Therapeutic whining from my 2011 Christmas letter:
This year I will prove that I am cursed. First, as always: No good deed goes unpunished. Ever. Do the right thing, get screwed.
Worst case scenario: My most precious thing, my 16 year old, beautiful, extraordinary cat, Lydia, died on my wedding day. Beat that if you can.
And then: Every single thing gets screwed up.
1) Today, for instance. The toilet is leaking through the ceiling below it–the living room ceiling. The plumbing place says they’ll call when they’re on their way. They call while I’m on the phone with my husband, and because I don’t answer, being already on the phone, they skip me and go on to somewhere else.
2) My purse got stolen. While I’m doing a good deed, right? I go to the store the Monday before Thanksgiving to buy food to make for my sister’s 25th anniversary party. While I’m there, my purse gets stolen–not found by someone and turned in to customer service. No. They just took the damn thing and ran off with it. So I was without credit cards for a week, and also had to get a new driver’s license and have the door lock re-keyed.
3) My cats all have dirty butts. I know this sounds funny and unimportant, but when about 300 things all pile on me at once, none of them is really very funny. Dirty cat butts are no laughing matter. And of course I have the cat that won’t come out of her room and vomits constantly. Another good deed punished (over 6 years now of punishment on that cat adoption).
4) Lately, the dog (Jim’s Corgi, Winston, an otherwise superb dog) doesn’t want to go outside. He’ll go out on the leash if Jim goes out with him. Otherwise, he refuses. How convenient is this?
5) Our garage is so small and stuffed full that I keep scraping the side of my car on the snow blower as I go in and out. We were supposed to have had a new garage last summer, which then turned into a storage building, which then was never built, either, due to circumstances too long and ridiculous to go into here. Suffice it to say it can only be attributed to a curse.
6) Two years ago I was 5 foot 6 and had a 28 inch waist. Now I’m 5 foot 4-½ and my waist is 33 inches and hangs over the top of my pants. I don’t weigh any more now than I did two years ago. It’s like an alien has invaded my body and is living in there. So now I have to go through all kinds of machinations and discomfort to try to disguise the fact of the alien. “Foundation garments,” baggy tops, baggy vests, etc. I hate to leave the house.
I gave up wearing makeup because it was such a pain in the neck, now I have an alien instead which is more of a pain in the neck than wasting my time on makeup. I can’t get ahead.
7) In a continuing vein: I’m still allergic to water. Not kidding. Makes me itch so bad that when it happens I consider suicide. Not kidding. What is that if not a curse, I ask you? Do you know anyone else, have you even ever heard of anyone else, who is allergic to water?
8) Jim applied for long term care insurance. They said if we both apply, it will be cheaper. So Jim, who is 8 years older than I am, has had a TIA, and his brain scan looks like Swiss cheese, is approved. And I am denied, due to “mental health concerns.” Oh, duh. Who wouldn’t have mental health concerns given my life? Yes, I’m depressed a lot. Who wouldn’t be? What does that have to do with long term care? Like being in a nursing home would IMPROVE my depression and I can’t wait to go there? And when a nurse came to do the “cognitive testing” (done when you apply for this insurance), I did great, and, in fact, better than Jim did. So they take him and not me. What would your explanation of this be? A curse?
I’ll stop now, having illustrated a few of the recent high points of my life. It hasn’t started snowing here yet, miraculously, so we’ll be punished for that very soon. Stay tuned. I won’t even go into, for instance, the two huge gaping holes that have been in the dining room ceiling since last January, when there was a drain leak upstairs and water crashed through the ceiling. Jim was home for lunch when it happened. He called me and said, “Bad news.” Really? I’m so surprised.