Oh, hello. You know what’s awesome? Being the sort of person who is prone to psychosomatic illness. Now, a lot of people think that “psychosomatic” means “faked,” but in fact it means real physical illness that just happens to be caused or aggravated by mental factors such as stress.
If they gave grades in psychosomatic maladies, I would get an A+, as well as comments like, “Really gives it her all!” and “Rarely do I see this sort of dedication.”
When I made it through our two-week-long tour of illness, stress, and family dysfunction over the holidays with nary a sniffle, I was set to declare myself champion of staying healthy. Then we came home, I did ten loads of laundry, and promptly came down with a miserable chest cold. Whoops.
Fortunately, the hits kept on coming, with several dreadful pieces of news arriving in the last week. I figure I should be on life support by February.
Ohhhhh, I’m joking! We all know I only get just sick enough to be miserable, but ultimately this whole “sense of responsibility” thing keeps me, I dunno, running carpool and handing out allowance and stuff. The kids need me! I think. Sometimes. Well, occasionally, anyway.
So my asthma’s kind of kicked up, and that makes me feel alternately about 5 and 95. It’s hard to explain; having spent a childhood with severe asthma means every time it flares, now (because most of the time, I’m fine), it kind of brings me right back to those memories. And then, on the other hand, I feel like a wheezy old geezer. Good times.
We all know the best way to relieve yourself of psychosomatic illness is lots of fluids, rest, Vitamin C, and working out the stress which caused/exacerbated the problem in the first place. OH HA HA HA. Me, I like to work out my stress RIGHT HERE, using the time-honored tradition of rambling endless about my delicate feelings and unique thoughts. I talk, you metaphorically pat me on the head (or tell me I’m crazy), it’s all very cathartic, and then we all move on with our lives.
In this case, unfortunately, I feel sort of blocked and doomed. You know, because I’m the optimistic sort.
Of the two issues currently weighing heavily on my heart (and, apparently, my lungs), one cannot be discussed yet because I know things Other People don’t yet know, and I’ve agreed that it’s not my place to go blabbing until everyone involved has Been Informed. In theory, I am perfectly okay with that. In practice, I want to throw myself down on ye olde blog, here, and tell you what’s going on and cry and wail and beat my fists and be done with it. But I can’t. Yet. I guess I’ll just continue being sick for another week or so until I can.
The second issue just wanders into that treacherous minefield of No Matter How Much I Worry About My Teenager, Some Of Her Stuff Is Just Her Own Stuff. Curse her and her autonomous life! Except don’t, because God, I love that kid. I love her to pieces and like 99% of the teenagers in middle school, she currently believes that no one really knows her or loves her. I’m in uncharted waters here, people. I never know whether to cuddle her and feed her ice cream or just smack her upside the head. Sometimes I do both simultaneously, but that tends to result in ice cream on the couch. Also sobbing. Very messy.
[Of course, there's a third, smaller elephant as well, though I'm happy to expose it to everyone just so that we can all point and laugh and acknowledge that yes, if my life was written as a work of fiction, it would be criticized as being too ridiculous to be believable. (Truth is always stranger than fiction. ALWAYS.) This is probably not a contributing factor in my current illness, really, but WHO KNOWS. Hey, remember how over two months ago our new deck project began and I was all "LA LA LA THIS WON'T TAKE LONG" and I was happy because it was our regular contractor and not the yahoos who did our fence? Well, it wasn't ALL done until just before the holidays, while we were gone, because the wood was too wet to paint and stain, and blah blah blah, DO NOT WORRY, ALL IS WELL, and we came home and deck was done and it was... okay. Not great. There are a few small issues, but those will be dealt with. We were feeling pretty good, really. Which is probably why I shouldn't have been all that surprised when the building inspector showed up this week while I was schlumping around in my bathrobe and stuffed an ominous pink citation sheet underneath our building permit. That's right: Our brand new deck which was almost 3 months in the making just failed inspection. (The contractor says, "Don't worry!" Well, then.)]
So that’s where I am right now. This too shall pass; I know. It’s the “waiting for it to pass” part I’m not so good at.
They should make a Vicks Vapo Rub that SOLVES ALL YOUR PROBLEMS. Someone get on that, wouldja? I’m gonna go drink some tea.