Part 79: So, Where Were We?

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I could be mistaken, because I remember nothing these days, but I believe the last time I wrote was the week Rob and I were in Alaska and that, I think, was two weeks ago. 

I’m having trouble writing lately. I don’t have the physical or mental energy and when I do gather some, the critic in my head keeps insisting that anything I might have to say isn’t worth saying. I’m 62 and a half now, on my way to 63 (63!!), and what could possibly be the point of my putting pen to paper – or words on a blank Google doc? 

I don’t know the answer and I’m unsure there is one. I do know that I feel I owe it to you, my wonderful readers, to give you some kind of update as to where things are. 

As usual, “things” are nowhere. We’re waiting. Next court date is September 21st. So until then we exist in the in between, Mr. Lucky making plans “for when this is all over,” me praying that “this is all over” soon before my poor kid loses his mind and what remains of mine flies straight out the window clutching what’s left of my energy.

I should be feeling good. I’m in Naples, with Rob, and when I’m not working I’m sneaking up on the iguanas that live in our lake (and sun themselves by the pool) to get pictures of them. They’re freaky and intriguing and I’m not particularly afraid of them. 

Ok, I’m not afraid of them until they give me that little side eye. That frightens me. What if Edgar here takes off after me? In my current state he’ll catch me and I’ll be iguana food. What an awful way to go.

I should be feeling good. Mr. Lucky, currently overseen by Mr. Rugby, is enjoying his job, has been given the OK to go to the movies a few times recently with friends, and is, overall, healthy and happy. Except for when he’s incredibly anxious. His anxiety spikes when he spends too much time in his head, which I think can be said of a lot of us, and when it does I do the only thing I can do: I listen and gently offer reminders of the reality of the situation. But mostly I listen. All in all, he’s doing really well and I’m very proud of him. 

I should be feeling good. Mr. Rugby is healing beautifully from his back surgery. He’s been cleared to go back to work at a modified pace - he can’t lift the really heavy weights so he demonstrates on the lighter ones and then points to the heavier ones so his clients know which to use. He’s also picking up clients, lots of them, and building his business. And let me not forget the stand-up comedy. His act is improving and every day he tells me about another invitation he’s received to play at one club or another. What can I say? I’m really proud of him too. (Shameless mom plug: He’s on Instagram at @cuylerthecreator if you want to check out his training videos and his comedy.)

I should be feeling good. I’m home. With my gorgeous, loving husband who just lost 25 pounds (which I swear I’ve since “found” around my waist), the beach, my view of the lake from my office window, and the spectacular Florida sunshine. But… I have to make myself walk, make myself go to the gym, make myself do my work, and now I’m making myself get this update off to you – and the “making myself” has my attention. 

And so this coming week I shall visit with Not Dr. Kim and see what’s up. I pretty much already know, having been diagnosed by my dear friend Pam (who shall from this day forward be known as Not Dr. Pam), as having a bout of depression. 

But of course. 

Duh. 

*Smacks self on forehead.*

I haven’t been truly depressed in a long time so I forgot the signs, you know? But for Pete’s sake, it stinks. (Who is this Pete? Does anyone know?) 

Stay well, friends, and thanks for listening. I’ll be in touch. 

PS Found this and it’s too funny not to share: