When I was in college, I got in an argument with my mother that resulted in her fetching a kitchen knife, and my sister calling the police. When the cops showed, they eventually told me I needed to “listen to my mother.” A few years ago I watched my ex-husband manipulate the system, including lying in court. No evidence was requested from him. I lost the court battle. Last year I was devastated when someone I deeply cared for returned to a toxic spouse. So you see – Im not surprised in recent events. Until we be strong, stand up for justice, truth and honor, the assholes will just keep winning. Now, I honestly don’t know all the details of recent news events but I know what Ive witnessed countless times, and those heartbreaks were enough for me.
Ever have a cardiologist tell you your veins were incompetent? I’ve known morons that were incompetent and some men that were incompetent, and even some moronic men that were incompetent, but my veins? Scary!
One of my Bucket List items is the removal of some incompetent veins in my leg. For God’s sake I’d like to be able to wear a skirt in the summer without scaring small children. This is basically a sterile way of saying my leg looks like someone beat it with a Louisville Slugger.Now, because I am prone to exaggeration, I will tell you that it’s really not that bad – so maybe not a Louisville Slugger – a Sur La Table meat tenderizer, perhaps.
Welcome the endless cardiologist visits to Huntington Medical Group on Long Island, New York. Because after all, if you’re going to have cardiology issues, what better place to go than a town apply named similarly to the sunny beaches of California?
But alas, no sun and surf in Huntington Medical Group, just sunny receptionists and a very knowledgeable cardiologist who explained why my vein is as useless as a soggy balloon animal. And that before surgery I have to try a “compression stocking.”
Have you ever tried to put on a compression stocking? What about a tourniquet? Tried a tourniquet?
A compression stocking isn’t like anything you’ve ever stuffed your body into before. Picture Spanx on steroids. Then make it tighter. Apparently compression stockings are supposed to squeeze the life out of you so much so that it forces any remaining body liquids back up to your heart. This can’t possibly be good, but the insurance company thinks it’s fabulous. Probably because they’ve never tried to wear tourniquets.
So I sat on my bathroom floor with what I thought was going to be a helpful pile of sturdy nylon, when in reality it was a torture device that terrorists use in order to bring on sudden panic attacks of the likes of which no war hero has ever seen before. After struggling with the thing for a good ten minutes, I was only able to get it up to my knee. At that point I felt like a surgeon was going to bust into my bathroom and sever my leg. I had to remind myself that I’m not diabetic and my leg is fine, but nervous panic sweat kept popping out on my forehead.
Most nylon-wearing folks already know that with typical stockings, you can stretch them open enough to pull them up your leg, then insert your other leg into the remaining stocking hole. With compression stockings, you can’t do that. You can’t “spread” them or stretch them because they’re already tight as hell. In fact, I’m pretty sure if you looked up “tight as hell” in the Urban Dictionary, there would be a picture of compression stockings. And possibly a secondary image of me on the bathroom floor covered in a panic sweat.
Can you imagine paying $60 for nylons that do nothing better than send you to a psych ward? And to think that psych wards would wrap people in arm-tight jackets. No wonder patients rarely recovered. I know the Kings Park Psychiatric Center in Kings Park, New York is closed, but I would still consider checking around the decaying closets for any remaining compression stockings. Needless to say, I had to rip mine off before my mind punctured the barrier between sane and schizoid.
I had plans tonight that didn’t work out. So at some point during the day I contacted my softball manager and told her that I was going to play our triple-header after all. It’s taken me decades to cater to myself, and that’s exactly what I did tonight.
My team is coed, and because I arrived at the last minute I was put in right field, – which doesn’t actually bother me because most of the guys hit to the outfield, and within the first inning I had already thrown out a girl at second base.
Tonight I decided to use my batting glove instead of going bare, and got a double as well as some pretty good line drives. The beauty of playing on the coed team is that most of the guys don’t think I can hit. I’m a long haired blonde, petite and short. I sometimes hit a homerun in the first inning or two just because the other team assumes that I can’t hit. It’s awesome. Unfortunately, after the first inning or two they back up on me – which is really annoying because then I have to drop it into a hole. Occasionally I’ll switch-hit, which really astounds everyone and makes me laugh. But today I didn’t bother doing that – I just waited a little longer for the pitch and eventually hit to right field instead of left.
During the games I realized that I forgot about the other plans that should have happened today, and the fact that they got messed up. When I was younger, I would have been continuously thinking about it, but now that I’m older I’ve been focusing on what I’m currently doing and I’m so much happier because of it. But it still amazes me that it took years to get to this point.
We ended up run-ruling the other team in both games, which was fine with me because I forgot to bring Gatorade and I started losing my vision. It’s a weird phenomenon that has been happening to me since catching in high school. Luckily one of the guys on the team had Gatorade and I ended up scarfing down his entire bottle.
After the game I went to Whole Foods and I bought myself a steak as well as a few other things that I’d been looking forward to, all the while thinking about how an ex asked why I was single. I’ve heard this before I met him as well. I think it comes down to this: if someone’s not treating me well, I don’t stay. This can be both good and bad because if the person has a momentary lapse in judgment I don’t really give them a second chance. I’ve tried to change that in the last few years, but it still hasn’t worked out with anyone. And I’ve also discovered there’s such a fine line between giving someone a second chance, and being abused.
As I stood in Whole Foods, I realized how happy I was to do what I wanted even though I was alone. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am now. But yet at the same time I still wonder when I’m actually going to meet somebody who’s very compatible with me. And quite frankly I’m tired of hearing “Why are you single?” when it really all comes down to the other person not being available or compatible.
This whole relationship thing is a lot like softball. You can try your hardest but that does not necessarily mean you’ll hit a homerun every time. What you should do is enjoy your time on the field. Enjoy the sunshine and the breezes that come through while you’re playing. And enjoy the friendships that you make along the way; sometimes those last longer than the relationship you might have had during that particular season.