Dying and Other Bad Habits
Posted by Quarterto5
So as it turns out, I’m dying. Huh. Who knew? Oh, right, I did. Oops.
Anyhow, yeah. I’m apparently dying. But as it turns out, I don’t actually know when it’ll happen, nor do I know what will kill me. (Although, at this rate, my best guess would either be the Scientist or my boss, so check them out first!)
It also appears that I’m not alone in this. I have yet to meet anyone who’s found the real Fountain of Youth, so I guess everyone around me is also going to die. This begs the question, why the hell are we so caught up in the stupid minutia that pervades our everyday existence?
There are things that are worth drawing this line in the sand. I know I have them. Mess with my kids in any way, and whatever relationship we had is over. No second chances, no exceptions. It’s simply gone. But really, anyone who’s known me for more than ten minutes is pretty clear on that one. Another one for me is that I don’t tolerate intolerance. My home has always been and will always be a safe space. My kids always knew they could bring friends of any race, religion, gender, orientation, etc, and it was all good. We don’t judge, we don’t hate. The quality of a person’s spirit has nothing to do with any of those labels; it’s simply based on who you are.
But I’m talking about things like stressing over having the “perfect” body shape so that you’ll appeal to whatever ideal is currently trending in the mainstream media. Or maybe the fact that people don’t always love the type of people you feel they should love. Or maybe your floors didn’t get mopped this week and they “should’ve”.
What are we doing? Why are we layering stress after stress upon ourselves and each other?
I’ve long since quit denying or hiding who I am. I simply don’t care anymore. The Therapist had to reiterate to the Scientist and me over an over and over, “If it works for you, screw anyone else’s opinion.” I still need reminding at times. I still occasionally slip back into that “What will They think?” mode, and it’s pointless.
So I own who I am, and I find peace within it. I’m about as flawed and as weird as can be, but maybe that’s part of why the people who choose to be in my life make that choice. I’m a person who prefers women by orientation (with the exception of a certain hot Scientist), has three amazing kids, and a well-functioning open marriage. I have a disability, a neurological condition, a high stress job, and multiple tattoos. I’m an avid quilter, cook, gardener, and photographer. I’ve been an agnostic, slightly Pagan, recovering Catholic for 20 years. I love the Pittsburgh Steelers and sort of love the Atlanta Braves, although I will never -ever- forgive them for trading Craig Kimbrel. I also have a temper, and am like a viper if I feel cornered. I rarely trust people, but those I do trust, I trust for life. I’m way too adept at showing people a mask if I think it’ll make life easier, but I’m working on that.
And yet, no matter what I am, what I’ve been before, or what I might become, I’m still dying. And so are you. What will you do with the time you have left?