So how’m I doing in my quest to re-invent my life, follow my evolving Blisses and create the life I really, really want?
In case you were wondering, it turns out that dislocating your knee and losing your sweet Louis-kitty all in one week kinda prevents a person from getting stuff done.
Apparently (as it says above) the Universe decided I needed a break.
Will she ever learn that resistance is futile?
Typical me, though, I did my damnedest not to take one.
But though I’m pretty darned headstrong, it turns out the Universe is a bit more headstrong than I am. (As I should already know, having felt more than once the tap of its 2×4 upside my head!)
All of this is to say, I spent much of the week figuring out how to maneuver up and down my stairs with crutches, racing to the vet, crying over Louis-of-blessed-memory, dealing with a clogged print head on my Epson 7600 (on crutches – did I mention that?), crying some more, calling to see if the broken MRI machine had been fixed yet (so that I could get my damned MRI and make it in time to my follow-up visit, which wouldn’t really do a whole lotta good if there wasn’t an MRI to follow-up on), crying some more, and waiting around in doctor’s offices.
So.
The week that was supposed to be one of record-breaking productivity for my e-course in progress, the Living A Creative Life Guide to Happiness, and website-in-progress, 365 Days of Genius… wasn’t.
Ah, well.
I still learned (and re-learned) some valuable things.
What I learned this week
In no particular order:
- Who is really there for me when I need help
- More people comment on a blog post about the loss of a pet than just about anything else
- Anything can happen at any time
- Shower stools are very, very useful
- As long as you can put some weight on your foot (or if you have a handrail that can support your weight), getting up and down a stairway feels much more stable with one crutch than with two
- When the Universe declares it’s time for you to take a rest, there’s really no sense in resisting
Plus, despite it all, I had a fantastic gig last night with the Ladies of Jazz (come to our show on November 5!), in which I learned that a crutch can be a surprisingly useful prop for a comedic performer.
And then there was the Kojak/Columbo/Quincy/CSI Moment:
The Curious Incident of the Cat in the Morning
Although you’d never know it from my demeanor in the (rough shot) concert video, I’ve been pretty busted up about Louis.
The loss of my sweet familiar leaves a hole in my heart, and not knowing what happened to the poor little guy was eating me up inside.
Then, the perceptive discovery by a friend of mine that there were tooth marks on an extension cord near his body suddenly made it all clear: the loud bang and thump; the position of his body; the unexplained death of a young, healthy cat… who had a very doglike propensity for gnawing on things.
The damn cat electrocuted himself!
Finding comedy within tragedy
Okay, people, this is not funny. It’s tragic. I miss Louis terribly, my heart aches for him, and I feel like a horrible kitty-mommy for not eliminating all electrical cables from my entire house and just living like the Amish. I’m sure I will be condemned by the PETA people for my negligence.
But you gotta admit, at least he went quickly, and the little fellow died doing something he loved.
(Which led to a rambling journal entry this morning questioning whether it’s better to live a long life not doing the things you love, or to kick the bucket at a young age following your bliss. As if the Universe ever really sets up such either-or deals, but hell, these are the kinds of questions philosophers have asked for eons. All I can say is, I guess I’m kinda glad that my passions don’t tend to be things that normally cause bodily harm – I’m a notorious wuss in this way. ‘Cause when I think about it, if instead of painting and writing and singing, etc, I were passionate about, say, skydiving or speed skiing or race car driving, I’m pretty sure I know what my answer would be. And no, it wouldn’t be the safe route.)
And before you condemn me for my callousness, think about this: if you can’t keep your sense of humor during times of trial, you might as well just kill yourself. (Did I mention I was cracking jokes between gasps when the EMTs were splinting up my dislocated-knee leg and looking for a vein to start the morphine drip?)
Louis is not coming back. At least I can honor the memory of my silly monkey kitty with some humor.
There’s got to be a song in this somewhere.
But I don’t know that I’ll be writing it yet, because I’ve got a slew of work to do to get ready for the enforced “vacation” I’ll have post-surgery in a few weeks. (If you can call several days on pain killers and a few weeks on crutches while my knee integrates a new [to me] cadaver ligament a vacation…)
Next time, if I have any say in the matter, let it be noted that I’d prefer a trip to Bali.
And now I’m going to do my best to continue the habit my life coach helped me start last week by making a deal with me to get to bed by 11:00pm or midnight at the latest. (A topic that deserves its own post, which perhaps someday I’ll actually get to. But now I’m going to bed.)
Over & out.
