It's so easy to get down when I'm trying to get over a bad night. For some reason I was awake two hours too early this morning. Usually, I'm good to sleep an hour or so past the clock radio's coming on, so this was really three hours of missed sleep.
Most of the time, a bad night is my own fault. I've had too much wine, or I've stayed up too late flipping mindlessly through all 200 channels, including the ones I don't even get. But I don't think I did anything wrong this time, unless it was forgetting to smell the mayonnaise before I smeared it on a sandwich last night. (EXP JAN 28 01 - does that mean anything?)
I'll admit that I was sluggish most of the day. I didn't move fast, I couldn't keep focused, and I kept misplacing my pencil (although that happens every day). I'm working on my general attitude, though, so I ignored the headache, and the pain in my gut, and my sore legs... That doesn't sound as if I ignored much of anything, does it?
Then I thought of Mom, soldiering blindly on through all the troubles she's had. I don't mean just this last operation, but the eleven or twelve that preceded it, plus all the eye problems she's had that surgery wouldn't correct. And now she's kept her head down for two weeks (try it!), and she has another month to go before she sees clearly again (or before she knows how clearly she'll be able to see).
And yet she's always telling me that things will work out. Her philosophy is that everything happens for the best. Sometimes she almost has me believing it. When I feel down, I try to cultivate some of her sunny attitude. When she gets down, I feed it back to her.
The doctor gave her a good report yesterday. All healing is coming along as hoped. That picked up her spirits enough that she went to lunch with a friend today. This should be all the inspiration I need. My problems are pretty small, after all.