Every day we rush through our lives, pushing through one thing to get to the next. There's nothing wrong with this. It's what we do. We schedule ourselves to within minutes, we're always on our way somewhere, we're always looking ahead...
In our spare time, we fret about things; some more than others. I'm a fretter. I fret about every little fucking thing there is to fret about. And if you ask people who know me well, I've gotten a lot better in the past few years. Before that, instead of fretting about JUST every little thing, I was also fretting about all the particles of every little thing. A nano-fretter, if you will. The mark of true insecurity. Here's another peep into my Crazy, friends.
As a nano-fretter, it was very easy to get so caught up in every little worry, every little unfavorable possibility, that the best and easiest -and most peaceful- way of living was to pretty much avoid all things. Avoidance worked very well for me for a very long time. And then I realized that avoiding everything pretty much sucked in the long run, especially when I started to consider all the life I was missing out on. So, I put the brakes on the nano-fretting. It's a hard habit to break, though. I still fight it.
I was recently caught up in a massive bought of nano-fretting. As a former nano-fretter, living the life of a city-dweller makes it doubly hard to maintain a somewhat non-fretting state of mind. City living lends itself to extreme self-absorption. It's other-wordly. Especially in Manhattan. It's like a bubble. I can go a week without touching base with a family member and not even notice it. I can lose track of the days of the week, because finances and weather and rush hours and MASSIVE THRONGS OF PEOPLE necessitate a dogged adherence to practicality if you're going to manage to fit everything in...everything that makes your life what it is.
So I bump from one day to the next and I make plans and I follow them...it's TwerpsWorld. You know how I roll. But there's nothing like the C word to snap you back to painful, bubbleless reality, like a big, fat rubberband against a tender ass.
At that point, plans don't matter, gym schedules don't matter, the perfect pair of jeans don't matter, calories don't matter, the city doesn't matter...
What matters is that my cousin, a vital, healthy, 40 year-old man, respected police officer, father, and favorite family member has inoperable brain cancer.
He has one, maybe two years to live. What his quality of life will be like nobody knows. All I know is that he is a Good One. And that when I heard "It's inoperable," all my little nano-frets seemed to meld together and just walk out the door.
Problems? I don't have problems.
Ronnie, he's got problems.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I tried calling mom like you asked. No answer. But yeah it kinda made all my problems go away rather quickly. Ronnie is definitely one of the favorites in the family. I mean Kristie has only been around him a handfull of times, and she likes him the best.
perspective....
Post a Comment