This weekend, fueled by the ugly notion that I can do almost nothing by myself, I fell into a blue funk that seemed to seal my fate. Why bother to try? I can't get enough done on a daily basis to actually feel good about how I live. Why try? Screw it! This is not a good thing.
I've always been an independent person disguised as someone who wished she'd find someone who'd take care of her. I never did. By design or accident, I always ended up being the caregiver. I prided myself on being able to get things done...able to work circles around folks much younger...throwing myself bodily into projects that gave me heroic feelings and pride. And then old age hit. I no longer can do things that used to be so easy. And it hurts.
At issue was the fact that my lawn was growing at an alarming rate. My helper has moved on to other endeavors to earn money, and I don't blame him, but it left me wondering what to do. Do I try to find someone else to take care of my yard? What about the inside chores that he always helped me with? Always the selfish "what's in this for me" thing. Worse yet, my Christmas tree was still up, with all of the boxes to stash things in the minibarn, and no hope of getting it all put away. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, my helper showed up. It took his entire afternoon, but he got the lawn mowed and trimmed, then helped take down the Christmas crap...vacuumed the living room floor and hallway, hauled out some other things, installed an under-counter light that I purchased to replace one that just wasn't cutting it anymore, and left me feeling a whole lot better about life!
Amazing! Such small things make such big differences!
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