abigail414's diaryland diary
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All the News Fit to Print
Welcome back gentle readers. Or not-so-gentle readers, but I still like the term.
Last entry I was moving in. Still in the process. I just got rid of elementary school report cards, both my father�s from the 1930�s and mine from the 1960�s. As well as 3+ boxes of papers including an essay about California politics that I wrote 30+ years ago in high school. Yes, that stuff has moved with me over 8 times. Why did I need it? Guess I wasn�t ready to purge, holding onto whatever would �define� me. My shredder has overheated many times in the past few weeks.
And, purging I am � clothes, furniture, knickknacks, etc. Life would be/is so much simpler with less �stuff�. Plus, it makes room for stuff you really like or need. This is probably all a reflection of therapy and HB, both of which are helping me figure out how to be here with more grace and comfort. I still have a list of loose ends such towel bars, but door edges work for now. (And once I do have towel bars, I have some lovely heavyweight new white towels to put on them). I finally have bathroom counters and sinks, so progress is being made.
While purging, I found some great old photographs. There is one with me at about 9 years old wearing black Beatle Boots and my beagle dog Bitsy is in the bicycle basket (say that fast 3 times), and another with me at 5 years old in black and white oxfords carrying my cat Paddywack around like a stuffed animal. Yes, I wore odd shoes and my childhood pets had an odd life, but I assumed the latter would like whatever I liked, and they went along with it. I use that philosophy daily in my job and it seems to work for me.
The longer I�m a veterinarian the more confident and competent and happier I am. Yes, psychotropic medication is good. But experience is a great teacher. At present, it is still exhausting and rewarding and I�m trying to find a happy balance. I'll write more later. It is my day off and I don�t want to think about work.
However, on my day off, I�m sitting at Eisenhower Medical Center getting my 5x/year IV infusion to smackdown my hyperactive immune system. Without it I feel like I'm painfully slugging through mud. The hospital is on Bob Hope just past Gerald Ford and Frank Sinatra and Dinah Shore (yes, there are streets named that around here). At present, I'm surrounded by old terminal disease people also getting IV infusions. A man just left the bathroom with pants he obviously urinated in. An old woman who looks pregnant is telling the nurses she is in pain and needs to be drained. The guy to my right has arms covered in blackened skin. These were once vital young people, parents, workers, lovers, friends, and are now trying to prolong life against the inevitable. Yes, I�m still thinking about mortality on a daily basis, and trying to live while I can.
HB is in the process of moving back to L.A. He told me in a pleading tone over carrot cake last week that it will be better because he�ll be happier and nothing will change and not to let my mind spin off as if things will. He has not worked for almost a year, and needs to do so, and to be back among his movie people and theaters and cultural stimulation and temperate climate. I�ve known him as an orthopedic convalescent, and this month, he rented out his desert condo and rented a new place for himself in L.A. His only reason to return here will be me, and he says he plans to do so, as well as have me visit. We�ll be about 100 miles apart, and I always knew this was the path.
Perhaps because of this, our relationship has moved up a couple notches the past few weeks. We had a 2 night/3 day retreat at a local posh hotel and we only left the room to eat. And he's learned to weather my little meltdowns with humor, and I'm understanding his stress fatigue with comfort. The other night he was so exhausted from moving, etc. that after a dinner out I offered my place for a nap before the movie, and two hours later he was still snoring in my bedroom. I was happily puttering around, and liked him in the background.
I am definitely in love with my neighborhood and starting to fall in love with my house. This morning Nelly got to romp endlessly with Wiser, my next-door neighbor Jack's dog. If his paper is no longer in the driveway, I'm welcome to knock on his door and the kids can play in the backyard like 70 lb lunatics. We sit ouside and watch them and chat while drinking tea and coffee. Our conversations include stopping mid-sentence to say 'god this is a beautiful morning' or 'a hawk just flew over your pool�. We laugh at ourselves and each other a lot (no, he�s not a romantic possibility � he bats for the other team.)
Although progress is being made, I really look forward to my house no longer feeling cluttered and dirty. I got a new floor washer/vacuum, another air filter (for the everpresent desert dust) and Prudencia will start cleaning again soon. Plus, I finally found outdoor shades for the windows to keep the UV and heat out while enjoying the mountain views. I'm starting to feel at home - my comfort range has moved up to between 85 to 105 degrees, and I love palm trees like I used to love the woods. All surprising compared to a year ago.
Therapy continues to help purge problematic behaviors that were grounded in childhood. Not much I can do about the past, but I can do a reality check on my present and am now usually capable of identifying an extreme reaction before acting on it. At times I need help peeling myself off the ceiling, and am glad to know a few people to ask. Other times I just retreat and it settles down and becomes clearer. It may be time to burn my old journals - I kept them all these years thinking they would shed light on who I was. But they were mostly written during times of stress, sadness, conflict, or crisis, much like a Mexican soap opera, and not a real reflection on the last 40+ years. This journal is one of the few times I�ve tried to write during both the ups and downs. And, I�m glad to be able to share it with a select few. Thanks for your support. I�ve missed you.
5:43 p.m. - 2007-08-10
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
|
other diaries: |
