I may have spoke too soon about not being dead. Today was not a good day, and I’ve spent a total of maybe an hour where I was not in bed. The voice is no better and I still have some serious stuff to take care of that I cannot because nobody can hear me on the telephone. Grrrr. All day, as soon as I even so much as opened my eyes, my head felt as though it was going to explode. I finally faced the music this evening and stayed up long enough to take more cold medicine, eat a sandwich, and drink some hot tea.
And blow my nose 100 times. Thank god for Puffs with Lotion! They really do help reduce soreness on a much-wiped nose. There also must have been a run on them at the Walmart in Pascagoula last week. I couldn’t buy the usual 3 pack of large boxes, instead having to buy a 4 pack of small boxes. I think the flu must be rampant in the area–they were out of or low on a number of OTC remedies that are used for colds and flu-like illnesses. I have to admit, there is no comfort in knowing that I’m merely one of the crowd. Several friends have been urging me to go to the hospital, which that is as likely to happen as Santa Claus and his reindeer landing on Highway 90 in Pascagoula. I guess I’ll go if Santa shows up here with his reindeer and offers to give me a ride.
Facebook hasn’t had a lot of my attention while I have been sick. I have noticed that a lot of women are posting this little ditty about how few people are going to repost it to their profile in which they are proud of being a “bitch.” Why would anyone be proud of wearing that name, be it by dictionary meaning (female dog) or by common usage (unpleasant, nasty-tempered woman)?
I actually pride myself on NOT being a bitch. I try to be reasonable, kind, considerate of others, patience (okay, that one is really hard for me) and helpful. I am protective of my own, and I believe in championing for the underdog. I try to be more concerned about the greater good than my own personal good, and it shows in terms of my personal wealth, I’m afraid. I practice what I preach, and I chew myself out royally when I fail to live up to my own standards. I try very hard to give at least as good as what I get, and to be appreciative of what I do have. I like being perceived as a generous, giving and considerate person rather than a bitter, sour, selfish one.
Over a decade ago, when my son died unexpectedly, I was slammed with the force of a loss that I wasn’t sure I could survive. I do remember, in the intense grieving stage, remembering someone who had lost her only child, a son. After his death, her personality changed, and she became bitter and begrudging of others’ happiness, and no matter what she acquired, it never made her truly happy. She seemed to find actual pleasure in causing other people distress and misery. I told my relatives that if I became like her, they were to shoot me and be done with it. Living like that isn’t living at all. As the days of grieving wore on, it didn’t really seem to get any easier to keep on living, and sometimes it seemed as though I was in the deepest darkest imaginable valley, with no way out. During those deep, dark days…the thought that would keep me trudging onwards was of the son I had lost to death and facing him in the afterlife. All of his short life, he believed I was capable of anything and could leap tall buildings in a single bound. I could fix anything, knew everything, and would try anything too. How could I let him down by not living my life to the fullest? There was no way I could face him the afterlife and say…No, I really wasn’t the person you believed me to be.
I still miss him, and I still pay attention to his birthday and the anniversary of his death. I still cry sometimes when nobody is looking. I’m sad that he isn’t here to play uncle now or go fishing with me. I guess that will always be the case. But I’d rather end my life trying to be the person he believed me to be rather than fit in with some pop culture bravado about being a bitch.