surprise!
My alternator is SO dead. Kaput. Blppppphhhhh.... a goner. And that ain't good. But what is good is that much to my surprise, I have some kind of unexpected and unexplained warranty called "Honda Cares" (but do they really, now?) which means the whole thing will cost me nothing at all. Zero. Zed. Nada. Isn't that amazing? The only bad part is that they had to keep my car overnight, which was not how I thought it would go. Luckily my assistant brought me home, and will take me to work tomorrow. So that's all good. Isn't that amazing, for me?!
Nothing more, really. My authors are just so incredibly sweet; the ones I've told about my recent health troubles (usually because I've left them hanging for a really long time) were just so kind and sweet. For example. One of my authors is a physician at the Mayo Clinic, and he's writing a book about spirituality and the brain. He had published a paper I was interested in reading, so he forwarded it to me. Today I wrote him to let him know why he hadn't heard from me in so very long, and this was his reply:
Hi. It's great to hear from you. I am glad you are okay. Is the diagnosis serious? I do understand what you mean about the fragility of life. You obviously have first person experience on the matter, but I work with truly ill individuals and I agree that we should celebrate life as much as we can.
I am honored that you have read my paper. I am working hard on the book and will work extra hard now that I have heard from you.
And then I have an evolutionary psychologist who is legally blind, who is revising a big book he wrote for us. Here is his response, so darling:
47 - you are just a child. But I would have thought you were in your late 30s. Was it my bad eyes? I don't think so. I always hesitate to say anything about health. But I try to stay away from hospitals as much as I can. They are for sick people. However, you need to be careful. I have no idea what the risk factors are but you should think about them a bit. In my case I have a few rules (because of my eyesight). One is NEVER cross against the light even at 3:00 AM in quiet part of town. Another is NEVER step off the street before the light changes. You don't need these rules, but you might think of a few others. How about NEVER play squash. How about NEVER run up stairs to get to the laser printer.
In any case please stay around until I get this handbook done.
These are people I really don't know -- I am their editor, we communicate occasionally by email, now and then I meet them at a conference. And yet, at those moments in life where things get fragile, the connections become obvious.
Is this going to make sense later? I had two glasses of wine with dinner. I may have to delete this later, we'll see. :)
And finally, I found a wonderful, wonderful therapist. Her name is Elizabeth, and I knew the moment I saw her that she'd be the next person in my chain. Unlike my last beloved therapist, Polly, who was my age and very butch and short, tanned, a little stocky, with short spiky hair, Elizabeth is older than me, tall and willowy, long dark hair, and very feminine. Both really get me, though, and both are extraordinarily compassionate. I deeply love Polly, and I can imagine loving Elizabeth. I can imagine doing good work with her. She is on the faculty of NYU, specializes in women with my background and PTSD (usually goes together), and her office is in Greenwich Village. So every Thursday I get to wander around one of my favorite parts of the city and watch people....including lots of gay couples walking arm in arm. Last week I walked alongside this couple who were walking with their arms around each others' waists, kissing as they walked as if they hadn't seen each other in awhile and they cherished each other. I'm so happy to be in a place where people are able to be themselves, out.
So basically, life is good right now. I'm happy, troubles have settled down, life has settled in, and trouble is balanced with joy. These interludes keep you going, don't they?
Nothing more, really. My authors are just so incredibly sweet; the ones I've told about my recent health troubles (usually because I've left them hanging for a really long time) were just so kind and sweet. For example. One of my authors is a physician at the Mayo Clinic, and he's writing a book about spirituality and the brain. He had published a paper I was interested in reading, so he forwarded it to me. Today I wrote him to let him know why he hadn't heard from me in so very long, and this was his reply:
Hi. It's great to hear from you. I am glad you are okay. Is the diagnosis serious? I do understand what you mean about the fragility of life. You obviously have first person experience on the matter, but I work with truly ill individuals and I agree that we should celebrate life as much as we can.
I am honored that you have read my paper. I am working hard on the book and will work extra hard now that I have heard from you.
And then I have an evolutionary psychologist who is legally blind, who is revising a big book he wrote for us. Here is his response, so darling:
47 - you are just a child. But I would have thought you were in your late 30s. Was it my bad eyes? I don't think so. I always hesitate to say anything about health. But I try to stay away from hospitals as much as I can. They are for sick people. However, you need to be careful. I have no idea what the risk factors are but you should think about them a bit. In my case I have a few rules (because of my eyesight). One is NEVER cross against the light even at 3:00 AM in quiet part of town. Another is NEVER step off the street before the light changes. You don't need these rules, but you might think of a few others. How about NEVER play squash. How about NEVER run up stairs to get to the laser printer.
In any case please stay around until I get this handbook done.
These are people I really don't know -- I am their editor, we communicate occasionally by email, now and then I meet them at a conference. And yet, at those moments in life where things get fragile, the connections become obvious.
Is this going to make sense later? I had two glasses of wine with dinner. I may have to delete this later, we'll see. :)
And finally, I found a wonderful, wonderful therapist. Her name is Elizabeth, and I knew the moment I saw her that she'd be the next person in my chain. Unlike my last beloved therapist, Polly, who was my age and very butch and short, tanned, a little stocky, with short spiky hair, Elizabeth is older than me, tall and willowy, long dark hair, and very feminine. Both really get me, though, and both are extraordinarily compassionate. I deeply love Polly, and I can imagine loving Elizabeth. I can imagine doing good work with her. She is on the faculty of NYU, specializes in women with my background and PTSD (usually goes together), and her office is in Greenwich Village. So every Thursday I get to wander around one of my favorite parts of the city and watch people....including lots of gay couples walking arm in arm. Last week I walked alongside this couple who were walking with their arms around each others' waists, kissing as they walked as if they hadn't seen each other in awhile and they cherished each other. I'm so happy to be in a place where people are able to be themselves, out.
So basically, life is good right now. I'm happy, troubles have settled down, life has settled in, and trouble is balanced with joy. These interludes keep you going, don't they?