A Good Stiff Breeze

Feelings, man.  I’m gonna talk about feelings today.

Remember in high school biology, where you had to cut open the worm or whatever and pin its skin back so all its guts were hanging out?  Yeah, that’s about where I’m at today, emotionally.

Why, you ask?  Why the angst, for someone normally so *ahem* clear-headed and rational?

It’s been a hell of a week.

My emotions have been running a little high lately anyway, I’ll admit.  A former flame has rather unexpectedly made a reappearance in my life, tossing around the ol’ L-word and scrounging up old aches and pains and generally leaving me feeling a little raw.  And feeling a bit too old for the dramatic times of my youth.  And causing me to fear that perhaps I’m not entirely over my last involvement, which was a long-distance thing and tragically doomed from the outset by no fault of either party, which makes it so much crappier than if you just hate each other’s guts.

And speaking of aches and pains….  In an incident of calculated recklessness, the nature of which will not be disclosed here because my boss is already wary of my extreme lifestyle and I really don’t need to egg her on – I somehow managed to dislocate my knee.  (Did you know that it  makes a noise like a gunshot if you do it right?)  I’m healing nicely, I suppose, but, well, it was a rough few days and I’m still not entirely sure I shouldn’t have taken more than four days off in regard to working out…given the strange spongy squishiness which seems to be occurring in the joint when I run, despite its radioactive-material-quality wrappings.

This follows a recent death-scare where I decided one of my cats absolutely was showing signs of the kidney disease that killed her brother a few years ago.  (I am strangely neurotic about animals, given my nonchalance about human injury.  You may have noticed this.)  With Balloons (the cat) on the threshold of death, I resolutely drove her to the vet clinic, pulling over periodically to wipe the torrent of tears streaming down my face and to poke my fingers through the bars of the cat carrier to give her nose what was surely one last stroke.

Two hundred and thirteen dollars later and after every conceivable test available, I had a very miserable feline and a firm diagnosis of Human Worrywart.  The drive home was decidedly anticlimactic.  The cat didn’t speak to me for several days.

Then I saw a photo and write-up in the paper of the son of my last live-in boyfriend – a little boy with whom I bonded pretty hard, but haven’t seen since his dad and I broke up and they moved away.  He was nine the last time I saw him.  Somehow he’s morphed into this big handsome grown-up teenager who speaks in articulate sensible sentences totally devoid of anything Harry Potter or Spiderman and I have no idea how it happened, but I can’t wrap my head around it.   I’m nearly certain it has nothing to do with my own mortality issues or my own immaturity.

And the kicker – are you ready for this?  I mean, I don’t think your heartstrings are nearly as worn out as mine yet, because really, none of that other stuff really means anything to anyone but me.  But this one will get you.  Oh, yes, of that I am certain.

Yesterday I limped out to my mailbox and found a letter telling me that the little girl in Africa that I’ve sponsored for the past six years has disappeared and that it is “very sad and unexpected” but the charity organization cannot locate her or her family anywhere.  I mean, what do I do?  If this was a movie, I would heroically fly to Ghana and start tearing the place apart until I rescued the child and her family from whatever certain horrors had befallen them…but this being me – in reality,  I would probably get there and find out that some distant relative had won the lottery and they had relocated to the Bahamas or something.  (Remember the cat story.  *see above*)  Oh, my heart is riding the roller-coaster this week, oh, boy, yes it is!

A good stiff breeze is all it would take to send me bawling into my pillow right now, I swear to god.  But maybe a good stiff drink would be a quieter choice.

I mean, seriously.  Come on, Universe.  If you wanted to kick me in the balls this hard, you might have thought to have given me some.

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4 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Wow, and I thought I was having a bad week. True, you can’t deny that being briefly hospitalized for kidney stones is good times (actually happened), but I feel like a whiner, now.

    I was struck in particular by one thing in this post
    — that your Ghanian child had gone missing. We also sponsor a girl in Ghana and I thought it was a relatively safe place to be, as far as war-torn Africa is concerned. That is disturbing to say the least. Worse yet is the seeming attitude of “meh” about where they are. I’m just saying.

    You are going to have to learn to take it easy on those injuries. I have it on good authority that even superhuman healing powers dwindle as you get older, so maybe wait more than 4 days next time before working out — geez.

    It would be nice if people’s tolerence for bullshit increased as we get older, too. I mean that in the sense that it’s perfectly normal to get sucked into teen-style name-calling. I work in a place where everyone is emotionally 19 and it drives me crazy. I want to say I am mature and above that sort of thing, but crap rubs me the wrong way just like when I was younger. Also, the fact that someone would call you Lilliputian is really too much. That’s the L-word you meant, right?

    As for the stiff drinks, I recommend a more therapeutic approach. I wonder if there are still all those edible mood-changing fungi growing on the dikes near Acadia? I’ll tell you where to find them…

    Actually I might have to go look for them myself. I will be in NS in early September and that is a good time for pickin’.

  2. Bryce, do you understand now why I’ve been such an email-reply slack-ass? Gad.

    Actually, World Vision seems to be extremely concerned and diligent about my kid disappearing. The letter I received was very obviously not a form letter and was extremely honest and up-front and made it very clear that they were still searching for her, but that despite their efforts, there seems to be no trace. And like you, I was under the impression that Ghana was a fairly safe place, considering they haven’t had an uprising since the democracy imposed 30 years ago. But Mariama lived in a very traditional village and is about to hit her teens…I have nightmares of her being whisked away for an illegal circumcision and early marriage. It seems hard to believe WV can’t find an entire family who would be traveling on foot unless they don’t WANT to be found. I really can’t come up with a happy scenario, either way. (I have requested to be informed of any news, good or bad. And have been assured that they haven’t dropped the case. I have to say, I’m very impressed by the honesty and concern I’ve encountered from what could so easily be just another big bureaucracy.)

    HAHAHAHAHA – YES, ‘Lilliputian’. You are still very clever, I see. We should try to have coffee – or ‘shrooms, haha – when you’re in town. Or lots of filtered water and cranberry juice (for your kidney). 🙂

  3. I don’t often like being wrong, but I see I mis-read your post (I thought I detected a tone that WV wasn’t too concerned, but I see otherwise, and that’s a good thing.)

    Some sort of coffee rendezvous sounds good. I am really not being a smartass here, but for me it will be like meeting a favourite author. I haven’t been this excited since I met the Smith’s Andy Rourke (the Smiths are to me like the Cure is to you — nuff said).

    P.S. never ask the universe for balls — they are grossly overrated.

  4. Um…as flattering as that is (and it is, so keep it coming), I feel I should remind you that you’ve already met me. You sat next to me in most of my classes in high school. Well, when I showed up, that is. 🙂


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