Epilogue to the eulogy

Months after writing the last post, I saw it again and I thought it read a lot like I was dying. If there’s one way to let your readers down, it’s to have them think they are reading a terminally ill woman’s blog, but then she never dies.

So, for the record, I am not going to die.  I mean, we’re all going to die, but I’m not planning on dying soon (and I hope I didn’t just jinx myself…).

So let’s be clear:  I’m planning on sticking around, amassing one strange disease and/or symptom after another.  On the upside, the radiology techs all know what kind of music I like and I heard one of them talking to the radiologist about reserving one of the scanners just for me, which is really sweet.  Also, I’m really making strides in overcoming my claustrophobia thanks to all this exposure therapy AND it’s really helped with my gratitude.  Next time I have to get in my space capsule, instead of thinking my usual, “Oh f@&#, I don’t think I can do this. What if I panic?!  I think I’m going to panic!” I will be thinking, “Awe-some!  It’s so great to do this without feeling like I’m spinning 300 miles per hour.  What a pleasure!”

So it’s all good.

Oh, one more thing.  Even if I were to get “sick”, which, as I said, I’m not, I don’t want this to turn into a blog about a sick person.  When someone’s sick, suddenly the expectations are so high that they turn into this amazing person who, to their last breath, is only thinking of others and doing good deeds.  That is just not a good fit for me.

The Cussing Cure

I stopped cussing when I had kids as a way to lie to them and make them think I’m someone I’m not.  Lately I have cussed in front of them a few times, surprisingly with much less remorse than I used to have when I’d slip up.  I actually think it’s time they know the truth:  They come from a long line of cussers, some of whom elevated cursing to an art form.  They should also know that cussing can be a form of coping. Continue reading