These are trying times. Every day is a test of whether the truths that awakened in me during treatment have been deeply assimilated. I need to embody strength, forgiveness and compassion. I must remember that all of the qualities by which I'm defined are ultimately meaningless. My treatment mantra: I am not my hair, I am not how I look, I am not my intellect, I am not my body. How am I faring? Intermittently calm, but mostly very stressed. However, I have at least noticed anxiety when it's occurred. I've always had enormous difficulty in recognizing anxiety. During all of my formative years, anxiety was a relentless companion. Of course I never recognized it. Today, I can see it, if even just a little.
Sometimes I'm angry. I'm still mourning the loss of two of my daily friends from Crazy Land.
Fewer people means more encounters with Loathsome. And Golf Pro. And Bags.
Friday morning, we're having a cost-saving initiative meeting, called by Owner. Everyone is supposed to come up with five ideas to cut costs. Owner promises the meeting won't last more than an hour. In Crazy Land time, that will be somewhere around 3 hours, minimum.
I have to share the Loathsome Lexapro anecdote. Unfortunately, once again, I'm too tired for that.
