The horoscope on my phone this morning says, “Listen to your gut.”
I’m listening. My gut says it’s angry about my no wheat experiment and it wants a slab of artisanal bread with butter. It’s also not happy about the wine break and would like a glass. My gut is nervous and sad, but doesn’t know why.
The horoscope also tells me to do cartwheels, so maybe it’s not really mine. I haven’t done a cartwheel in decades. I’m afraid to try. I don’t really believe in astrology, but a good aphorism can get you through the day.
In a new attempt to fix me, I’m not eating wheat for 30 days. It was the allergist’s idea. When it’s over, I’m going all Great British Baking Show in my kitchen. I’ll make cake and bread and cookies and scones. The locally sourced, farmer ground flour in my pantry will have nowhere to hide. Hopefully, wheat isn’t the problem.
Saturday, I went to the hospital for blood work (no emergency, just a blood test ordered by my doctor). They gave me a badge that said Patient, and Steven got one that said Support. I am not patient. Patience ran out a long time ago and I’m wondering where to get more. They should give me a badge that says, Resigned. Or, Nervous and Sad. His badge was perfect, though. He is, indeed, my unwavering support and thank god for that.
Tuesday, my cat had dental work. That sounds so simple, such a routine thing, but we were unreasonably upheaved. I’ve had pets all my life and no one has ever needed dental work. This cat is the last pet standing around here and she is quite perfect. She is my therapy, sweet and gentle, patient and steady. I love her irrationally. We crammed the poor, unsuspecting angel in a carrier early in the morning, after denying her breakfast, and dragged her to the vet, where we abandoned her for a long day of fear and trembling, anesthesia and dental torture. She was scared and so were we. Irrationally so. We got teary, and then we laughed because WTF?! The world is a dumpster fire and we’re undone by the cat’s dental work? Maybe it’s not just the cat.
It’s been a week of minor challenge that I’ve struggled to manage with grace. The nerves conspire with the sad and I’m a puddle of weak inefficiency. I’m not alone. My book club met this week (a bright spot) and everyone is singing the same song. “I just can’t find any joy in my life anymore,” a friend said. The rest of us snorted in agreement. We’re basically fine, but also not. We’re all over 50, but I don’t think our frustrations are entirely age related.
Is it just me or is everything a little hard? Over hummus and gluten-free crackers, we shook our heads about Roe. About guns and war. White supremacy and voter suppression. Billionaires and baby food, climate change and plague variants. We’re all mad, sad, and nervous. Dizzy and depressed. Weary and worn, teary and trying to get through the day. We nurse our aches and our angst, we drop wheat and sip seltzer instead of wine. We see allergists and ear doctors, chase cortisol and thyroid numbers. We’re going to read a book called The Adrenal Thyroid Revolution. Kill me now.
There’s no doubt that we’re living in difficult times. We are, every one of us, carrying the toxic burden of these last years. The crush of forces largely out of our control. We vote and donate, sign petitions and lend our voices to various raging battles. We can’t fix it, though. Not without forces out of our control. It’s going to be tough for a long time, I think.
The cat is fine. The lilacs are intoxicating. I’m dreaming of bread. Ten more days.
Things to share:
This year old article, “Why Is Perimenopause Still Such a Mystery?” is still relevant for women of all ages. Why indeed? A quote:
“Though images of midlife women have definitely improved — a popular meme compares Jennifer Lopez, who at 50 was pole dancing at the Super Bowl, to Rue McClanahan, who at 51 in 1985 was on “Golden Girls” drinking coffee on the lanai — there is still much progress to be made.”
Why can’t it be both? If pole dancing at the Super Bowl is your thing, go for it. But Rue looks great and coffee on the lanai sounds lovely. Stereotypes are infuriating.
My son and his wife are going to Portugal in June, because some people are ready to do things in the world. This is as far as I’m going. It’s fizzy and fresh, pretty and a tiny bit sweet. Also, the alcohol content is lower than most, so I bought a case. Here’s to summer at my house! 🥂
I went to the library book sale last week and came home with another pile. Not what I need, but exactly what I want. The power of tsundoku. One of the books is this one by May Sarton. Here’s May with a little help for a tough week:
“Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember nothing stays the same for long, not even pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.” May Sarton
Happy Friday!
Lisa
Love this!
I hope the next few days of "no wheat" are kind to you. We all need a bit more kindness these days.