So the last time I wrote my grandmother was in the hospital. She made it out and is home now. Alas this weekend I had to put down my dog. Lister was my 12 year old Boston Terrier fur baby, but due to health complications it was time. I’m gutted….like it feels like there is an actual whole in my soul.
It has got me thinking however, that once again a sad moment in my life has occurred and I’m finally taking time out of my busy schedule to write. With the hours I have been working, I’ve pretty much cast aside time to do my hobbies because I feel like there will be time later to work on my projects or chase down that dream. The truth hit hard today that there is no extra time.
We really only have today to make the most of our lives. To do what we love, to make mistakes, to learn and grow and make the world a better place. Each day is a gift and only you have the power to choose how you spend your time.
I will try to make space for the things I love because I don’t want to be on my death bed going well at least I worked really hard. I want to have adventures and stories to tell. I want to be able to say I lived, I helped others and I wasn’t afraid to do things my way.
Life is too short not to eat dessert and live like there is no tomorrow.
~ The Incidental Scribe
In Memory of Lister Sept 2, 2004- January 27, 2017
My grandmother is in the hospital. Now she seems to be on the mend, but it only reminds me that time is short. As she asks me the same question not even 30 minutes later, I realize that time can be disorted as memory fades.
It can be hard enjoying time with her like this. In my mind she is still the dancing partner I won awards with doing the chicken dance. She is the hard working woman who used to get up early to clean restaurants. The friend who would stay up late watching country music videos with me on sleep overs. And last, but not least the kind woman who would help out her friends and neighbours before herself.
Those are the memories I want to hold on to. I don’t want to remember her weak, in hospital bedd, losing her memory and telling me that life has lost it’s luster. I refuse to do so. If time can change her memory then it can change mine as well.
~The Incidental Scribe
Through all the therapy and through all the Dr. appointments I often wondered who I would be when it was done. Would my borderline personality disorder be magically cured? Would it help my fibromyalgia from flaring up? And if it did and I was back to a healthier me, who would I become?
I certainly wouldn’t still be the same person I was. The illness had become a part of how I defined myself.They had become such a big part of my idenity tgat I couldn’t imagine who I’d be if they were gone. “You’ll be healthier, you’ll be better,” the Drs said. Yet I oftened wondered who decided I was worse the way I was. Just because I was different then societal norms didn’t mean I was worse, did it?
But I finshed the therapy program and although I’m not miraculously cured, I am better equiped to handle my emotions better. This is turn has lowered my stress which has lessened my fibro flare ups. Yet I’m still a kind hearted person who, yes is a bit sensitive, but now knows to screen the people I go out of my way for. If everyone doesn’t like me it doesn’t break me anymore. I’m still free spirited, a little wild and a compassionate human being. I just take better care of myself and I know now who I want to be. The most important thing about all of the hard work though is I am still me.
What can one write in three minutes, that can be worth anything.
If only I could stop the clock and buy myself some more time. Yet the challenge of leaving three minutes worth of thoughts here appeals to me.
I am thinking about my walk to work and how different nights at a fast food chain can be depending on the night of the week.
And with that three minutes are over. I’m sad to see them go.
Time never stops it keeps on growing
Even when these old bones are screaming and moaning
Life should be lived like it’s a wild ride
There are way too many things I want to do before I die
Another year passes and I’m working the grind
Can’t escape the routine it’s gonna eat me alive
Little steps do something new everyday
More lines and blemishes still this could take a while. I’m not made of plastic or a painting with Mona Lisa’s smile. What if there was no filter? Would I still be in style?
There are my laugh lines and freckles, all the things that make me real. This is the face that does not let others say how I should look or feel. So ladies if you’re with me stop these beauty ills.