Huh. That WOULD Make More Sense Now That You Mention It . . .

These mountains that you are carrying, you were only supposed to climb.

– Najwa Zebian

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Some Days There Are No Words

*Get out of bed*

*Yawn*

*Check the news*

*Consider the relative merits of going back to bed*

*Admit that’s not a viable option*

*Focus on the day as much as possible while news feeds scream the updates on the latest pointless tragedy*

We Both Kept Going Though Because Otherwise The Wasps Would Win

I’m happy to say that by this morning the pain that was yesterday for me had mostly subsided like a wasp sting on the following day.

(I’m not just picking that metaphor out of the air by the way.  Yesterday a friend of mine had their plans disrupted by an unexpected and surprisingly painful wasp sting, and I was struck by how perfectly that described my day too.)

Good To Know. I’m Just Going To File That Little Tidbit Away For Future Reference Now

Every time I hear someone say they’d prefer to deal with a situation like pulling off a Band-Aid (i.e., doing it quickly so as not to prolong the pain), I remember a time when *I* said something like that.

It was a few days after I’d had a decidedly minor surgery, but not so minor that it hadn’t necessitated a hospital stay during that time.  At this point I was bored and I was eager to go home, and the last obstacle standing in my way was the removal of my post-surgery bandages (which were attached to me via some sort of adhesive).

So the doctor comes in, makes the usual small talk, then asks me if I want the bandages removed “fast or slow.”  Naturally, I say fast.

That’s when he looks at me like he’s really seeing me for the first time.  “I was kidding,” he said with deadly seriousness.  “Fast would kill you.”

“Fantabulanope”

Life around here is running on more or less an even keel again at the moment, and that’s nice, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember the not-so-long-ago time when I was making up new words to best convey my precise level of disinclination to deal with the latest dilemma clamoring for my attention.

Among Other Things, My Caffeine Intake Of Late Would Beg To Differ With That

Last night I was complimented for remaining “strong” in the face of recent events, and the whole idea made me chuckle.

And In The Process Of Putting The Dominoes Back Up

As my use and choice of quotes over the past two days have probably clued you in to, we’ve had a rough series of days over here.  Strictly speaking, not over anything new, “just” new variations on old emotion bubbles.

I’m not going to try and put a brave face on this, it was pretty bad, but this is part of the recovery process.  You’ve dealt with one aspect of the situation, or think you have, at least, then something acts as a trigger, and dominoes start falling.  Sometimes it’s just a few dominoes, and sometimes it’s a lot.  This time around it was . . . more than a few.

But at least for the moment, we’re better now.

A Follow-up Letter To L(A) (Part Five)

Regardless . . . now matter how or why this happened, be it due to capricious and uncaring chance, or if there was intent behind this, be it divine or simply yours, the fact remains that my personal space is missing you right now.  Even before this began I knew there was no absolute certainty in your arrival, but usually when I think that way I’m just preparing for “the worst.”  Most of the time that preparation isn’t actually required.

This time it was.

Speaking of time, time will tell if we’ll ever get to meet outside of my dreams, and for now I’m content to wait and see.  If you changed your mind once about being born, the way I figure it, you can always change your mind again, and I’m honestly hoping that you do, but if you don’t . . .

Well . . . there’s always plenty of room for another girl of my dreams.

Either way, I’ll leave the light on for you, kiddo.

A Follow-up Letter To L(A) (Part Four)

In my previous letter I mentioned that boys and girls end up facing different challenges in this culture, and your . . . non-arrival has particularly underscored that for me.

While your mother and Lala have been dealing with bouts of understandable sadness, I’ve found my biggest challenge has been in dealing with bouts of anger, not at you, but at the situation in general.  More than once I’ve had to forcibly remind myself that somebody meant well in their gesture, particularly when my gut reaction was . . . in violation of the social contract that frowns upon the idea of hitting someone just because they feel that tragedy is a good time to start talking about “God’s plan.”

(Yes, some people do take comfort in that idea, but I’m just not one of them.  The best *I* can do when someone says that to me is recognize the good intent behind the words, grit my teeth, smile, and thank them for the thought.)

I’ve also had to deal with a few times of resisting the urge to say, “Back off, man, we’re men for God’s sake!” when dealing with condolences from some of my male acquaintances, but in that case I’m just playing up social stereotypes to preserve my need for personal space.

A Follow-up Letter To L(A) (Part Three)

For my part it helps for me to think that you just changed your mind about being born right now.  I know there are those who would take issue with me thinking that, but that’s what my instincts are telling me, so in the absence of facts to the contrary, I’m going with my instincts.

Maybe something was starting to go wrong in your development.  Maybe your mother wasn’t as physically ready to safely carry you to term as we thought.  Maybe you were sparing all of us further grief down the line.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I’m just going to have to trust that you made the right call on this one.