I’m back to work, almost three weeks now, and I have been able to keep my promise to myself to stick to 8–9-hour work days. More times than not, it’s because I’m exhausted by the 8th hour and I need an hour’s worth of mental acuity to safely drive home. I’ve been able to retain a good amount of common sense at work, but at home, maybe not.
Today was my day off, but I had a long list of “things-to-do”. I had three doctor’s appointments, four stores to hit, and at least five things to accomplish when I got home. My therapist cancelled on me, so I’m writing to try and figure out why I’m so hard on myself. I’d probably be cleaning the bathroom or trying to do yardwork in the dark, like my mother did, if something hadn’t stopped me.
Doctor’s appointments, check! Since I’ve reached my out-of -pocket maximum this year, I scheduled some appointments while the going’s good. I’m happy to report that the new hand doctor told me that the reason my right ring finger gets stuck, is painful, and has a bump under it, is because I have trigger finger, something he was able to remedy with a slightly painful injection. The dermatologist gave me a clean bill of health and a cream to deal with my eczema, easy peasy.
Hit four stores, check! Best Buy, gift card is still valid, but nothing of worth at this time; JoAnn Fabrics, my mother would have been proud of me scouring the remnants for some inexpensive fabric to try and do a quick fix on her two remaining dining room chairs; Home Depot, here’s hoping this shower head that costs 3 times as much as the one I returned won’t break while trying to install it; Jewel (not Jewels), excellent price on a frozen turkey, so even though I’m not a turkey fan, why not. Also, I had to get me some fried chicken, the smell of it, gets me every time.
Then, I headed to my mechanic (my car husband) to have him peek at the chip in the windshield I got while driving on the highway to work, to get his advice. He sent me to Safe Lite and they had me call my insurance company, but eight hours into my day, I wasn’t up for another chore, so I lugged in my groceries (including the 17 lbs of frozen turkey), properly stowed them away and started a load of laundry, which included the jeans I was wearing (I took them off, while starting the load, and threw them in the machine) before heading upstairs and putting on my pajamas. Yes, by 3:30 in the afternoon, I felt a need to put on my pajamas and call it a day.
Then, I noticed that I needed to put away my clean dishes before I could enjoy the fried chicken I had purchased at Jewel (not Jewels). This is when the universe stepped in, since I didn’t have my appointment to talk to my therapist, it felt a need to speak. I swear, it all happened in slow motion. I could have avoided what happened next, but instead, I just watched as the universe screamed, “Stop!”.
I have a narrow pantry (it used to be a second set of stairs to the coal room in the basement, that my father converted) where I hang several of my pots on the wall. While reaching to precariously hang a 2-quart pot, I missed the hook on the wall. I’m not certain if it hit a bin before heading to the floor, but I do know, if I had acted, I could have moved my foot in time. Instead, I moved my head, to trace its course from the wall to the big toe on my right foot. It was an out-of-body experience, as I calmly lifted the pot up to expose the blood oozing out of my toe. Shit! I left a bloody trail on the floor (fortunately, red in color) as I hobbled across the room to where the paper towel hung. I wrapped some around my toe before wiping up my floor.
All I could think about, was how hungry I was and that fried chicken was calling my name. I stood frozen in my kitchen thinking, what should I do? After a few moments, I grabbed a freezer pack for my toe, and a cold beer from the fridge, I pulled up a stool, and began to feast. Room temperature fried chicken and a cold beer, I was going to be fine. I bled through the paper towel, so I grabbed some more, and another beer, since I had downed the first one. I headed to the living room and turned on the TV, cracked open my second beer and continued to feast.
Then, it hit me, and I felt a need to communicate, so I texted my mentor. I told him that I need to figure out why I do this to myself, I work myself so hard, until I hurt myself. I told him how I could see the pot falling in slow motion, but I didn’t remove myself from harm’s way. Instead, I think I hurt myself, possibly on purpose, so I could stop. I told him how I wasn’t visiting with my therapist tonight, so I guess I need to do some writing to try and figure this out. Or, crack open a third beer. We agreed, I could do both, so I did.
He did share that I need to keep telling myself that it will all get done. The thing is, there is no deadline to meet. So, the shower head is leaking, I can still take a shower. Making the dining room chairs look better would be nice to have done for Thanksgiving, but if not, I have other chairs I can use. I could have gone to Jewel (not Jewels) on Sunday, the turkey would still be on sale. The chip in my windshield isn’t that bad, and it is going to wait till next week, but I felt a need to call the insurance company to see what my options were before I even brought in my groceries. Who does that? I know…me. Maybe that’s why I admire Martha Stewart so much. Back in the day, it at least appeared that she could get so much done, in one day, and it would all be “Perfectly, perfect.” She tried to do it all, trying to be what one would consider, the perfect housewife, but in the end, she was distant from her child and her marriage ended.
I honestly thought, if I could keep the house clean and the children reared, cook all the meals and iron his work clothes, exactly the way he liked them, I could keep our marriage alive. I knew I would never be thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, or support our family financially enough, but I could cook and clean and take care of his “needs”, just the way he liked, still, it would never be “Perfectly, perfect”. The question is, why do I keep trying to please someone, who isn’t there? Someone who hasn’t been there for a very long time, no one, has been there for a very long time. So, who am I trying to please? Who am I trying to impress? Me? The ghosts of my mom and dad? I really don’t think any of my friends sit there and go, “Gail does such an amazing job at keeping all the plates spinning!” No, instead, I think, they think, I’m crazy to work so hard.
The other layer of the question is, why can’t I put as much effort into improving my health as I do with trying to keep up with housework? Yes, I just cracked open the fourth beer. I don’t think there’s enough beer in this house for me to sort through this conundrum, but one more won’t hurt. I am doing better, I really am. My physical therapist and doctor are impressed with my progress, I’m impressed with my progress too. I can raise my left arm above my head without issue, “it’s a good thing.” On Sunday, I plan to doctor up my mother’s two remaining dining room chairs. I’m not going to strip them and make them all new, too much for this old lady, but I did buy some spray paint while at Home Depot. I think I’m going to leave the artful carvings of my children on them, just a light sanding and spray paint. Between spraying layers, I can tack the remnant material to the seats, cook a wonderful meal and maybe use my exercise bike. I’m not going to change overnight, but maybe I can learn to pace myself.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, but maybe if I had been there, it could have…just sayin’
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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