Coconut cream pie.
An ice-filled glass of coke, or two.
(Not the diet stuff, but the real live sugar saturated elixir.)
That was lunch today.
I feel better emotionally now. Not so much in the tummy. My heart has a little bit of zippiness going, y’know, that extra little beat occasionally?
Honestly, I stayed up too late watching a couple of episodes from season six of “Burn Notice” that just made it onto Netflix. It’s my nightly decompression fix lately. So, sleep deprivation might factor in to the heart fluttery thing and the craving for caffeine and sugar.
Stress could be part of it. Just possibly.
It’s not fun seeing your parents have to rewrite and reorder and realign their lives as illness throws obstacles in their path. I want to fix it all. I want to make everything better, dial back the clock five weeks and somehow circumnavigate the whole stroke thing. I want to move in permanently and be a cushion, bubble wrap, the go-to guy, backup, a wingman.
Obviously, I can’t.
I know, I know. They’re going to be just fine. More than fine. I hope. Between the two of them they outnumber my experience and wisdom by a good one hundred years. Do I sound like I’m trying to convince myself? I’m a lousy motivational speaker.
Didn’t I just suggest a day or two ago on this very blog that I ought to “worry less.” Yeah, I did. I’m not so good at following my own advice. I suppose I need to post something about getting enough sleep. Maybe I’d be better at following that advice. Or not.
Life isn’t always roses and blue skies. Sometimes it hurts.
The pie. And the Coke.
It’s probably a really good thing I’m not a drinking woman.