I'm making an effort, not a resolution, to be more positive this year. Since I'm apparently not dying, I must find a way to choose life. This is a small step.
We had a lovely Christmas and the tree's put away, thank heaven. The living room looks so much larger!
1. I applied for, and received an approval of, FMLA at my job. Which will permit me to take time off when I'm sich without penalty. The fact that it was approved on the basis of chronic fatigue, among other illnesses, is a small miracle in itself.
2. I love my job! And as of this minute, I'm still employed. Although still not the best at it, technically, I would bet most of my customers would say I'm the best agent they dealt with.
3. My husband is looking better and better to me all the time. Perhaps I'm coming out of my midlife crisis, menopause, empty nest meltdown. A bit. We are both working on giving to each other and finding those times when it's just us at home a peaceful joy. We're bending. He doesn't nag as much about my ever-present clutter; I allow him to fuss. He brings me the paper every morning; I acknowledge and provide for, to the best of my ability, his need for meat and potatoes, every single meal!
4. My dog is alive. After he ate a whole box of D Con, which was kept under the sink, behind the garbage can, surrounded by a large fire extinguisher and gallon jugs of distilled water, which had a child-proof lock! D Con must smell really really good. I was home sick from work or he'd be dead. And I got up at just the moment he finished the box. He looked so guilty because he knows he's not supposed to get in the garbage. I now know what it's like to be a vet, on a limited basis, because I, at the vet's orders, poured hydrogen peroxide down that dog's throat with a syringe and made him throw up the poison into the bathtub. I was throwing up myself. Sitting there in my nightgown, Bill gone to a scout meeting, making my Jack Russell puppy throw up. He's traumatized (he's the only quiet, frail, sensitive Jack Russell on the planet) and sickly and looks at me with those huge sad brown eyes, but he's alive. That was a grace of God thing.
Bill so loves that sweet little dog, it would have broken his heart---and mine---if he'd died. So now we're leaving soda pop and dried potatoes on the counter for the mice, per searching the internet for alternatives. How the hell he got that D Con just blows our minds.