Friday, December 7, 2018

Subtle Art

I wish that I could master the subtle art of not giving a f*#%.  There is a book by that title. Have you read it?  Maybe I should, but for or some reason I think that things that work for the average person will not work for me. My situation is definitely not average

I'm not good at not giving a f*#%.  I want to not care about what my son is doing or not doing with his young-adult life. 

"Mom. I'm taking a break from college." 
Great! I don't give a f*#%. Good luck with your future. 

The new medication he's taking makes him sleep all day. 
Oh well.  What do I care? Sleep well. 

Philosophers and positive thinking humans like my friend Rebecca believe that you are in charge of your thoughts. You can always dismiss thoughts that you don't want in your head by accessing the voice of your negative alter ego.  Simply tell your intrusive thoughts to go away or better yet, to f#*% off. Replace them with positive messages like... 

Tomorrow, he will go back to being the responsible person that he was in 11th grade.  (Insert eye-roll here). 
It's not my job to help him. I can only do so much.  
Think about the things you can control Karen, because he ain't one of them! 

A couple of days ago, I was feeling especially stressed. I felt like my heart-rate was elevated. There was some tingling in my left arm. I thought my blood pressure was up.

Something told me to drive to Walmart to check out my blood pressure on their machine. I have a wrist blood pressure cup here, but I wasn't sure if I  could trust it's readings one-hundred percent. 

My blood pressure registered 155/102. I thought this has to be wrong, so I took it again. The result was even higher!  I was sitting there taking deep yoga breaths, trying to relax. Hoping I could trick the machine into believing that I'm calm. It was funny, in a very dark humor kind of way.  

After the reading at Walmart, I went to pick my mother up from her nail appointment. Her first question was, "What about my fruit? Did you go to the store yet?"

"Yes, Mom.  As a matter of fact, I did go to the store. I went to Walmart to find out my blood pressure was notably high. But you sit right there and relax while I go next door to Randall's to get your fruit!" 

Over the next 12 hours or I would measure my pressure periodically.  It came down as I tried to relax hiding in my bed from one son, and not talking on the phone to my 23-year-old son. 

I called the next morning and made an appointment to see a doctor. Notice I didn't say, "my doctor?" That's because my doctor moved away over a year ago. Since then, I have seen a couple of medical doctors that I have not liked at all. 

There is nobody like Dr. Obrien. She was no-nonsense and very straightforward. I loved her. She had been my medical doctor for 16 years. What can I say? I don't like change.  

When I got into the doctor's office, my pressure read almost normal. Which of course made the white, male, doctor completely dismissive of me. He made it seem as if this problem was all in my head or maybe, it was due to my faulty blood pressure cup. Only I had the cup with me and we measured it against his. It got the exact, same reading. Asshole

In the interim between the high reading and the appointment the next day with the white guy doctor, I imagined my death by stroke or heart attack. It may be very strange to actually joke about this with my husband. 

"What would I do if I lost you?" he asked. 
"I don't know. Celebrate?" I kidded with him. He did not think this was funny at. all. 

I can't help but turn to humor or as he calls it sarcasm, when life is stressful, which is pretty much all of the time.  It's the Ward "Hollywood" Wesley  (my father) inside of me. He will not be denied these days since his death. His presence is stronger than ever in my DNA.

Since the doctor dude basically blew me off. Now, I will keep measuring my pressure and go see someone else if I need to.  I will also try to relax more. 

I made a "well" appointment with a female doctor by the last name of Dandekar. Her skin is brown.  She speaks with an accent. It's not that I'm prejudiced against white guys. Especially hot, white guys. But this dude was not hot. I will not be seeing him again. 

My therapist suggested that I become "less available" to the boys. I asked her if she could prescribe me my own apartment. She laughed. 

Oh. And please note, one of my friends was sure to tell me, that the problem with my high blood pressure reading, just might be alcohol-related.  To which I wanted to give her the finger. I refrained. I love her. I know she meant well. She's a freakin' nurse after all.  

I didn't even reply to her to explain. I talk about drinking on FB a lot more than I can actually drink. I do this because I think it's funny. (I know. I'm weird). My body has actually made me decrease my drink consumption as I get older. I've had no vodka in weeks! I've had wine tho! Usually one glass in the evening. If I drink any more than that, I stay up running to the bathroom all night. This is God's little trick that he's playing on me. 

I'm afraid they will have to pry the wine glass from my dying hands because it is a ritual that I enjoy most evenings. There isn't much in my day to day life that I enjoy. Yoga and therapy are the highlights of my day to day existence.  I may have had to cut down, but I will not cut out one of my favorite hobbies. Judge me. If you want. I don't give a f*#%. 

Ha ha! Notice how I did that there?  

To purchase the book Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck click here, or go to my Amazon Link above. I think it will be next on my reading list.