And now a break from our regular program...

If ever there was a day that reminded me of how not alone I am, this is it. Why? Because I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself the last few days. Yes, I was. I went to a fantastic writers workshop/conference Friday night and all day Saturday. It was held at the Mark Twain House and Museum in Hartford, CT. Really. What better place? I have only been able to attend three of the eight classes I started. Somehow or other I had thought that payback from three hours Friday night and nine hours all day Saturday would have a payback of a day and a half. I told myself I was okay, Monday afternoon, when I rode my stationary bike an hour. I ignored the post-pain, telling myself I was better.

The power of positive thinking.  We, as Americans, are always saying, "Smile. You'll feel better," or "Think positive." I am here to tell you that, sometimes, that is pure hogwash, bull spittle, and nonsense. Sometimes telling yourself that you're fine when you are not is, hmmmm.... let's see .... how shall I say this.... STUMP DUMB. Yeah, that's the term.

This morning I got up and the pain in my right leg was in full throttle. It had been all night. So what did I do? I told myself, "Move around. You'll feel better." I looked in my fridge and realized that putting off the grocery shopping for six days meant that I would be facing a fourth night of turkey thigh. No fruit. One bag of the SAME mixed vegetables I'd been eating all week. No eggs. No spinach. No carrots. No onions. No bread. No vanilla. Less than a quart of milk. Oops.

So I did the sensible thing to do when one leg is numb; I went grocery shopping. Because, truly, when you are feeling oh so pathetic and alone, the one thing you really should do is the one thing that is guaranteed to make things even worse. Yup. But, damn it, I am an independent, stubborn, ridiculous specimen of woman, so out I went.

Hey, but I DID go to the store with the high carriages and the people who take the groceries out of your cart and take them to your car, and put the stuff in your trunk. See? I'm no fool. Of course, when I got into the car, I was so red, so done in, in so much pain that I could not figure out how to lift my left leg INTO the car to drive home.

Now, normally, I am aware of being around sixty, bent over, and well, just not a woman anyone notices. Ask other late middle-aged women about being invisible in America. The transition is not nice, especially when you WERE the kind of woman men noticed just ten years ago. Oh, well. That is life. And then that theory was blown to hell, so I could not feel sorry for myself over THAT.  Two very kind men came over from opposite directions to make sure I was okay. They were not young. They were not old. I don't know what they were other than sweet. And neither left the vicinity of the car until my breathing slowed and my sunglasses were on, and I was smiling again.

When they turned away, I am afraid I shouted obscenities at the two men in my life who had promised to be there for me, who had said they admired me, who... oh, YOU know what I mean. That got me back enough energy to drive home and lug the groceries into my apartment.

You'd think that would be enough to snap me out of my pathetic bout, wouldn't you? Nope. I started getting angry at anyone's promising me to be around, at either of them telling me they wanted me to stop worrying about money, about my future, that I would never be alone. NEVER be alone? What was I here? I'm as alone as it gets, grocery shopping. I can't go to the last class and I realized that as I drove home. Risking city driving at rush hour would mean risking more than my own neck.

And, on top of that, now BOTH legs were numb. I started to cry. I almost never cry about my back; that is an exercise in self-pitying futility. Yet I am human. I want to be like other people, as all of us who have conditions that get in the way do from time to time. I wanted the love of my life to be the man he pretended to be. I wanted my ex-husband to be that man in the hospitals before we were married, not the man he became almost the second we said, "I do." I wanted to go to the gym, to hike. It all came crashing in on me.

After five minutes, perhaps ten, I went, "GET A GRIP, JEANNETTE." I told myself to park my butt in this chair and connect with a few of my closest friends on line. They might be out just now, but they would be back--the friends who are here, who pop up in real life all the time. I got online and the tears were returning, when the phone rang.

There was one of my best friends and his daughter, running errands. He knew I wasn't doing well yesterday when I picked him up from his service station and he was just checking on me, reminding me that he was five minutes away if I needed anything at all. And there was a message on my machine from another friend, seeing whether I was okay. And a message from a friend who was at the weekend workshop, checking up on me. And I re-read the simply back and forth from one of my dearest friends in the whole world who is, unfortunately, six hours away... but we insist on checking up on each other every single day, and when we go more than ten days without talking, we get kinda... what's the word now... bitchy. Yes, for me, that's the word. When I talk with her, my world gets right because we laugh. We laugh a whole lot. And I remembered a conversation with the woman with whom I'll probably join my lot in a few years... more laughing.

I haven't had to connect online since I sat down. I've already realized that I am NOT alone as it gets. Why did I think I needed those two men to be bonded with people in a real way? I guess it was a momentary lapse.

The thing is, I tested myself this month. Why on earth would I tell myself I failed, just because I hit my limits? Those limits have expanded from last year's. I have learned something in my course and have had an unforgettable experience of listening to absolutely wonderful writers for about nine hours of bliss.

So the price was a little too high to be doing either again any time soon? There are no regrets for trying. So I hurt. I have all I need for  another couple of years... many do not have that.

I was confusing "Think positive" with "Think perky."

All I can say now is, "Well DUH."

And slink off to the couch to recover from my own silliness.