I’m home sick today. I’ve caught this weird cold-y flu-y thing. No head cold really, just a bad cough and a low fever which is making me achy and cranky. The whole thing is sort of weird and makes me wonder if I’m making myself sick. If I’ve created this weird Munchausen thing to keep me safe. I’m sick, but not really badly say your goodbyes sick. Making this even stranger for anyone not living in my head, is that this comes on the heels of a commitment to eat better and exercise after my last physical. How interesting. I can’t go to the gym, I’m siiiick. Uh huh. Uh huh. Ok, now I’ve passed even my own limits of crazy. This is not to say I’m lying when I say I don’t feel well, or that there isn’t a thing going around that I certainly could have caught. But making myself sick just to get out of the gym? That’s ridiculous!!! Except it’s not really. We all know that stress and illness are buddies. Bosom buddies. Yes, even the happiest, most stress free peeps get sick. But it’s not unheard of for stress and anxiety to make one sick. Or worse. A dear friend of mine died when her heart stopped inexplicably. No reason. Except for years of anxiety issues. All I really know is that right now, I’ve got this thing. And next time it might be another thing. How long until I’m really sick. Or worse. Ok. Imma stop this journey right now. It serves literally no purpose. I’m going to continue to eat well, exercise, talk with my therapist and per her advice add meditation to my day. Funny sidebar here. When I started typing meditation it came up medication. Snort. If I’m capable of making myself sick, I’m more than capable of making myself well. So, I have this thing. Just a cold. Nothing to worry about.

Charlotte

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I had a physical this morning, and because I have a heart murmur, I was due for an ultrasound. And apart from my leaky little valve, this 12 year old doctor informed me that my heart’s a little stiff. This apparently is not uncommon among post-menopausal women. WTF??? I mean, seriously. What the actual f#%^*? She didn’t seem concerned and said they’ll do an ultrasound every year and keep an eye on it, blah, blah, blah. And I asked not one question. I had my blood drawn. I winced when I got on the scale. I peed in the cup. But it wasn’t until I was home that I thought of all the questions I wanted to ask. So of course, I googled it. Big mistake. Amyloidosis! Diastolic Dysfunction! Heart Failure! Ok, everybody just calm down. And for G-d sakes, step away from Google! One thing I do know, I need to care for myself. I do not need a doctor to tell me that binge eating, yo-yo dieting, lack of sleep, stress, these aren’t good for anyone, at any age. But let’s face it. I’m not 20. And neither is my heart. I will continue to deny that right up until my last breath. But that doesn’t make it any less true. So I’ve started meditating to get to sleep at night. I’ve committed to working with my therapist every week and not just when I feel bad and can no longer fit into my winter coat. And today. I went to the gym. And Imma go tomorrow too. Scouts honor. I promise myself from the bottom of my leaky, slightly stiff little heart.

A Chip of my Heart

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One of the things I’ve always had tremendous issues with is my inability to let things go and move on. I’m called out on something at work and I’m convinced I’m going to lose my job. I spend the next 24 hours defending myself, (in my own head, of course), against slings and arrows and people out to get me. I’m convinced I’m never going to find another job and I’ll spend what’s left of my life living in a cardboard box in the subway. I have never learned to let disappointment and envy go either. A few years ago, I got back on stage when my Synagogue started a theater company. It has been such an amazing gift. I’ve been lucky enough to get the roles I auditioned for and it is one of the few places I feel good about myself, my talent, all of the things that seem to elude me in the real world. This year is no exception. I don’t have a huge role, but it is a memorable one and I’m thrilled. But. Due to a rewrite of the show since it was on Broadway, there’s a little part of the show, a mere 5 minute trio that my character was part of in the original script that has been written out. Truly, this rewrite doesn’t make the part any less hysterical, but that bit made it perfect. And I’m surprisingly upset about it. No. Not surprisingly at all. Who am I kidding? I’m pissed. Devastated. Distraught. They wrote out my shtick! I’m beside myself! See where I’m going? It’s ridiculous. It’s 5 minutes that nobody but me gives a sh^%#* about. And guess what? Tearing my hair out isn’t going to change a thing. Except I will then be bald and upset. And fat. Because let’s face it, Disappointment is nothing without a big bag of M & M’s to wash it down with. Not getting exactly what we want is a part of life. If we are lucky, it is the worst part of life. Life is full of spooky stuff, especially as we get older. Stuff that will make disappointment look like a big bag of M & M’s. Ya know, if I go back through the years I’ve been writing this blog and randomly go through a couple, I’ll probably find that I was whining about the same issues back then. Fear, Disappointment, M & M’s, blah blah blah. Now that’s spooky.

Charlotte

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Woke up this morning with sheet creases on the right side of my face. Just caught a glimpse of myself in the train window. Still there.

Broken Glass Series #2

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