Last night I took two Benadryl to calm down my allergies and slept like a dream. Now it’s one-thirty in the afternoon, and I think the pills are still in my system. It’s like I’m in a fog, the world is kind of hazy. I actually like it. First, my sinuses are dryer, and my skin is less itchy. Second, although I’m sure there are a number of physical and emotional problems I could currently worry about, I can’t focus enough to remember what they are. I keep thinking, Eff allergies. Life is good. Que sera, sera. Y’all, those little pink pills are great–they’re like alcohol without the calories.
Of course, the fact that I can’t focus isn’t doing much for today’s blog, but you can’t win them all.
Yesterday I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house. One of their sons is getting married. (Thus the dance lesson.) Anyway, when the dancing ended, we all sat around, visited, and were generally entertained by their two younger boys. I guess for Christmas the kids got a bunch of stilts, the bucket kind where you basically stand on upside-down plastic cups that stay pressed against your feet by virtue of long strings you hold in your hands. Well, there may have been whiskey involved, and before long I and some of the other adults were running around the living room with the kids, except we were hunched over because the strings were sized for toddlers and young children and not for those of us old enough to have our chiropractor on speed dial.
“This isn’t good for my lower back,” I said.
Later the boys put all the cups together and hid candy under them. Then the adults had to guess where the candy was. Y’all, I’m terrible at this sort of thing. After ten rounds, I think I walked away with two peppermints, one of which was a sympathy win. No wonder I always end up in the slow line at the grocery store and pick the wrong people to date. Whatever you do, don’t let me go to Las Vegas. Stick to blogging, Marcus. Stick to blogging.
This morning my older nephew led me in a game of treasure hunt in which he left notes or clues that led me from one location in the house to another. First I was at the refrigerator, then under one of the beds, then on the couch, and so on. This is really creative, I thought. Well, the final destination was my mom’s bathroom, where my nephew was waiting. And get this–the “treasure” I received was getting squirted in the face with a water bottle. I was dripping. My nephew couldn’t stop laughing. “He’s been reading a lot about practical jokes,” my sister said.
“Lucky me,” I replied.
Last night I started to get wrapped up in my current histamine reaction, falling down the rabbit hole of worrying and thinking, What am I going to do? But then I took a deep breath and spent a few minutes remembering all the longstanding problems my body has solved over the years, most of which it did without my help. Well, in short order, I had an entire list–warts that lasted a year, body odor that lasted at least six months, skin rashes, infections, flu viruses that dragged on and on–all things that are currently over. This is something I plan to do for at least the next week or two, make an effort to recognize the times my body has come through and won the day. Since God knows I’ve spent plenty of time pointing out my body’s failures lately, I think it’s only fair to balance the scales.
My therapist says that life isn’t black and white, but rather “a lot of gray.” My this-or-that, all-or-nothing brain doesn’t love this idea, but it seems to be correct. The truth is that just as I don’t win games all the time, I don’t lose games ALL the time either. Sure, sometimes I end up with water on my face, but, more often than not, I’m perfectly dry, nothing to complain about. Likewise, I’ve had my share of health problems, but probably no more than average. What’s more, my body has proved itself capable of restoring order on more than one occasion. I guess this is another way of talking about balance, being able to see that you win some and you lose some and that life isn’t one thing or the other. Instead, like my world on antihistamines, life itself seems to be a fog, this hazy, gray thing that creeps along, touches everything, and leaves nothing out.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.
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