From great joy to despair

Yesterday was the end of my UU conference, and it ended with a big bang – the closing ceremony was absolutely phenomenal. There was energy, and singing, and rapping (yes, rapping) and more singing. The music was awesome. The musicians enjoyed doing what they were doing, and they were good at it, so I enjoyed receiving that.

Here at my home congregation, we have very little diversity in music, usually Western European classical/traditional. I love classical music, but not for everything, and not for celebrating. Our music generally feels kind of lame, and muted, and restrained. One must follow all the appropriate rules, you see.

So, I have been on a high since yesterday’s musical offering, and ready to go out and do … stuff. It’s really hot here, like 90 at the moment. Anything above 75 is usually a no-go for me. I have never liked hot weather, and the older I get the more sensitive my systems are to hot weather. Thank goodness for air conditioning – you could hang meat in my apartment.

So, I never promised you a rose garden, and along with the sunshine there’s gotta be a little rain sometimes. This afternoon I got rain. My psychiatrist is retiring. No warning. The office assistant called to let me know. I will most likely never see her again, and this is not acceptable.

I despise change. Once I’m n my routine, which takes a minute, I get totally discombobulated when there’s change. As much as I peach to people about getting out of their comfort zone, I suck at it. Changing a part of my support team, though, ups the ante just a bit. It’s one thing to be moving from Zoom meetings to face-to-face after 14 months of the former, but another thing to reestablish a relationship with a medical provider.

I’ll figure it out. I always do, but I’m tired of having to figure out stuff. When I have involuntary changes, totally unexpected, it rocks my world. Literally. I feel like the ground under me is not stable, my balance sucks, and I can’t make decisions. Oh, well – poor pitiful me. Oh, these boys won’t let me be…lord have mercy on me. (“Poor Pitiful Me” – Linda Ronstadt)

Anyway, that is my tale of woe for the moment. I will need to work on dealing with change, because change is the only certainty in life. Nothing stays the same, and nobody gets to opt out of change. In some respects, it seems like this is one of the issues that most affects humankind these days. Some of us are determined to reject change, and demand a return to…before. When things were good, or at least when things were comfortable, when they matched up with our expectations. Good luck with that, y’all.

I am toying with the idea that I am experiencing some cognitive decline. This does not make me happy. It began around this time of life in my mother. I will have to keep an eye on this, but if my brain deserts me, I have NOTHING. That is how I look at it. My only saving grace is that I have a few scraps of intellectual capacity. I won’t do what my mother did, though, and refuse medication. Her sister is taking the medication, and while she does exhibit symptoms of dementia, it’s not nearly as pronounced as my mother’s was.

Anyway, today is a brand new day in the bowels of Hades, where it’s unspeakably hot and where I have run out of dog treats. Running out of dog treats is a fate worse than death, particularly if you are the dog who awaits their nibbles. She is addicted to these kabob-looking things, and I swear there is a healthy does of crack cocaine in them. If she does without them for too long, she is vile and cranky and tries looking for them. So, if I know what’s good for me, and for peace in the household, I will replenish the supply of treats as frequently as necessary. She gets better health care than I do, better food than I do, and she doesn’t have to lift a paw to be productive in any way (except in the grass when her metabolic functions call for action). I want to come back in my next life as the pampered pet of somebody wealthy and reasonably sane.

This is how they roll.

Published by annzimmerman

I am Louisiana born and bred, now living in Winston Salem, North Carolina. Fortunately for me, I was already living in NC before Hurricane Katrina decimated my beloved New Orleans. An only child, I now feel that I have no personal history since the hurricane destroyed the relics and artifacts of my childhood. As I have always heard, c'est la vie. My Louisiana roots show in my love of good coffee, good food, and good music. My soggy native soil has also shown me that resilience is hard-wired in my consciousness; when the chips are down (or drowned)...bring it on.

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