Wait a Day

April 2, 2008

They say if you don’t like the weather in New England wait a day.  Same goes for life, actually.  We humans have a strange sensation of time.  I remember as a child going through a learning process where, if something was going to happen next year, it was insignificant;  because next year was so far into the future, it may never come.  Or I’d be dead.  Or someone else would be dead.  Or the world would have come to an end.  Anything could happen in a year.   Time was like a fuzzy concept that I couldn’t really grasp.

I’m thinking about time today, because just a week ago I was wondering how I was going to make it through the next day.  Stopping the course of prednisone I was on for my hives so consumed me with some sort of physical withdrawal depression and dizziness.  I even, momentarily, entertained the thought of suicide, and then decided to try to sleep on it first.

This past Monday I broke down and called my dermatologist and explained about the hives coming back.  He told me to add Zyrtec to the Alavert that I’m already taking.  I did a google on Zyrtec, and read a lot of reviews about it causing nasty symptoms like depression, that last thing that I want to have to tackle right now.  Still, I decided to try it.  First day, I felt paranoid and depressed (no doubt because I expected to).  I wondered if I’d have to live the rest of my life feeling depressed and sleepy.   Second day I felt a bit better.

Today is the third day on Zyrtec, and I don’t feel quite so bad.  And the itchiness is beginning to feel tolerable.  There’s one spot that might actually be disappearing (Yes, when you have hives, every single spot becomes a project whose status is monitored on a minute by minute basis throughout the day.  If only work projects would get this sort of attention).  I feel that I have a life today.

God, I’m so glad I didn’t kill myself last Wednesday when I thought about it.  All I had to do was wait a day :).

Why do some people feel compelled to search for the meaning of life while others are perfectly content to accept life as it is?  Is it all connected with happy childhoods?

I’ve been asking myself this all morning.  I’m continually poking and prodding myself and the world around me, I can never leave things alone, just like my hives which are spreading across my body and face, now that I’m off of the prednisone.  Before last week, they got to the point where I spent the entire day agonizing over the itch, imagining worms crawling all over my body, tiny maggots squirming in every bump.  I poked and rubbed my bumps to see which ones were getting larger and which ones, if any, were getting smaller.

On Friday I decided that this has to come to an end.  I decided not to call the doctor and get more, probably different, more powerful, and just as useless, drugs for the problem.  I cranked up the meditating, stopped the ambien that I’ve been using for months for sleep, and went to Whole Foods for healthy foods and vitamins.

Now, I see that the bumps are spreading, but I’m no longer viewing them as worms crawling all over my body.  I need to move past this and get on with my life.  Now I’m viewing every poison-ivy-like-itchy bump as a harmless annoyance that I’m not going to let get the best of me.  Thus the intense meditating, tai chi, chanting of my buddhist mantra, etc.

But back to the topic of my post.  Just like the hives, why do I poke and prod at my life and why am I continually trying to find myself?

How I ended up with John for a husband I have no idea.  He’s not like me at all in this regard.  He never asks “what is life really all about?” he just lives it from day to day, happily.  He’s like my dogs.  He has an innate dharma.  I can never seem to find the one true meaning of life, it’s a daily quesion that continually accompanies me wherever I go.  I need an explanation for everything, I need context, I need understanding.  I need to write about everything, work it out, psychoanalyze it.

What’s with me?