Day 244

I need to call an elderly gentleman back named Harry.  I have been putting it off.  He is the husband of a lady who goes to the same PT as I do.  He wants to cheer me on and give me pointers about Graves' disease.  I did not ask him to, but he insists. 

My friend Carrie's cat also has the disease I do.  He too takes Methamazole.  When he doesn't take his, it results in yeowling and the loss of fur.  Apparently, Graves is common in elderly felines.  Really puts things into perspective, doesn't it?  All I have to say is, Meow.

Harry, you don't need to worry.  I can just yeowl with Carrie's cat and life goes on.

I've been fielding questions as to how I am.  In fact, maid of honor extraordinaire T has composed an ode worthy of publication lamenting the loss of words on this blog.  To you my dear friend, I bow in literary lethargy clearly your prose is making mine shamefaced and woebegone.

I am well.  I am really well in an I don't recognize within myself sense of calm.  I don't have to fill pregnant silences with pickle sentences and crunch until I'm sure all is ok.  I can walk the halls of church and be quiet if I want to, speak if I desire.  There isn't the sense of urgency there was.  The crucification of self esteem if I didn't stretch myself into seventeen different directions and if anyone was left alone.  With that mania comes a cost and I had been gladly paying it for...ever.  There's something to be said for the life of the party.  Even if the price is dear-for what goes up must come crashing down.  Now there's not so much north and south, I just hang out around the equator.  Perhaps, there's a question of too much medication and that's possible.  I'm at a triple dosage and it will, according to doc's orders, take a mere 18 months to regulate. 

I miss you, yes you.  Those hearts that speak the language of black squibbles on white paper.  I'm tired of hiding away.  The walls I keep around myself are eroding with time and I'm practicing letting others through.  Sometimes it's easier than others.  K called me.  She does that if she needs and I do the same when I feel it all bubbling up around me.  She was talking and the next thing I knew I was talking and it wasn't easy or pretty and I could not believe the words coming out, that have always been written in my heart and I  told her what I thought about her situation and as I gasped for breath at the end of my tirade, I wondered if I would be on the do not call list anytime soon.

I felt the need to apologize, not because I had been mean in anyway, but because I had spoken truth...my truth if you will.  I had never done that and I felt the loss of control keenly.  I called her the other night and the first thing she did was thank me and tell me it was about time that I said what I was thinking, feeling.  I realize that I do do that, but only in writing and very rarely verbally.  She said she's been waiting years for the two to somehow connect.  Suddenly all the things I should have said but didn't flooded my memory.  Maybe it's ok if I often write them out instead.  I can measure my fingers a great deal more than my tongue. 

Still, she's not the first who's told me this.  And as I am always up for a challenge, I have pondered her words.  I'm not living up to who I am if I'm whitewashing walls wherever I go.  That's not why anyone calls or reads or counts on, at least not from me.