Muddy Pajamas

I just got back from my nightly walk around the block with the most spoiled bichon this side of the Mississippi. I was proud that I was finally feeling better after a week of torment due to a disco ball and loud music that was part of a fantastic wedding celebration. Today, I actually attempted a trip to the Y (they closed early) and got flowers and statues for our yard. The little two year-old neighbor actually asked if I would play tag with him. I kept humming “Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog,” a top hit by Mickey Mouse that my grandson sang for me. I wrote my blog and dined on Wendy’s. Life was good.

My walk though brought the current reality smack into my face. There was a slight breeze finally cooling the hot, humid day. I just figured out last week that breezes are one of the triggers for my Mighty Three and tonight sure proved my hypotheses accurate. I was able to at least stay on the sidewalk for a portion of the journey, but as I rounded the corner, my path spread much wider. Yesterday’s storms left much of the ground marshy and muddy. I worried that I would be unable to finish my voyage, but I wondered the reactions of my neighbors one block away. At 11:00, they were probably beginning their bedtime routines and would be aghast to see a muddy stranger complete with pajamas and a hyperactive dog. I gathered my confidence and tried to go up the driveway, but it was on an incline and my steps were hardly traveling where I would like. Einstein knew that house was not ours and his job was to always get the adult on the other end of the leash to the correct home.

He did his job, and I’m home now, still contemplating my walk. I had my little pity party with a scoop and a half of chocolate ice cream. I’m a big partier. Mentally reviewing my blog from earlier today, I admit that multiple pieces of myself were crushed, demolished and destroyed. With Bob out-of-town, I sit on my couch, my dog almost glued to my side, and wonder what is happening to me. My ankle is throbbing and already getting swollen. That marshy ground is murder on old joints.

I’ve followed doctor orders and gone to internationally known specialists. I try to watch the stress, diet and physical expectations. Even so, I still visit the ground and sometimes even get muddy. However, I’m fine. I’m about to head to bed and read a new download on my Kindle. I’ll pray that my bed stays rooted to the floor. I’ll also try to make a positive attempt to thank God that I finally made it home safely and even have a great story to tell. I’ll end my monologue with my new mantra (besides I’m a grandma!) of Life is Good. Happy dreams.

Ways God Reminds Me Through My Chronic Pain that Life is Good:
• I get to have lots of pairs of pajamas.

KEEP READING IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN MY BLOG FROM EARLIER TODAY! I ACTUALLY WROTE TWO POSTS TODAY.