I am the Masutā of circles and spirals. I generally justify it with this Japanese saying:
To search for the old is to understand the new. The old, the new. This is a matter of time. Shihan Gichin Funakoshi
You did notice I wrote ‘justify’ above right? But perhaps it is a little about being stuck in a glorified past and being afraid to venture into the adventurous future. What happened to me? I used to love adventure!
A lot of people ask me if I don’t mind posting private thoughts and stories on this blog. I do. That’s why I mull over it for ages and then when I have resolved my issues I post some of what I have been dealing with here. Looking at how I have dealt with stuff helps me just a little in keeping up to my goals, makes my thoughts a little clearer than they were the day before. I guess a little accountability comes into play as well. That is, of course, if my egoistic narcissistic Id is right and all of you actually read my blog and remember promises I’ve made.
Anyway, of circles, I found out a few weeks ago that I wasn’t in remission anymore. I am back to meds and tests and … I hate it. I hate being sick and having no control over it. I hate it so much that when I recently got my test results I actually prayed over the envelope hoping somehow the tests would read what I hoped and if they didn’t the print would somehow change to what I wanted. It didn’t.
The bloody Elisa tests were a lot more than just positive. The Butterfly rash is back on my chest, so no low-cut blouses – not that I like showing off my cleavage, just you know, having the option to do so is nice. My bones hurt like they have a raging agenda against my muscles. Waking up every morning is like a whole yoga routine. My morning medicine routine looks like I’m packing up a pharmacy. And I’ve been in the self-pity mode that rushes in when a flare, well flares up.
In the middle of my serious angry depressive medicine taking mode this morning, my kitten jumped up onto the table. I think he was very invested in my finishing taking my meds so I could serve him breakfast. Anyhow, once he was on top of the table, he looked at the pink, yellow, green, orange things I was staring at. He tilted his head to the side and made that cute chirpy bird sound he makes when he is curious. And then he launched himself onto my shoulder with a cat-hug-claw-pinch-purr-lick. I almost cried. I don’t cry. But come on! Even the cat can see how bad it is.
This is me, and my egoistic narcissistic Id, hanging out my self, and my self pity, all out here, just in case my mind convinces me to give up and lie down. I promise to fight back. I don’t believe that promise right now. But if I repeat it often and long enough, I’ll believe it, and then I’ll keep it.
In writing this note, I am keeping a promise to one person.