Counting my blessings, damnit!
Thanksgiving arrives soon. Mr. wOw casts a wary eye. In recent, depressed years, the happy holiday season has been something of an ordeal for Mr. Wow. (And for all those who encounter him!)
Although I have a lot of be thankful for, I struggle so much with my issues that I am capable of wiping out everything that is joyful. It is a rare talent. Last week I went in to see my doctor. He took my blood, looked me over, complimented me on continuing to do my sit-ups, and sent me away.
I am supposed to check back to find out what my blood work indicates. I never do. What does it matter, I insist, if my HIV meds are no longer working? Or how about all those margaritas during the week? Do my dry house and my liquor-free weekends make up for anesthetizing myself after every stressful working day? I don’t care, I tell myself in my best Eva Tanguay tones. (Look her up. Eva was quite a gal!)
Well, B. does care. He called me at work to say, “The doctor called. All your results were excellent!” Hmmmm … no way out? No feigning the life of an invalid? I have to go on, pretending I am an adult? Shit. B. declared himself thrilled that I was thriving. He ignored my grousing. He actually loves me. Amazing.
And so Thanksgiving bears down, and as much as I fight it, I have plenty to be thankful for. B. – number one. Who the hell else could put up with me? (And he makes fantastic chili!)
My friends, number two. Who the hell else could put up with me?
My job, number three. Feh. Eh. Oy. But really – I haven’t made of it what I could have. So who’s to blame? It’s a better gig than I ever anticipated.
Recently, when feeling bad, I’ve been given to saying, “Well, I’m not a Chilean miner!” But that only goes so far. They got out, and at least one them has that all-American capitalist know-how. Talk shows and marathons. I should be so motivated.
B. is already thinking ahead to Thanksgiving dinner, which he prepares. He knows I prefer the “whole berry” canned cranberry sauce to the smooth jellied variety. We are stocked.
And there will be champagne at midnight, as there always is on major Mr. Wow and B. holidays. He is going to be as good as gold, and I am going to be … coppery.
And then … Christmas! I’ll hold out as long as I can, but in the end – and I do it for B., really – I will mount yet another Christmas bordello. (You all remember last year’s epic, gaudy tree?) He is so amused by my extravagant efforts – every holiday a bigger tree, more ornaments, more tinsel! He deserves to be amused.
I often wonder what B. is thankful for. I find it hard to believe it’s me.
However … there are those insane Christmas trees. On the 12th day of Christmas we are still laughing. And loving. (We skip the lords a’ leaping – the house is too small.)
Oh, yes. And all of you. Thankful every day for this spot to vent and for the good thoughts that have come my way.
Save the drumstick for me.