I called in dead to work yesterday, and the way I felt when I woke yesterday I think dead was my preferred mode. Anything was preferable to what I felt like when I woke. There was no part of my body that didn’t hurt, but the knee was throbbing like a bitch. I will be discussing with my doctor; while the new meds gave me high hopes at first, I think we can place them firmly into the “waste of time and money” category. We know I have fibromyalgia AND arthritis. Can we all say, “HOLY SHIT ow ow that hurts?”
Fortunately after spending most of 36 hours sleeping. I woke feeling dramatically better this morning. That didn’t mean I didn’t hurt and didn’t mean I let the meds slide. It just meant I was capable of running a few very brief errands before plunking down again and staying off my feet. I always glare at my doctor when he suggests exercise. Yes, darlin’, I know I need exercise. However, since even mild exercise leaves me incapacitated beyond all reason, which means lost work, guess what? Work wins out. Otherwise, Doctor dear, you don’t get paid for your advice.
What did me in this time was simply being on my feet to cook dinner a couple of nights ago. I peeled a mountain of potatoes for homemade french fries and didn’t even think to sit down while doing it. If I’m moving around I can get away with an hour on my feet most days, but standing in one place just destroys me. (No, fried anything isn’t typically on the menu at this house, but I’d been promising everyone forever – and then, after all that, the daughter and boyfriend announced after the fact that they’d gone out to eat. Grrr…)
Today was better, other than the fact that I was craving ice cream. While we were out I made a comment about stopping for ice cream, but noooo. G couldn’t be bothered. Until tonight he brought up wanting ice cream, which got ME jonesing for ice cream again, and got the daughter unit going and we all hauled ass to Coldstone Creamery for entirely too much good stuff which costs more than gold. Ben and Jerry’s and Häagen Dazs is downright cheap next to these folks’ pricing. If G would’ve listened to me we could’ve gotten half a gallon of stuff that was substantially healthier AND cheaper, but of course that would made sense. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?
Most of the time I love the man but he’s definitely got his moments.
On the other hand, if he’d been reasonable I wouldn’t have polished off to-die-for chocolate-walnut ice cream, and that would’ve been tragic as well.
I’m reading an antique book, at least in terms of subject matter, considering all that’s transpired in the realm of psychoanalytic processes. Its a timeless theme, though. The title is Psycho-Cybernetics, published in 1960, by an author who was a plastic surgeon. If you ignore the overtly misogynist slant typical of the time period, it has some pretty significant insights. With all the self-help “Intentions” books and tapes and DVD’s on the shelf, they’re skipping past one critical key that makes the difference between success and failure. Thinking positive is a good thing; intentions are wonderful; but if you’ve been programmed to believe you won’t succeed, all the positive thinking about the situation becomes moot.
I do believe we drive our own luck, our own successes and failures. I also believe firmly that we are programmed from early childhood and that programming is behind all our self-success or self-failure. My parents devalued every aspect of my life except music and academia, and even those were surgically excised from any possibility of reward. They were expectations: nothing more and nothing less. Therefore I still struggle with conceptualizing any value to what I do and who I am. That, in turn, keeps me from doing what I should to succeed: turning concept into reality, taking necessary action when the proverbial brass ring is dropped into my lap, expecting realistic remuneration for my work, and responsibly managing my physical health. I need to erase the old programming and build new before any positive thinking on situations has a chance.
There’s a Bible parable that was used to reference Judeo-Christian principles but it applies to the power of anything positive.
Jesus referenced seeds being planted on different types of ground. One landed on rocky soil where there was absolutely nothing to nurture it. If it sprouted at all, it died immediately. One landed in a patch of weeds, where it grew and flourished for a while but the weeds soon choked it out. And finally one seed landed on fertile ground, with the space and nurture to grow.
It’s equally profound when used as an analogy of human life.
Some of us born into nightmares; children born crack addicts before they’re ever allowed the privilege of choice. those born severely mentally and/or physically disabled. For those so utterly damaged it is unlikely they’ll survive and virtually impossible to thrive unless by some miracle they’re lucky enough to escape their native environment.
Others are sown among weeds; parents and others who, rather than nurturing us, seek to choke out who we are if we dare to be different than they are. While a select few of us may by sheer tenacity survive among the weeds, we will not be the same as if we’d been given a more benevolent start.
And there are a few who do indeed land in a world where success is encouraged and supported. We will have problems, naturally; but we’ll be better equipped to weather life’s storms because we had the luxury of setting down roots in a supportive environment.
While I haven’t read the entire book, the author describes his principle this way: if you imagine it, and you imagine it well enough, your programming brain can’t tell it’s imaginary. So you can in effect reprogram yourself into a new persona, create a new set of rules. You have to effectively not just think positively of the future, but rewrite your past as well. The author promises to outline exercises and gives you a specific number of days to stick to the plan. (I’m guessing most of us know the caveat about 21 days to make a habit.) It is logical; it explains why books like The Secret work for some people and for some it’s an exercise in futility.
To further the seed analogy: it’s time for a transplant. Give me some good dirt and let’s see what I can do.