Just Plain Foolish

Just a chance for an old-fashioned, simple storyteller to say what needs to be said.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Good and bad in everything

As my mother used to say.

I had been going to put in a post on how my stupid muscles acted up this weekend, and then someone brought up my health in public in a way I didn't like. (For those who don't know, I'm in the process of getting a diagnosis for a problem with my muscles that means I ache a lot. Pretty much all the time.) Humiliating me in public does not mean I'm more likely to go to this doctor you think is good. It does mean I'm likely to dig my soles in and show exactly how stubborn I can be. Luckily, I know how foolish (and not in a good way) that would be, and how much it would interfere with the good already accomplished so far in getting me treatment. (And how much that would upset my husband.)

And then the lights went out. Silence and darkness. And my first reaction was...

"Oh, bother. And that post was nearly done."

Well, there's good and bad in everything - I got to enjoy my beeswax candles, and a small cup of marzipan cocoa (okay there's no storm, but there was a power outage - that counts!) made over my safety lantern. Now, I'm a nightowl, and it's hard for me to go to sleep early once I'm used to a schedule, so, well, I did use my safety lantern (with the windows open - I'm not sure what fumes it produces, but better safe than sorry) and read some Pratchett. (Also got to play with the toy I bought for my husband's birthday - a flashlight that you recharge by shaking it. So nifty. All it needs now is a red filter for stargazing nights.) Now I get to reset clocks and alarms so my morning lark husband can shut them off tomorrow morning.

But I also got an hour of quiet and darkness, and looking out the window to see that everybody else on the block was also turning to candles and lanterns in the darkness. And a chance to sit and read one of my favorite authors. And a chance to think about the whole situation. I know she's doing this because she cares about me and doesn't want me to hurt anymore. But there are limits. I need to think about how to say that I know she's worried and cares, but that if she infantilizes me any further, I am likely to rebel against it. (I mean, for pity's sake, she actually tried to *feed* me - and not on a food I enjoy, either. My arms may hurt, but they still work. If I'd wanted some, I would have taken a serving, or asked my husband to give me a pinch of his.) I don't want to ignore her worry, but there also needs to be a point where I am treated as an adult. Meh.


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