Not being depressed I find myself whining about inconsequential matters. That I should experience fear, anger, or sadness apart from their obsidian amalgam in my illness I suddenly take for granted.
Today, for instance: after I had to buy seven more Abilify for $107.00 yesterday because my meds hadn’t come from Canada—yes, you guessed it, the damn meds arrived. And of course they were late because when I sent the Rx in, I hadn’t noted the order # on the Rx. I did make an order online, but they filed the original Rx away and never connected the dots. Fine print. Policy and procedure. Don’t you hate it?
Kathleen has taught me to read instructions on many things I didn’t use to; still, I somehow manage to miss the important parts. If for every new purchase you read every instruction and legal disclaimer, would you even have time to eat? Imagine grocery shopping and reading every nutritional box. Or the complete instructions, twenty pages in badly translated Chinese, of how to operate your new television. Laugh, you can laugh, but eventually your dereliction will bite you in the ass. I suppose the answer is to read the fine print for anything important, like life and health insurance and mortgages and new cars. But what about refrigerators? Where do you draw the line?
My theme was how forgetful the human animal is. I must remember gratefulness; after being underwater for 18 mos. and having my head above for one, do I really need to complain about spending an unnecessary $100.00 for my life-saving medication? Or is that just normal living? “Dear, that man cut me off! Get his license number! Why did they deliver the paper so late? I can’t believe the price of gas! Can you believe how all the aging rock stars are trying to revive their careers by doing duets with other aging rock stars?” And so on. These are the normal and trivial emotions of the human tribe, and perhaps I should be grateful that I can again experience them.
It’s like sports; there’s something so innocently human about rooting for your favorite team. I’m rooting for Boston now, though a Dodgers fan, though neither compares to my devotion to the Lakers. But isn’t it charming? The arbitrary loyalty to a team of millionaires who do something with a ball? I think it’s charming. So normal. I feel sorry for those who choose their allegiances by merit. Home teams are like family; you love them mindlessly. They belong to you.
My new euthymic attitude extends to so many things. It’s like waking up from a long nightmare. I look at my bookcase and exclaim, “I have so many wonderful books! I look at my CD collection and remark, “I can’t believe how much good music I have!” I look in my closet and think, “I’ve never had so many clothes!
Is that my beautiful wife?