The Pressure's On

I seldom write anything personal on this blog. This is where I vent in fiction, kill off the people I dislike.

But, perhaps this type of therapy isn't working. I've been home from work on stress leave for four weeks now. Numerous tests have shown my heart is healthy, despite the chest pains. It's stress, said my doctor. Stress is a powerful thing.

Don't I know it.

So, though I argued with him, he put his foot down and said a blood pressure reading of one-fifty-four over one hundred is not good. He's probably right. After all, he's the one with the degree.

Rest, he said. Take some time to regroup and get some perspective.

Fine.

I go back to work tomorrow (today is a holiday in Ontario, and a few other provinces). I'm not sure how I feel about going back to work. Part of the issue is the hours I work which, I admit, is my own doing. I'm a firm believer in the adage: "If you want something done right, do it yourself." The problem is, in my office, this is often the case.

We do have people to help with the overflow, but I often have to redo the work, which defeats the purpose. It's not simply a matter of the work not being done to my standards (I can let that one go...most of the time), but the work is not done correctly. Which reflects on me, and my bosses.

I realize it's not about the work, it's a matter of health now. High blood pressure is a warning. I know this. I worked in funeral service for more than twelve years and I'm married to an undertaker. I know the end result. I've seen it many times.

So, new plan, starting tomorrow:

Limit my work day to eight hours.
Concentrate on finishing the first draft of Madison's Avenue.
As co-founder of The DRCC, organize the annual spring and winter craft shows.
Help look after my aging inlaws on the weekend.

And now that I've put that in writing, it still sounds daunting. The only difference to my normal routine is that I've cut my work day down to eight from the usual ten or twelve.

Maybe that will help. Maybe it won't.

How does the saying go? What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

Well, if I make it to my forty-seventh birthday, I'll be a fucking Amazon.

Hear me roar.

Standing Proud

Standing Proud

I have erectile dysfunction. There, I said it.

It’s surprising really, since I don’t have the appropriate appendage for such an affliction, what with being a girl, and all. Nonetheless, it seems I can’t get it up and need help doing so.

I’m not sure when it began, but apparently I’ve had this issue for years.

I am promised that my lack of performance will be the demise of my marriage. If I take their recommended medication, my self esteem will increase, my sex life will improve and my partner will be satisfied.

I didn't know he wasn't before, but who am I to say? After all, I can't get it up.

Well, I can't go through life, limp and hang-dogged, so to speak. So I'll just reply to one of these emails and see if I can't perk things up a bit...

Mental Health Day

Mental Health Day

There were days—occurring with increasing frequency, she admitted—that she could barely muster the energy to shut off the screeching alarm, let alone get out of bed. Going to work was unthinkable. The medication didn’t seem to help, though she’d been taking it for months now.

She shifted under the covers, searching for that cool spot that would sooth her, if even for a moment.

In her mind, she practiced the message she’d leave at the office, working out today’s excuse for calling in sick.

I wonder, she thought, as the cold metal warmed in her hand, who will finish typing that proposal.

A Walk in the Woods

A Walk in the Woods

Blades of sunlight slash through the trees, brilliant swords that light our way as we stroll in the woods behind our house. Though our conversation is rather mundane—work, house, kids—the intimacy is there.

My breath catches when you reach over to brush my hair back, cup a hand behind my neck and rub your thumb along my cheek. My eyes try to tell you how much I ache to hold you again.

I know I can’t see you every day, and I know I won’t see you forever, but I will walk through our woods and hope that I see you again. Until then, I will visit you here and lay flowers by your stone and tell you I miss you.

Every day.

Beautiful Me

I know I've been away from this blog and I apologize to my faithful followers. I appreciate your patience while I focus my energy on finishing the first draft of Madison's Avenue. My goal is to complete the first draft by April, so it won't be much longer.

To relieve my guilt, I will cheat and post some old pieces I've been anxious to edit. And some pieces I've dug up on a long-forgotten memory stick.

* * *

Beautiful Me

"You either have looks or you have brains; few people have both."

This was something my mother often told me when I was younger. Though it was never said, I knew she meant I was gifted with both. She’s my mother—she’s supposed to say things like that, even though we both knew she was lying.

I, however, made the grave error of musing to my husband that she never did clarify which of these gifts were bestowed upon me.

Big mistake!

To this day, whenever I do something stupid (and believe me when I say that happens a lot) he turns to me, with his Serious Face, and says "You are so beautiful."