Yesterday my husband and I went and did a Costco membership. Costco is a wonderful huge place, a warehouse, where all your everyday essentials and food are way, way cheaper than anywhere else, but good quality too. You can get it if you are a business, and as I am self-employed, I could do it. So, I may not contribute much income to the household, but I sure contribute a massive discount. I am feeling proud and useful, and a main cardholder, at last!
Our new kitten is determined to become friends with lovely Tesla the black cat, who is slowly croakily regaining her voice, hurrah. She lost it the very day that booklet, our white cat, was hit by a car. She is recovering, and that is good news.
I wanted to write to my Swedish friend the other day as i’d dreamt of him the night before, just to reassure him that my decision to ask him NOT to come visit was not due to me loving him any less, it was due to the fact that he caused me great anxiety and I was looking after myself. I didn’t for various reasons but that very evening he wrote to me, after months of silence, asking me whether I was “still mad” at him. So I explained.
He also he said wanted to send me a picture of a cat and my statuette of Ganesh, which I’d lent him for protection but always sad I wanted back, back, so could I give him my address. I did and received them both today, but the statuette was broken. My husband is trying to fix it. A while back I might have sat and assessed the symbolism of it all: his telepathic connection with me, his refusal to let my statuette of Ganesh (a symbol, I don’t believe in gods per se, but I believe in our tremendous power as humans) protect him and help him.
I went to the party last Saturday, and I was glad I did. I love my friends so dearly, I am so glad I didn’t let them down. My friend I. reassured me there was nothing I could do to offend them, nothing I could do that would end our friendship. I hugged him and thanked him and didn’t tell him my thoughts: “You don’t know honey what I can do, and you don’t know that you are not the first one to say these well-meaning words, and end up changing his mind”.
What matters is I feel stable again, where stable means not too happy, not sad. Because we all know where being too happy leads. My happiness is not being too happy, how silly is that. Distinctly aware of my causes for happiness, my family, my friends, my animals. Being able to do that means also being constantly aware of how it could all go horribly wrong. My son bless his heart tells me I don’t suffer from social anxiety, as I don’t have to breathe in a paper bag, panic or vomit in fear form opening the door to the outside. He says I’m just cautious, and that’s perfectly normal. I am beginning to think he is right.
I pet my gorgeous black cat who has taken up my offer of sitting next to me on a sheet of paper, as per her preference. Her previously melodious chatty voice now a clumsy croak, but it is better than the uncanny silence that came out of her mouth which opened just as often as when she had voice. I am grateful for her soft fur and beauty, and that, people, is what it truly means to be “living in the moment”. Being aware that shit can happen at any minute, and be grateful every minute that it doesn’t.