Beware that Large Grain of Salt that needs be brought to bear

I currently trade the currency of having a life with spending my time with someone, I suffer with, who may suffer the ills of having TMBz.  Or, so a friend of mine phrases it; a friend who often has heard too many sagas, from the home front, as it were.  TMB, for those who are not there yet, or near enough to have concerns about it, is Too Many Birthdays.  Of course, no one really has that.  It’s (maybe) a fun way of saying that all the ills one has, especially if one is in relative good health, save for the losses one suffers with aging; teeth to eat enjoyably with and speak clearly with, ears that can hear beyond the selectivity of having absolutely nothing else going on (particularly in the mind, where tenuous focus resides), sight that misses peripheral awareness, if nothing else; confident ability to think, to reason, to speak; are, really, no big deal.
My perspective is the living with, and seeing to the needs/wants of, such an individual, while having it brought home, over and over, why I really don’t want to have, well, TMBz.
It does not place me in a good light to feel the way I do and I wrestle with sharing with anyone the penuriousness of spirit that becomes obvious as I continue to fail in accomplishing a simple enough remedy:  stop, think, consider the source; then act, nix react.  It doesn’t seem at all hard for anyone mature.  And yet, here I am, flummoxed at the first event of the day.  By the way, since I remembered this for the second time in writing this post, I definitely feel you deserve to know; I myself suffer a thinking disorder.  I’ve given it much reflection over the last nineteen years, and don’t know that I’ve improved measurably.  That is a rather large grain of salt to bring to bear upon anything I have to say, and, it would do you well to keep it clearly in mind.  Also, know, I will reflect on that often in the hopes of learning, growing and developing into a nicer, more charitable, kinder grownup type of person.
I find myself annoyed that I cannot count on any kind of a schedule for myself.  I’ve often enjoyed being a morning person because that gave me an extra hour or two, sometimes three, in my day to select my activities.
My days here, still, after five months, begin with my excitement about building a livelihood online, and all that entails.  Mentally, that is.  Reality closes in very rapidly as I hasten to dole out the AM pills, cereal bowl and spoon, requisite fruit — opened or peeled.  And, then the timing is on.  I’ve wanted from the beginning to get the paper in, as, easy to guess, I want to avoid leaving a “falling” opportunity.  Is there anyone who has not experienced frustration at paper delivery not being early enough to suit one’s plans?  A recent compounding of the problem of being (always, of course) in the right place at the right time, is the household growth by two grown cats.  In their favor, they are beautiful, well-bred, delightful animals.  It does get sticky trying to keep them happy first thing –clean litter, food, water and petting and stroking, while making sure the paper is in as early as possible.  THEN, perhaps, I can do what I was so excited to do some time ago.
Oh, man!  By then, the ideas flitting about so rapidly when I first wake, before anyone else intrudes upon my mind space, seem to have evaporated, or otherwise dissipated way far away.  My nerves are jangling, I’m breathing oddly, as though there’s not enough air for all two humans of us.  I feel I could hyperventilate, if I just had enough energy.  And, woe, do I ever crave a nap.
By now, you’ve forgotten I ever mentioned there was an event as her day began, and I, failed utterly at every preparation I’ve ever made in my life, to just, roll with the flow.  I suppose we all have some anticipation when there is a wedding to attend.  I keep being taught the lesson, not a quick learner – I, that if there is anything in her day for her to anticipate, she just “can’t help myself”, she has to get up – early.  The first time this happened with me here, it was 11:30 PM.  I finally, with much more patience than I felt, believe me; convinced her it wasn’t even midnight, yet.  Would she please go back to bed, I pleaded.  That happened again at 3:30 AM, and finally, at 5:20 AM, I awoke long enough after she did that she was up and made up and dressed in church clothes and shoes, all decked out looking just right for a fashion magazine cover, scarf and jacket, close at hand.  My frustration was, it was 5 hours ahead of being picked up for church.

There have been many similar incidents since then, so have I learned?  Or can you just imagine how I reacted when this morning she toddles out, toes turned out and heels wobbling in princess clear and delicately decorated heels (the woman is 89, remember?) and an exceptionally beautiful beaded dress, looking fit to meet the queen, twelve hours before we embark on an hour drive to the wedding?  Do I really need to mention nearly stroking out over her impulsiveness, compulsiveness, anxiousness to beat it out the door to get a paper that won’t arrive for another hour, maybe two?  Oh, woe, woe.  No wonder, I crave a nap before noon, most days.


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