Rigid and painful, intermittently arising from the dampened bed clothes. Changed my T-shirt for the third time. Late getting up again this morning, after ten o’clock. Spent the entire night rocking left then right, staring at the iPhone’s white light in the bathroom, finally at 7:00 am falling asleep through sheer exhaustion, encumbered by disturbing thoughts which I can never recall. What a dreadful time to start the day! The lost time cannot be recovered!
My overnight anxiety lingered and prompted me as it always does to bread and butter and peanut butter, I love the fats and the dough. At least I began with sliced green apple (an uncommonly small one from a plastic bag of uncommonly small Granny apples) and ten Golden berries (whatever they are). Probably just sugar. Then two small bowls of granola with honey and walnuts. More fat. More sugar.
I had to go for my bike ride. I had to go. Brushed back my hair, put on my shoes and headed to the garage. I was too preoccupied to notice the warm late summer air. The sky was blue, yellow sunshine, didn’t really matter. Just went to the end of Country Street and back. No time for dawdling the morning. Must see mother and get her to sign that paper.
Yesterday was spent entirely at the Heart Institute, close to twelve hours from start to finish. His Lordship had three stents put into his coronary arteries. Amazingly our self-styled empty agenda backed up completely and upon our return home we both worked late into the evening to quell the riot of neglect. We were drained as a result but hadn’t the luxury to rejoice in our accomplishments. There were still matters to address.
For four hours this afternoon I bargained relentlessly with bureaucracy to subdue the latest blip in my inconsequential schedule. I will not be defeated by mandarins or triviality. As unremitting and irritating as I may be when prosecuting a claim, I will not absorb the shortcomings of others. But it requires method and ceaseless pressure. And from more than one front. It’s a strategy of attack.
I can’t pretend to have defeated the monster that numbs me. But I’ve backed it into a corner and surrounded it by a militia of advisors. I continue to spur them on. They resist as always, caught in the tangle of their own schema, but I make quiet suggestions, reiterated for emphasis, germinating ideas like seeds cast abroad.
In what feels like an instant the dilemma is resolved! As soon as the consternation evaporates the chains slip away and I hardly recall the reason for the anxiety. What joy it is to recover my unperturbed, uncomplicated life! The relief of stress was so palpable that instantly my back felt less rigid, my knees worked and my legs didn’t tingle. I have always known that stress is a killer but, like any pain, one needs to relive it to recall it. I question whether I am too focussed or obsessive ever to tolerate an admixture of worries, whether I am prohibited to deal with anything but the roadblock that is immediately before me. The problem however isn’t either the problem or the multiplicity of problems; it is the incapacity to address their resolution. If I am constantly prevented or thwarted in my attempt to deal with a problem – whether because of bureaucratic inertia or lack of will – I am quickly reduced to utter frustration. No doubt the root of the matter is impatience, something which has plagued me my entire life. But whenever I pretend to rise above my impatience I am usually rewarded only with a retribution, a discovery that my mistaken ambivalence merely squandered valuable time which was not being spent in the throes of getting something done but rather simply ignoring it.
Whatever! It hardly matters why or what! The point is, it’s taken care of!
And again – dammit!
I spoke too soon. The damn thing is on the fritz again. It didn’t even last 24 hours! The car is back at the dealership. I am stewing once again, wondering whether my prediction that they need to replace the entire computer will prove correct, how much longer must I wait, how many times must they drag me through this trial and error only to discover what I have told them from the beginning – get a new computer! It would take less time to build a rocket to the moon than to fuss with this trivial technological problem! I am pissed!