Erratic Dancer

Zen garden

Image by wilhelmja via Flickr

That thing keeps happening, the thing where people give me that look, and say, Ummmmm, are you okay?

And I say, SureI’mfineWhy?

I went to a Naturopath yesterday. I’ve got an HSA and I’m not ill, which means that within reason, whatever I want to consider as health care is paid for. Naturopaths are doctors–licensed in some states, though not this one–who specialize in helping the body to go about its own work. Growing, dying, healing, aging, regenerating, reproducing. Whatever the body needs to do during its own sweet time.

People have been concerned. Really, I’m fine. When I act scary it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’m doing the best I can, it’s Life that’s screwed up. And for pity’s sake, not just mine. We all have to die and get sick and wear Depends and fall out of love with our spouses in love with our stool softeners and become royal pain-in-the-asses. Not just Dan, not just me. You too, Reader Zero. Comin’ down the pipe at ya.

Anyway, when I told the Naturopath about my life, and she inquired into how much I sleep and eat and find time to relax, she gave me the Look and said, You seem to have a lot of stress. On a scale of one to ten. . .

Hrrrmm, maybe eight.

Last year at this time, out traveling with the man who shared my life, with his cancer as our permanent co-passenger, lemme tell you honey, that was the ten.

What’s a person supposed to do about stress, anyway? I wrote up this two-page spread, with stress-things on one page and unstress-things on another. Of course, the stress things had the advantage of numbers. Many of them were things that need to get taken care of every day, or at least as often as possible, and in fact, several of them were things I really, really should have been doing instead of writing down lists of. . .

MM-hmmmmm.

Whereas the anti-stress things, stuff I enjoy, made for a far smaller list, including quite a few things that haven’t actually happened in a year or more. (“Writing” was the only item that made both lists.)

She gave me some herbal pills, which if they work should at least keep me from waking up in the middle of the night and obsessing about kids and bills. And other herbal pills that are supposed help the thyroid work without having to take synthetic hormone replacements, which I hope we can all agree is a good way to mess up just about everything.

But mainly, I need to face up to the unfathomable wall of obligation I’ve built up around myself. Take down a few bricks, and maybe ask why I put the wall here in the first place.

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