In July I'm maxed. Stretched to the limit. Trying to dig deep and coming up empty. Stingy. Needy. Grumpy. Wanting help/a time out/a hot tub time machine to take me away. Feeling totally, 100% out-of-control.
But in March? Granted, it's a busy time for me, but usually quite manageable. And my Pollyanna tendencies are well documented - I'm a glass-half-full kinda girl! Lots of days in the office, cranking up the tunes and cranking out the paperwork - it's a great time to check items off my to-do list.
Today, however, was a total fail. Woke up late, with a stiff neck and a headache. Got to work to find the equipment I needed locked up. LaJefa rescued me - thank you! - even though we found out that the equipment wasn't so much locked up. Spent the morning trying to familiarize myself with an HD camera and a film editing program that I couldn't get to talk to one another. Hours and hours, tilting at a persistently twirling windmill, to no avail.
It was like one of those flower presses, layers of glass in a wooden frame. Except it was some part of me, in between the layers, and the screws were tightening, threatening to break the glass. I thought I was going to lose it - over a stupid computer interface? RIDICULOUS.
Here's some context: I've spent 4 of the last 5 days with close friends who are now either cancer patients or caregivers. The news is recent: some diagnoses are mere days old. And I'd probably be some kind of monster if it didn't affect me, right? But I was just kinda assuming that I could waltz in and out of these friendships; that being a good friend meant that I needed to stay connected, to lend an ear, bring cupcakes, make a silly joke and help out...after all, the burden isn't mine to shoulder. I just wanted to spend time with them.
So, it was a total shock when I crumbled.
When I IMed LaJefa and begged off of the afternoon's meetings. And she was graceful and supportive...I think her last IM said "Are you still here???" She could tell I needed to vacate. And vacate I did.
It is stupid and unfair. Of the three folks I know who are affected? One is my friend's father (late 60s), one is my bestie from high school (mid-30s), and one is a seven-month-old boy. Seven months....chemo before he can walk. Three totally disparate times of life, three different cancers, and yet singularly unfair. My powerlessness has never felt quite so total.
I know tomorrow will be better. I'll return the reins to Pollyanna, and let her run with 'em. I'll actually bring my game face to work with me, rather than leaving it snug in bed. But if you have an extra prayer to pray, send it out to my friends, 'k? We'll take all the help we can get.
- My little family's good health...SO not taking that for granted again.
- The memory of a 3 year-old running the opposite direction from Boo, muttering "nopenopenopenopenopenope" as he ran. (He warmed up later on, but it was SUPER cute.)
- Swings. I will never be too old to love the swings.