Stress

I heard from a friend tonight. She was wondering about the fact that she'd not heard from me in almost a month. Ever since, I've been swallowing down the lump in my throat and willing away tears. See, I love this friend, miss her. I've talked so many times about wishing I could go visit her. I've fretted over her health problems, and prayed for her. It is true, though, that none of this matters because she didn't know.

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Today IT pursued me and oppressed me. As IT did, there was a little temper flare just under the surface, tears about to start over dumb stuff, and guilt taunting me with wicked laughter. IT ties knots in my shoulder muscles, puts a gnawing in my gut, and gets my head to pounding. I wish that the real world allowed me to slash the life out of IT. However, IT is elusive and tricky. IT appears by my choice, and IT appears without deliberation. IT tempts me, like few things, to be what I should not be. IT begs me to quit, to grumble and be discontent, and to hunt down something or someone to blame. Honestly, IT is annoying.

IT is stress. IT is that ugly, ugly thing that alters your world. We do sometimes create our own stress. We do. I remember well, though, a friend, who'd been going through a messy divorce with her daughter, saying that you can't always eliminate stress. Her doctor had told her that a crucial answer to her health problems was to get rid of stress. Ha! Sometimes life is stressful. It is. Sometimes we make poor choices that invite stress, but often, IT makes ITS own way in the door. The latter has been the story lately. It is preposterous to think that you might get up one morning wishing for - planning - an emergency trip to the hospital, or to clean up a whole quart of vegetable oil from the floor, or (in honor of Mom) to remove a whole jar of Vaseline from the hair and body of a feverishly sick little one (in the middle of preparing for a birthday party).

I am all for taking life by the horns and bringing it under control. I think that's a worthy endeavor. Sometimes, though, life wriggles out of your fist, yanks you up by the collar, and takes off running with you bouncing and bruising behind it. And in the middle of that bouncy, nightmarish ride, there must be sanity, a smile, and calm, composed pretending that life is still firmly held in your hand.

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So what to tell my friend? I love her. I hope so much for her. I can give her excuses, which may really be reasons, but that is inadequate to make her feel wanted and loved. What she really needed was an email three weeks ago, but that was three weeks ago. This is now. She is hurt. I could have typed an email to her in the time it took to type this, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted an email without asking for it. Really, she deserved it. But I didn't write it.

Just for one week, I wish IT would go jump in the tempestuous sea and drown, leaving me to leisurely write to my friend.