Saturday Morning Rainy Day Blues

It’s a cold rainy day here  where I live. Flat gray light, low hanging clouds. Gray. Did I say gray? After some spectacular autumn days in the past two weeks, gray is hard to take. Okay. I’m greedy for clear blue skies empty of clouds, not even white fluffy ones. And gray days are hours longer, I don’t care what the clock says.

So I hung out between the sheets this morning, musing. Turned on the news. Turned it off again. Watched two minutes of Yale students stifling free speech. Demanding a professor be fired for exercising his. Something about it’s Halloween and people should be able to wear whatever costume they like. Students said no, no, you’re disgusting; some costumes might make others uncomfortable. Oh please. Stop with that crap. There will always be something or someone making others uncomfortable. Like loud-mouth, know it all students from Yale, that bastion of exploration of thought, new ideas, tolerance. Shut up, already. Stop with the stifling. Study. Or something.

I opted to do my nails and watch a cooking show. That worked for awhile, until I realized I’d spend all day tucked up, doing nothing. Like the dishes in the sink from last night’s bedtime snack. Like watering the indoor plants. Like putting clothes on. But I. am. not. going. out. Might make a fire in the fireplace. Why do we always say that? Where else would I make a fire?

While doing my morning ablutions, (you don’t want to know) I thought about what I’d blog today. You can see, I’ve come up empty. Truth is, I’m preoccupied. I have a biannual checkup tomorrow and I always worry about it. I know, I know, worry is the most wasteful  activity. It gains nothing except to depress me. My oncologist moved to San Diego where his wife announced she was going to live, come along if you like. Well. I don’t know about that as an enticement since I don’t know her, but hey, San Diego with no Lake Erie snow effect is surely way better. Ocean. Average mean temp sits at 70 degrees year round. What’s not to like? So off he went, kids in tow, to establish a brand new practice without me.  My appointment is with a new doctor. I never do well with change. Cancer patients always worry. The staff at the Moll Center are superior, caring women who anticipate all the concerns that come with this alien nation.

On my first day for my first chemo, the nurse escorted me to the big door to that department. Double, they swung open and the whole chemo staff stood on the other side, did a little kick and swung into the song: “Ba ba ba bab babarann…take my hand…rockin and a rollin’, rockin’ and  a-reelin’.ba ba ba….” That, folks, is real caring. I mean, who does that?  I jumped aboard the attitude train and never looked back. And here I am, third year into this journey, two to go to discharge.

So why so worried? History dictates that. Orphanage kids believe nothing good can happen to them and when it does, there must be some mistake. It’s a mindset we can’t change. Comes with the territory. We even understand it. It’s a conditioning. I look back across many decades now and marvel that I’m still here, like perhaps I don’t deserve it. It’s a hard way to live, forfeiting joy. My bedtime litany is a recounting of all the wonderful things I’ve experienced in this exciting life. Boring is not in my lexicon. And every morning brings the “what ifs” that plague me. I say to myself, “Well, who is really in charge here? Dontcha know you get to decide your response? Happy anticipation, or fearful? Start choosing right, for a change.

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