Morning,
AZ! I’m going to say it: “I really like it; saying “Hi”, or “Good
Morning, A to Z”. I have come to desire
to be “different” in my dotage, or possibly, just more willing to be aware of
it. I do like greeting everyone and it’s
important to me to acknowledge you. You
have no way of knowing this but I entertain myself quite a bit, and I wanted to
say that I hope you’ll acknowledge me one of these days. Immediately I recognized that would be me “gigging”
you or trying to prick you into commenting.
(Sigh)
I
can be pretty slow on the uptake sometimes, too, and this morning I realized
there’s a Phoenix TV station that makes a big deal of “Good Morning Arizona”
repeated by several of their personalities.
It’s always a nice feeling to hear it and I often like the backdrop
pictures quite a bit. Actually, I’m
going to be nicer to myself and cut myself some slack on not remembering that
earlier. My “outlaw” Alzheimer patient
loved Channel Three, often I think because it was the only channel she could
remember, no, she adored her “doctors”:
Dr. Phil, the Doctors and Dr. Oz.
She’d make some remark about something she was watching and I’d look and
say, “you just saw that last night, don’t you remember such and such”, and she’d
say, “No, I never saw this before”. Ye,
Gadfreys!
I’m
finding a great reluctance at admitting how very like a curmudgeon I had really
become. (I’ve really got to love
it. In looking up the word to be sure it
meant somewhere in the vicinity of what I thought it did, I ran across this
wonderful site, http://joshreads.com/?p=12041#comments
and the comment led me to a site with a visual of the American Sign Language
for loser, and . . . well, I thoroughly distracted myself.) See.
Now, I’m trying to distract you from what I’m trying to say.
Well,
back to it. In the first post, as I
continued on that two hour walk, I had learned and practiced long enough paying
attention to my thoughts I felt terribly uncomfortable inside. Roiling comes to mind, like dirty ugly
flood waters that keep coming, keep coming.
I find I often make comments like a school child internally when I’m mad
at someone. Or, pitiably, when I feel
annoyed with how I’ve brought up on my internal whiteboard, they ARE. Judgments, more and more judgments, and
judgments upon judgments: as though I could ever be such a pristine example of
humanity to have the right to talk – even to myself. Grousing is such a perfect word. It feels prickly, as do I, listening to all
that vitriol drip in the back of my head and it does have all the right combination
of letters to make me realize I can’t do it without tearing me up.
I
had isolated myself for long enough I’d lulled myself into believing I was –
yes, positive. What a good girl I had become! Not!!!!!
One little (sure, it was small) blowout and I’m a walking time
bomb. Don’t even – what? Don’t touch me, don’t speak to me, don’t look
at me, and don’t acknowledge me. I’ve
got my own stuff to deal with. And where
is that stuff? It is inside me. That’s where.
And finally, finally, I have the good sense to not be proud of it. Not
be proud of it, is yes, what I said.
Man,
that’s exhausting! No wonder people can
stay cranky all their lives. It is so
dulling to one’s senses that it is truly hard to think!
This
will have to be sayonara for this one. I’ll
hope there’s a next time then and here’s to your being positive.
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