One fine day, I was at work and there was a whole lotta cake. It was fancy and it had gold sprinkley things on it and it was surrounded by even more attractive(if that's even possible) cupcakes with even more gold sprinkley things and all of that was surrounded by a tiny string of electrified tiny white lights. It was a thing to behold. The lights especially. Woo.
So cool to be alive now, isn't it?
I was putting my coat on to leave for the day and the birthday person said something like, Wow I'm so impressed that you didn't have any cake.
Huh? thinks me and now my brain is slowing down-you know like when you've slipped on ice and you're starting to fall-and I'm realizing that she's now leading a tiny group of three other people in a round of applause(swear to god) for me because I didn't have any cake.
My eyelids are starting to blink in the slowest of motion which-if ya really knew me-is the sign that I am trying to process a reality that is beyond my current scope of belief. (Kinda like when Trump took the tiny states of the east coast one after another. I thought they were kidding. I absolutely did.)
My lids open and close like the wings of a helicopter that's lost power.
Fwoomp. Fwoomp. Fwoomp.
I'm uhh tryin' to, ya know uhhh, just uhh tryin' to eat a little bit healthier er sump thin' I manage to sputter out, but my head has created a Polaroid of the group and I've already decided I'm not going to know this group of people for very long/any more.
Today there were glazed doughnuts and nobody lost a finger snatching a half dozen from the wrath of my jaw.
I had my first official massage in forever. I get them-what is known as-fo' free-but I couldn't seem to find a connection with a person mature enough to handle my fragile state of mind. Does that make a bit of sense? "Don't go to a cheap dentist", said my friend Kevin when I lived back in Queens. "You only get one set of teeth. Ever." It's kinda like that.
I didn't want some overzealous/just beyond high school kid driving a fork lift over my scalenes or this one woman who offered to massage my gigantic scar into Neverland. I kinda like my scar. It reminds me where I've been. I forget all the time until someone decides to remind me.
Anyway, we got a new grown-up(woohoo!) massage therapist who is going to school for acupuncture and somehow we got talking about cupping and then this Gua Sha thing and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to try it. Until it was time for me to get on the table. Then I was really worried that it might hurt. A lot. And the blood thinners. That worried me too.
Welllll guess what? It was delightful. She used the edge of a Chinese spoon and she (lightly) worked my back and my arms and my legs and everything felt really warm and nice. Now about two hours later, my head almost fell over because I was so tired but I'm definitely going back for more. I might even learn it. It's that cool.
Ages ago, my Mah's neighbor ladies had a monthly Bunco game and I do not think she ended up attending regularly if at all and the quote was something like, "I don't even see people I want to see that often."
And like all things Mom, I'm beginning to understand. The cooking thing we've been doing-man, it is SO time consuming. The shopping, the cooking, the investigating. I know it adds up to the balance your life is supposed to have. Like you SHOULD give that much time to your food. It will repay you ten thousand times over. The option is making an ass print on top of a piece of never-ending white paper coming off a roll at the end of the exam table, ya know? (Don't go there, gurl. I'm telling ya, the clothes are not even remotely attractive. Especially the socks.) But I feel like I am getting further and further from the Work I Actually Want To Be Doing.
The strangest thing is I keep seeing things. All through the medical stuff. Every day at the library.
I was sitting in a hot tub(you feel sorry for me now, don't you?) and I looked to my right and there was a face staring right at me. It was made of two pieces of wide webbing that secured the chair that sinks people who can't do stairs right into the water. It looked exactly like a guy with a mohawk and a goatee and a not-smiling mouth who was getting tired of waiting for me but I got the message: the pictures are not going to stick around forever.
We came across a Cathy cookbook on the donation pile of the library. Shockingly sexist in it's moronic- ACK! He Hasn't Called Me Back and It's Been 12 Days Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Cookies-recipies. (Holy Mutha of Jayzuz did I actually live through that time? BPH(before purple hair)don't cha know.) But yeah, I did and what goes along with that, is a lifetime of criticism about ones weight whether it be up or down or leaning towards New Jersey and so, when a group of co-workers-no matter how well-meaning they might have imagined they were being-puts their hands together on behalf of your non-cake-eating-self? Your next move might be out the door.
As my friend's shrink would put it, you can't not know anymore.