“Hi Kara! How are you?”
What this actually means is everything sucks, but I don’t have the energy or the patience to talk about it.
I emailed an ex/friend from my previous life inquiring about the location of some people I used to know who lived in NM. I filled him in on the craziness happening on the east coast, and he told me a little bit about what’s going on in San Francisco. Pico, the dude on the couch who smoked all of my weed while I was away at work, just lost his girlfriend of 10 years to a brain tumor. By the time they found it, it was too late to do anything. She was diagnosed, then dead four days later. That’s rough, but it was less traumatic for her, I’m sure. He suggested that I message Pico because he thinks he’d like to hear from me. Apparently our levels of admiration aren’t mutual. I’m still a little bitter about him burning up all of my medication, but he is a cool dude despite his fingers being sticky for sticky buds. I’m afraid my sensitivity and empathy is running a little low and I don’t want to make the situation worse by saying the wrong thing.
I’m stressed the hell out. The thing about stress is that it’s very much connected to everything else – it excites my “issues”. I can only eat once a day now because a) gastroparesis is BAD and b) the postprandial hypotension and tachycardia knocks me on my ass for half of the day and I really can’t afford to be down for that long. I’ve got shit to do. There’s no easy solution other than completely flaking out on my responsibilities and being a shitty person in the process.
I pulled out of the wedding because I need to be there for my husband while he’s going through the worst thing he has ever experienced. I could say ‘fucket’ and go knowing I’d never forgive myself, but that’s not me.
Meanwhile, my Mom is on my case about not taking care of myself during all of this. Here’s the thing – my shit can wait, his can’t. We’re doing what we have to in order to survive, by order of importance. It’s triage 101. She doesn’t fully comprehend this concept, just as his parents are in denial and refuse to believe their son actually needs open heart surgery – no matter how many times and different ways it’s explained to them. Everyone deals with stress their own way, and mine happens to be avoiding conversing with relatives. That will be slightly more difficult when I’m not 410 miles away from them.