Good Times, Bad Times

 There is balance. But somehow it's not enough.

My eye doc says I'm still 20/20, 4 years later.

Aide #16 is done. I was to interview a possible #17 today, but they didn't show up or even call.

I despise being disabled. I hate having to depend on other people for stupid things like shopping, vacuuming, laundry, mopping... These are things that are making me silent and bitter. Nobody wants to hear it. I don't even want to say it, because what's the point? It's obvious this all sucks. So I don't talk about it. But then there's this here blog, where I've opened many veins over a decade and a half.

It's generally not easy getting old. I swear my body started falling apart at 30, when I saw my first arthritis specialist. But it's been a "slow fade" as my exboss The Meathead put on my disability form. And to end up in a wheelchair when in my dreams I still run... 

I loved to run.

I loved a lot of things, and a lot of things are gone.

My wise motherinlaw once said, "Life is a series of losses." Yes it is, Roz.

And so there's a lot of acceptance needed. Not crying and whining, just quiet acceptance. And with that acceptance is also the special acceptance annex of friends doing things I can't do.That isn't easy either. I'm a proud Brooklyn woman who was raised to be the charity giver, not the taker. It's a very different view on the other side. A lot to swallow.

With all that, it's a miracle I have several kind and caring friends who are eager to help out. And for that I'm truly grateful.

And now I'll shut up and not let myself get bitter.

x

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