite right, or are uncomfortable.

I have decided, though: enough.

I will put aside my fears of having to explain myself to a stranger with a stethoscope, in order to maximize the help this body gets. This body is not without flaws; yet the discomforts and questions of this body are deserving of comfort and answers, and it is up to me to do the best I can to find both. No one else can, and no one else will.

Once more unto the breach.

I will let you know how it goes.

I could really use a hug.

Hugging creatures found here: 

https://medium.com/@inaradeluna/consensual-hugging-eba3f8ce8e54

Couchtime is the Best Time

Bzzzzzz

Oh, dear.

Onerous Tasks

Herself speaks.

Today, I addressed errands/tasks for three of the four other people in the household, plus one of the dogs: the bank, a series of onerous phone calls, the pharmacy, and the vet's office. Tomorrow, I will tackle an errand for the fourth person in the household, plus follow-up on some of today's tasks: a different pharmacy, a different bank, more phone calls.

I do not undertake these chores for my household members begrudgingly. As the person who pays the bills and keeps track of medical information (both human and canine), I am best suited for these tasks. And I do, truth be told, derive a certain sense of satisfaction in being helpful to my Important People. Can I ease someone's burden by undertaking a chore for them? I am all over that. 

I confess, though:
I wish I had someone like myself to undertake onerous tasks for me.
And I wish I were comfortable asking someone to undertake such onerous tasks.

The people nearest to me are all limited in their own ways -- time, availability, other Valid Reasons for being unable to assist. I do not hold it against them. They help when they can, if I ask: the floor gets mopped, the dishwasher emptied. I still must conduct the organization and the delegation. Someone must keep track of It All, and I am that Someone.

Just the mental labor is tiring.  Yet, it is all part and parcel of being a responsible adult.

Sometimes, I wish for a reprieve from being the responsible adult.

Somewhere, in some mythical land, there is someone -- a house elf? -- who anticipates what needs doing, and handles things quietly in the background, and lo and behold things would get done without my assistance or direction.  It would be a magnificent relief not to have to keep track, to plan, to make lists, to point out what needs doing, to follow through. Aaah. That would be lovely.

Perhaps I should check the wardrobes for doors to Narnia. One can always hope.

Lovely Lichens

It is nearly time to spend a weekend in a forest once more. 

Slow Hands

Tonight's earworm: Slow Hands (Niall Horan). Something new we've just found.

We hope you enjoy.

Friday Eve

“Whosoever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast or a god.” ― Aristotle

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House empty, lights off --

Everyone is out tonight

'Cept me, and the dogs

A lonely relief --

Nobody needs things from me,

No one to talk to.
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“Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.” ― Kahlil Gibran, The Broken Wings