Ramblings of a cranky old woman

I need to find my passion in life again. I feel like I’m losing it. So often these days I just feel plain tired. Tired of fighting this battle. Tired of gaining weight, then losing weight, then gaining weight, then losing some more. I have nightmares. Sleep is hard for me. I often stay up almost all night, then sleep half the day. I can’t get on a regular schedule. I have too many pills to name. I simultaneously can’t wait to go back to work, and scared witless about starting a new career. There aren’t enough hours in the day, and my to do list never ends. My back and shoulders are a maze of knots, stretched tight, like strings on a violin. I cry at random moments throughout the day. I stay anxious and wound up, feeling like I’m in a race I have to win.

So some nights I take a bubble bath. I may have one tonight. Lord knows I could use one. And a massage. I just had a professional massage not that long ago, but if there’s one thing I could probably never get enough of, it’s a good massage. I’m pretty sure that’s my idea of heaven, an endless eternity of massages. Or sometimes, I smoke a little of God’s miracle drug, marijuana. I may do that tonight too. It helps. And sometimes the best therapy is to talk to a good friend. Maybe my mother, or a relative, or one of my girlfriends. Laughter really can be the best medicine, but so can too a silent ear. Or a hand to hold.

Last night I was having terrible nightmares. It was the kind that as I dreamt, I knew I was dreaming but couldn’t wake from. When I did finally awake, I called out for my momma. She came and laid in the bed with me. And everything was okay again. That’s just what momma’s do I guess. Right now I am sitting on my screened-in porch, and trying to let the sounds of nature work it’s magic. It’s kind of sad knowing that it takes effort to relax. But that’s how I feel most days - that true relaxation is a thing of the past.

I died my hair blue. Well, parts of it anyway. And for some reason, that made me feel a little better about life. Something to control. Something fun and different. Or maybe I’m also just a little tired of hearing how lucky I am that I didn’t lose my hair in chemo, which seems so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I feel like I’ve lost so much already, what’s a little hair to boot? But, I guess I should be thankful, and truthfully I guess I am. So maybe I added a little color in honor of those who weren’t as lucky. Is it a coincidence that blue is the color of colon cancer awareness? Perhaps not.

It’s been a long year and a half. I wish I could be more optimistic, and offer up something inspiring and thoughtful. But not this night. This night is for me. You want the truth? The truth is, I’ve been to hell and back and it’s been no easy journey. And while I have loved ones who may encourage me along the way, ultimately it’s my path to walk alone. So I take inspiration where I can, gain strength and wisdom along the way, but sometimes I just have to let it out. And just breathe.

Tomorrow is a new day.

They Say

They say that adversity doesn’t build character, it reveals it. They also say things like 'when life hands you lemons, make lemonade’ or ‘when times get tough, the tough get going’. They say a lot. And to be perfectly honest, they for the most part have no idea what they are talking about. Life is not a cliche. It’s hard, is what it is. When you think about it, most of our lives are spent in an endless cycle of shit to deal with it, sprinkled intermittently with happy moments that help get us through the bad times. I mean right now at this moment, I can sit here, and thinking of people I know, count among them ones who are going through a divorce, a bad breakup, a sick child, unemployment, their own ill health, family drama, and financial struggles. And that’s just off the top of my head. I, myself, am currently dealing with a broken down car that needs a new transmission. So what gets us through this parade of broken cars and broken marriages? Is it faith in a higher power? Inner strength? The will to live? Lemonade? Or is it perhaps a combination of these things? I truly do not know. Because when you put pen to paper, life sometimes seems like a hard row to hoe.

But we do. We overcome. We keep on keepin’ on until the wheels fall off. Since my diagnosis, I’ve had many people tell me that I’m a strong person for handling this load. I don’t know, maybe I am. Maybe some people just throw in the towel and give up. Or maybe I’m really not that exceptional at all. Given the same circumstance, I tend to think most people wouldn’t do things much differently than I have.

Someone I know very recently passed away from breast cancer. It affected me in ways that other deaths have not. We were not particularly close; I just knew her from around, as often happens in small towns. She and I had some of our radiation/chemo treatments during the same time this past fall, and got to know one another a little better. The thing I remember most was her unending positivity. Even after the cancer spread to her other breast, she remained steadfast in her faith. The last time I saw her was at the grocery store where she worked. We talked for a few minutes, she hugged me, and said, “We will get through this.” That was just a few short weeks ago. Her death seemed so sudden. She was hospitalized due to complications, and then that was it. She was gone. I am still struggling with why. To say that it was unfair, seems trivial and meaningless. Of course it’s not fair. If life were fair, good guys would always win the girl, and mean people would be the ones who lose in life. So really even asking why is pointless and gets you nowhere.

So again. What gets us through? I am not a particularly religious person per se, but I am deeply spiritual. I talk to God, and I pray. I also talk to my dogs. And my cat. And my parents. And my friends. I guess perhaps this is what gets me through the hard times. But the truth is, I am content. Probably more so now than I ever have been. I have no job, a busted car, and my health is somewhat uncertain. But as I sit here in this moment, laptop in front of me, under soft lamplight, with the windows open so I can hear the sound of rain and thunder, the dogs and Kitty Von Mouser sleeping, sharing my story, I am at peace. I have made my peace with life, and death, and the ups and downs in between. And I hope that no matter where life takes me, or throughout the inevitable pitfalls that are sure to come my way, that I am able to maintain this sense of peace and contentment. And remain just as steadfast in my will to overcome and persevere; doing what I love with the people I love. In the end, we all perish. But our spirit can live on. As they say, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

I went to Birmingham, AL this past weekend, and met up with some friends who live in the area. I lived in Birmingham for about seven years and it was great being back. We took a nostalgic walk through the Five Points area in Southside, seeing what has changed and the places that are still the same. I had forgotten how beautiful the architecture is. Most of the buildings; apartments, houses, stores, churches, are very old, and I love their charm. One of our friends we stayed with lives in an official “historical home” and it's quite lovely. Among the things I do not miss are the occasional wafts of some terrible smell that sneaks out of nowhere and attacks your nasal passages and the never-ending traffic. But bigger cities do have their perks - an abundance of shoppes, boutiques, restaurants, and availability of a variety of beers, groceries that are not often found in small towns, and unique bars and other watering holes. And in my humble opinion, Southside is the best area in Birmingham. It’s a great mix of college students, artists, and other interesting folks. And a few bums too. 

I moved back to my hometown in February 2007, and have only made a handful of trips to B’ham since my departure. I don’t think I so much left Birmingham, but more accurate to say I ran like hell. When I first left my little hometown, I was 20 years old and had moved to Florence, AL to attend The University of North Alabama (UNA). I left with my middle finger in the air with no intentions of ever returning on a permanent basis. It wasn’t bad growing up here, but I had bigger plans in life, and felt suffocated by the smallness. Everybody knows everyone and also “their business”. So off I went to face the world on my own. I’m a firm believer that everyone should leave their hometown at least once in life, whether to return or not, but getting out and seeing other parts of the world gives us a better perspective on things I think. I don’t know if I have ever heard anyone who regretted leaving. 

After a year in Florence, I packed my bags and headed West, where I worked in the gift shop in Yellowstone National Park for possibly the best 5 - 6 months I’ve ever spent anywhere. After leaving Yellowstone, I was eager to finish college and get my degree. So I did. Which is how I ended up in Birmingham; as a student at UAB. My boyfriend, who I would later marry, and I shared an apartment. I worked and went to school, and life was good. In May of 2003, we tied the knot. We had also moved to our second apartment, just a few blocks from the first one. Not long after we were married, I severed my achilles tendon (that’s another story for another time) and spent the next several months in a cast followed by physical therapy. That was probably the beginning of the downhill slide. In 2005, my husband was diagnosed with Cor triatriatum. A congenital heart defect, it is extremely rare and results in the heart being divided into five chambers instead of four, due to a membrane separating either the left or right atrium. He had open heart surgery to correct it. My time was divided into working in the graphics department at Infinity Insurance during the day, and playing nurse in the evenings. It was exhausting, both physically and mentally. The surgery was successful, but my husband went through a long period of severe depression. He spent most of the next year wearing a bathrobe. He became increasingly moody and I became increasingly more fatigued. 

In January 2006, our Boxer, Punchinella was born and she came to live with us when she was six weeks old. She was (and still is) my baby. My marriage was already in trouble by that point, but she brought a new joy to our home, and for awhile I thought we might make it. We went through couple’s therapy with a counselor, and it helped a little, but after the counseling was over, we soon fell back into our old patterns. The arguments were increasing in frequency and intensity. At one time, my husband had a successful landscaping business, but after the heart surgery, the business suffered as well. So for awhile I was the breadwinner in the family. Then, in September of 2006, I lost my job as well. Adding fuel to the fire was a dispute between us and our landlord, a liar and crook, which resulted in a court case. The dream was over. What had started as a beautiful adventure, filled with hope and ambition, had turned to bitter feelings, resentment, hurt and anger. 

It was my husband’s idea to move back to my hometown. He had visited home with me, and to him, it was a quaint and charming town, sort of "Mayberryesque". So once again, I packed my bags, only this time I was coming home. The town I once vowed never to live in again, I now returned to, quite anxious to leave Birmingham and the terrible series of events that had tainted my feelings for the city. All of a sudden, that small town that I had escaped nine years before, didn’t seem like such a horrible place after all. I have friends and family here, and I’ve enjoyed living here again for the past 8 years. I can’t say that I won’t leave again, but if I do, I know I will always have a place to come home to, when the world outside gets a little too overwhelming.