Holy Shit

I have that sensation like the ground has been pulled out from under me and my stomach is dropping to my knees.  I have two friends going through terrifying medical ordeals, the kind you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy.  Both of them are coping amazingly well.  They are calm and collected and both are facing each new challenge with strength.  I would never have a chance of handling the situation half as well as they are if it had befallen me.

Anytime something like this happens it makes you think.  I know I should be grateful for every healthy day I have.  I should pay attention to all the little things that happen everyday.  So today I am going to rejoice as I clean up the litter box because I feel good and healthy and lucky.  Cat shit has never seemed so uplifting before.  Here’s hoping my friends will both feel well enough to happily shovel shit someday soon too!

So…

I started to write a post today about the ridiculously hot November weather.  While it still remains true that it is nearly impossible to think of baking pies in 85 degree weather, I realized I was doing in writing what I frequently rely on in every day life when I don’t know what else to say.  I start to talk about the weather.

The truth is that there is a bunch I have to say, but I am too scared to say it.  Not so much scared of what other people will think as I am scared of the massive panic attack admitting my fears out loud will induce inside me.  My eye starts to twitch just thinking about it.

Ugh.

I have people all around me telling me not to worry that everything is going to be alright.  I cannot tell you how much I hope they are correct.  But I am a little ball of anxiety and there are not enough hot baths, medications, or soothing words in the world to help assuage my fears.  I am just going to have to lean into this discomfort and learn to live with it.

This must be a similar feeling of fear and uncertainty people have felt for millennia during wars, missile crisis, plagues, or various other horrendous events.  I guess I have just never been old enough during a major period of uncertainty before to know what it feels like to endure.  This is shitty.

I would now like to apologize if I ever minimized any old person’s experiences during times of panic.  I am so sorry.  I had no idea what it felt like.

Here’s hoping I am overreacting.  Here’s hoping I will read this post in four years and laugh.   Here’s hoping.

Toilet Paper…The Shit Has Hit The Fan

Earlier in the week I went on a shopping trip.  It was glamorous, let me tell you.  Among the items on my list was toilet paper.  Everybody poops.  Anyway, as I wandered down that aisle I realized just how confusing toilet paper math has gotten.  It is out of freaking out of hand!

NYT2009022518124303C
photo credit: The New York Times

It is a Mega Roll?  Well according to the packages 12 Mega Rolls is equal to 24 Big rolls.  But WTF is a Big Roll?  I found the Big Rolls, but then I decided I really only needed a Regular Roll.  I went looking for that and it seems everyone’s shit is out of control, because regular sized rolls don’t exist anymore.

Then I saw that another company offered a Jumbo roll that evidently equals twice the size of a Double Roll, which is just damn confusing.  The Double Roll is apparently twice the size of a Standard Roll, so we are definitely dealing with exponents here people.  Anyway, don’t even try to locate the Standard Roll because it seems to also no longer survive in the wilds of the toilet paper aisle.

Then the really funny math starts when you look at how they describe the types of paper.  Apparently a single square of Premium paper has the cleaning power of four squares from the Regular two ply brand.  This I find terrifying because I fear that means some idiot is trying to wipe his bum with only one square of paper, eww.

But wait there’s more.  The Ripples are fucking magical.  At least that is what it seems, as the packaging says Ripples beat out Quilted squares ten to one.  What ever the hell that means.  But don’t go over and reference the Quilted brand because it will tell you Quilted squares are better for your butt and also cure breast cancer…or they are donating to the research or something.  I don’t know, at this point I had begun to pace the aisle while frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog in captivity.

I would tell you about the Soft and Strong versus Ultra Soft debate, but I think that may induce me to seizure.  Honestly if you want more information, may I direct you to the Good Housekeeping Review and Testing site on the internets. Because apparently toilet paper is now so complex that the wise folks over at Good Housekeeping felt the need to analyze important factors such as absorbency, plumbing response, paper break down, and thickness of all the major brands in order to provide you, the consumer, with the definitive guide to the 20 best toilet papers.  Happy Reading.

This is freaking out of hand.  Somebody find me a Sears Catalogue.  I’m going to put it by the pot and kick it old school one page at a time.

I Sweat The Small Stuff

I wish I weren’t rattled by the small things.  Swear to god, you change one little thing in my world and I mentally flip into an inner panic reason cannot fight.

Recently I decided it would be a great idea to dog sit.  My husband has been wanting to get a dog, and I figured this would be a great way for us to have a trial run.  NEVER LET ME DO THIS AGAIN.

I spent the last five days in anxious turmoil.  Everything was wrong.  The house smelled different.  The dog wanted attention.  It made weird sounds.  Food and water were spilled.  I had to venture outside to let the dog pee.  My cats were upset.

Those are all really small things.  Rationally I knew that, but for the life of me I could not get the message to my head.  Instead my brain produced constant tides of anxiety rocking back and forth inside me.  My life went completely on hold while I simmered in an anxious sea. I was unable to concentrate on anything beyond the knot being thrown about by waves in my stomach.  Writing was on hold, dishes piles up, laundry went undone, books unread, it was awful.

Last night the dog went home.  Slowly the knot inside me is unravelling.  As I start to feel better I can’t help but feel life shouldn’t have to be so hard.  It seems like little things like a house smelling different shouldn’t throw me for such a giant loop.  Having water spilled in the kitchen shouldn’t cause me to crawl onto the couch and sit in the fetal position.

I know anxiety was just the card I was dealt, but sometimes I want to cry mulligan call for another shuffle.  But then again, if I didn’t have my anxiety I wouldn’t be me, and that makes me incredibly anxious too.  So I guess anxiety and I are just stuck together.

Plantar Fascists is a Jerk

My feet hurt so freaking bad!  Ugh!  Every step feels like I am walking on jagged rocks that have been laying in a fire pit all day.  Searing pain hits my heels as soon as I put any weight on them.  It has been like this for two years.  I’ve seen doctors, had injections, wear insoles, special shoes, rubbed ice on my feet, used massage, gotten frozen water bottles to roll my feet on- I have done everything.  They still hurt every damn step.

My last doctor basically looked at me, called me fat, said that this would keep happening until I lost weight, and sent me on my way telling me to eat more fruits and vegetables.  I get it.  I know he’s right.

But what doctor’s never understand, the thing they can never wrap their heads around, is that I wish I could do what they say.  I wish it more than anything in the world.  I wish it so hard it hurts.  But I can’t.  I can’t because the only way I have ever known to face this big scary world is by arming myself with food to help ease the pain.  Food is my drug of choice to get through the bad times and the good.

I am an expert at finding just the right food to medicate for each situation.  Feel anxious?  Have some licorice.  Feeling sad?  Here’s some cocoa.  Need a hug?  Have more bread and butter.  I know just the fix for each feeling.  It is my world.  Doctors don’t get it.  How could I possibly face the world without my medicine?

I would love to loose weight.  I would kill to be skinny.  It would be so much easier to make it through the day without the stares from strangers, jokes whispered from behind, pain in my feet, and lack of energy for life.  But I can’t.  I’m stuck.  This is all I know, and I am in a vicious circle that keeps me trapped.

It should be simple.  I should just stop and face the world, vulnerable, without using food as a drug.  It should be simple, but it is not.  I don’t know why but it seems impossible to me.

So I will hobble through this world with pain in my feet and heart.  I will live the best that I can and try to ignore the hate and agony the world sends my way.  I can always just have a candy bar, right?