I had committed to writing down three positive thoughts per day, for… was it 21 days? Anyway, I missed Sunday and Monday.
I was once the kind of person who would be sure to keep up a 100% success rate, but these days, I’m happier to take the 90% success rate, and lower stress level. Or, in this case… well, I’m not even going to bother doing the math.
I’ve been feeling kind of crazy, lately. Saturday night, I woke up a few times feeling like I couldn’t breathe; panic attacks, I’d guessed. It was the same thing on Monday night. This was accompanied by odd, spasmsy-like pains in the middle of my back. Tuesday, I had to take a mental health day.
Today, my brother IM’d me. He called our mother, and it turns out that she’s been complaining about chest pains and shortness of breath. She’s been to the ER several times, but they’ve been unable to figure out the problem. They think it may be anxiety related, but they’re unsure. Apparently, a close friend of hers is seriously ill, and they believe it’s been stressing her out, a lot.
My mom is hugely introverted, but I don’t think it gets much lonelier than being a schizophrenic. They tend to only have each other, since no one else can remotely understand what is really going on in their heads.
So, anyway, I’ll call her tonight, and have the usual conversation with her. Ten minutes of, “How are you?” “I’m doing fine, how are you?” “Fine, how are you?” I try to get more out of her, but she was never much of a conversationalist, even when she was at her best.
Tomorrow, I’ll call her doctor, but I don’t know how much he’s allowed to tell me.
For some reason, I found that much more touching. Odd as it sounds, it actually made me feel a little good about death.
Yeah, I know we’ve got lots of regressive types hanging around, but that’s humankind, for you. There’s always going to be a handful of privileged people trying to dictate to everyone else how we should live. In 100 years, the Earthies are going to be telling the Moonanites how they should be living.
But, you know what? According to recent news, more than half the children born to women under 30 are born to unwed mothers. Some people might think this is just another indication of our descent into hell, but I don’t. To me, “more than half” is not an indication irresponsibility, but indication of choice. Women are less and less forced to live by the rules of men, and it’s going to continue in that direction.
I’ll admit that a one-parent household is not ideal, but out of all my friends, I don’t know anyone who came out of an ideal household. That includes my very successful, high-jumping friend, who also just happened to be named this year’s Woman of Color, by her alma mater, which is also her current employer. Her pro-basketball playing dad barely stuck around past her 1st birthday, and she, mom and brothers did just fine without him.
If pregnant moms are no longer forced to marry, maybe that means they’re no longer being forced into unhealthy, abusive relationships.
Maybe that means, rather than feeling beaten down and emotionally drained, they can truly focus on raising a kid.
Maybe that means, rather than having to live through the devastation of a divorce, kids can live a semi-peaceful, drama-free life, where the parents are capable of being civil to one another, because they were never forced to be married to each other.
So, love it or hate it, the times, they are a-changin’. I happen to love it.
|Wednesday, Feb. 22, 2012 at 3:30 PM|