I lie stretched out on my bed. My shoes are on the floor beside the nightstand, my bra unfastened is still laying across my chest underneath my blouse. The curtain to the west is open and the evening sun stretches across the end of my bed in perfect slits of shadow and light, peeking through the cracks of my cheap plastic mini blinds.
My bed is kind. It welcomes me unquestioningly, without judgment or scorn, it is a reliable literal soft place to land after a hard day.
This was a hard day. I want to calm myself, to release the stress of a day where nothing seemed right from the moment I opened my eyes. I tried reading a book, but I couldn't comprehend it. I tried watching TV, but I wasn't really paying attention. People tell me "learn to meditate, it will keep you so calm and peaceful."
I am not a good at meditating. My mind races in circles constantly. "What must I do next? Do I have time to fit it all in to one day? All the things I'd rather do tug at me from the back of my head all day long but I rarely get around to any of them.
So I am not meditating as I lie here staring up at the ugly out of style light fixture above my bed. I'm wondering if it's hard to switch out a light fixture, then letting my mind wander all the way through the scenario where I try to connect a new light fixture and end up electrocuted on my comfy bed. I play out the whole scene in morbid detail, then scold myself for even thinking those kinds of thoughts.
My brain is a wasteland of pointless rumination.
Ear Worms. They are my nemesis.
A few days ago I found myself in a store that plays overhead music much too loudly. Ever since then a Carrie Underwood song has been stuck in my head. So literally this is how it sounds inside my noggin:
"I need to figure out what's for dinner....(then in singing thought) "I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive...DUH! Stop it! I hate that song!"
Or I curse at some crazy dude in traffic and my mind goes, "carved my name into his leather seats." NO NO NO, no more of this song. I turn on the radio, listen to the Doors, The Beatles, anything but Carrie Underwood. As soon as my mind drifts away from an important thought, the ear worm is back. "Took a Louisville slugger to both head lights, slashed a hole in all three tires..." I start thinking about what a crazy bitch a woman would have to be to do that stuff, even though it sounds funny in the song. I decide, while lying here on my bed, that someone never told Carrie that going psycho on a man's truck only serves to prove to everyone what he says about you--that you're crazy. Its a shame a lot women don't know that the best way to get revenge is to live a good life. But even my logic does not dissuade the song from playing in my head, tempting me to hum it. I will not be swayed.
My phone dings. I ignore it. Someone calling from an 800 number. I don't answer those. I am comfortably isolated. My boy is finally quietly playing in his room and I'm lying here trying to find some zen. The weird pain in my right side is distracting and I wait for it to subside before I pull out the computer and check Facebook.
Nothing much going on in anyone's lives today. Guess that means I'm stuck thinking about mine.
I ate ice cream from the carton a few minutes ago.It was my dinner. There's a Diet Coke beside my bed. I want to take a sip, but I'm too lazy to reach over and pick it up. Why can't we live like the Jetson's yet?
What kind of person am I, anyway?
I ate bean salad and Jello for lunch. That's just strange.
I drove my car across town with the gas light on. Risky.
I nearly got in a wreck checking my mail. I could have parked the car in the driveway and walked to the mailbox.
I got testy with my kid for forgetting the ONE folder he's supposed to bring home daily Then he decided to get mouthy with me and that went over as well as real wine on communion Sunday at a Baptist church. I was not having it. The more stern I got the more defiant he got. Unfortunately for him, this is not my first rodeo battling a tweenager with a smart mouth. I won the battle. Only time will tell if I'll help him win the war.
As I lie here I notice that my head hurts on the left side. I rub my hand over my bloated belly. It feels tight, round. Too full of something, dialysis fluid maybe? I think I look somewhat pregnant. I rub my fat belly and thank my lucky stars that whatever is in there making me look all round and applish, it's not another child I can make mistakes with. I leave my belly uncovered and stare at it for a few minutes. It is such an abnormal part of my body now. I wonder if four years of dialysis have forever stretched it out of shape. I think back to my 20's when my stomach was flat and there was no dialysis catheter swinging from the left side of my abdomen. I can't remember what it's like to NOT have a tube hanging out of my belly.
I want to doze off but writing is my therapy. I need to write until I am feeling more in line with my Universe. Days like this leave me chasing my own tail, figuratively of course, until I find some way to straighten out all the thoughts and find some gem amongst the debris of living them. Today the only thought I found to redeem my awfulness just a little bit was gratitude.
I''m still alive after all, and that's not something I ever thought I'd be at my age. So there's what I will embrace this evening before I finally close my eyes and ready myself for tomorrow's do-over.
