Marian slipped on one of her shoes this morning and discovered that it was occupied, by a bad-tempered and aggressive wasp. How it got there is uncertain. Why it stayed there is even more confusing (usually, they bang around the windows, trying to fly outside). It stung her on the side of her foot and then apparently crawled away to die under the sofa on our front porch. At least that is where the corpse of the little monster was later discovered.
Needless to say, I have been checking out my shoes and slippers, to discover any unwanted residents and evict them with less chance of a personal attack. The problem: I don't know how I would respond to a sting. I have been swarmed several times by wasps and received multiple stings, which made me a trifle sick at the time. Now that my immune system is compromised at best, who knows what a little wasp venom might do? I have no desire to find out.
|Fade to Black (another poem)|
Responding to life's little (and some not so little) challenges is an uneven task. There are good days and some darker, not so good days...days when the weight of the challenges mass heavier on my shoulders than others, and when the shadows eclipse my heart. Living a day at a time helps, but does not guarantee sweetness and light. I joked with Marian several times about my left leg being depressed (because she discovered a slight depression in the skin once). However, there is a kernel of truth in this pile of corn.
Many years ago, a sudden change -- stopping a selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor, cold turkey -- triggered a bout of clinical depression of chemical origin. I know what it feels like to be depressed, to crawl about in the darkest shadows at the bottom of the deepest abyss. I know what it feels like to live the Prozac dream, when living is like swimming in Jello -- you go nowhere, and you don't really care. It took me six months to crawl out of that pit, and I swore I would never fall in there again.
These intermittent dark hours and dark days are nothing like that experience. The sadness and sense of loss may be more intense, but there is always hope -- it might be treading water in the dark blue pools and splashing through dark puddles of ennui -- but hope is there, to banish the despair and drive the gloom away.
3 F's to the rescue
I depend on the three F's to activate hope and pull me out of those puddles and pools. Friends form a network and their prayers are powerful, their communications are wonderful, and their support invaluable. Family is the foundation for my life and provides not only support, but a reason to fight on. Faith is the bedrock on which it all rests. God grants me the gift of each new day and illuminates the dark places where I must walk.
Wasp on the Ceiling
When I tried to explain the effects of these dark hours and days on my life, it reminded me of the wasp that stung Marian and now I used to hate having a wasp crawling about on the ceiling. I could not take my eyes off the little creature until it was outside or flattened by a swatter. So, I wrote a poem about the dark days called Wasp on the Ceiling and posted it to my poetry blog: Out of my Mind.
Thanks to everyone for their wonderful responses to my earlier postings and the continued support, prayers, good thoughts, and communications that light my dark days.
God bless and good night,