Grown accustomed to...

I’ve gotten used to a lot of things. I’ve gotten used to the reduced mobility and needing help with more than half of what I want to do. I’ve grown accustomed. I’ve grown accustomed to the constant constipation, hemorrhoids, nausea, vomiting, and quality time spent in the bathroom. I haven’t grown accustomed to the weight gain. I’m used to the aching from unused muscles, the way my body won’t rest at night, and how I must plan to do only one simple thing a day – washing dishes, don’t plan on a doctor appointment. I’m used to all those doctor appointments, the waiting, and the many medicines they prescribe. I’m even used to the side effects.

I’d grown accustomed to not living, but surviving. And then, within only a few short hours, it was all turned upside down. I lived. It was my guests. In the few short days with them I lived and I liked it. I got used to it. And when it was over I fell back into the old ways with a dissatisfaction that left me in a depressed stupor.

So this past weekend I was laying on the couch, limbs falling where they may, sighing loudly about my depression and unhappiness, my misery seeking company, when my wise-beyond-his-years husband said to me, “So what are you going to do about it today?”

Oh. I sat up, thought for a few moments, and then started moving – no game plan, just started moving. I got dressed, put in my contacts and applied some deodorant, you’re welcome. I opened some blinds, poured myself some coffee, sat down at my computer, and started my new online class.

So I couldn’t go for a walk in the park, or sit and read in my favorite coffee shop. So what? But I could get a kick in the pants from a wise man and reinvent myself yet again. I’ve grown accustomed to that, too.