Getting Lucky and a Pain in the…

 

Casino Slot Machines. Las Vegas Strip Digital Slot Machine Closeup. Sin City Gabling. Las Vegas, United States.

Some minor problem with my health this week was slowing me down, just as I felt I was getting caught up with my workload and deadlines.  Naturally, my eyes went up to sky and I immediately felt guilty for my first thought, which was this:

“God, come on.  I’ve been working double time trying to catch up… now this?  I can’t even sit in my chair, how the heck can I work?”

I was feeling like throwing the biggest pity party.   As though somehow, with a decent work ethic, that I don’t deserve the random shit that happens to every other human being on the planet?  I don’t think it’s cool but I am the biggest baby when I am sick (worse than a man, according to my husband).  Okay let’s get real about this… I’ve never had um… bleeding from there, not like this.  Nor the pain that came with it.  I guess the fact that I am 44 and have had my first tear or case of hemorrhoids is pretty good, since I know people who have had them since high school.

Since I know those people from high school will read this … I’m really sorry when I made light of the situation, or mocked you for having a terminal “pain in the ass”.  Clearly I was being one and had NO IDEA it hurt this bad.  Talk about flash back and feeling like an asshole.  Pun intended.  And ouch.  No SERIOUS ouch… why didn’t life prepare me for the immense pain that this particular common condition provides?   I will now live in mortal fear of this particular pain in the ass.

So there I am thinking about how I can prop my laptop on a pillow and try to write the thousands of words waiting for me, and … the puppy bites me in the ass.  Not the cheek, but essentially nose dives into a place that was heavily medicated but exposed let’s say for comfort’s sake.  Fuck.  I saw stars as I hastened to quickly wipe his face clean with a warm facecloth and a little soap (who knows what kind of bad is in the two creams I am using?)   How was your Friday night?

I know I’m oversharing.  It’s my damned blog… and I’m allowed to share the not-fun life things too.  I think it’s important that I do share the random that happens, because I’m a human being, and every day isn’t eggs Florentine and Dove chocolates, small business victories and feeling sexy.  Some days it’s simply Preparation-H, and a chihuahua sticking a snout up your tender backside.  Life happens.

After the nose diving incident, I was even more upset.  I cried.  And then I cried, and then I cried.  I thought about home, my sister, my family, my best friends.  I thought about my green card renewal and the frustration with the current games that President Trump is playing with legitimate green card holders, ever pushing my trip home further and further away it seems.  I thought about the IRS bill from 2016 which is about $90 less than the dream trip I want to take with Kevin to Italy and France.

When I have a pity party you see, I take out the “good plates” and the cloth napkins, and do it up right.

Kevin and I are mending fences (they are pretty much mended) over a ‘thing’ that happened in January.   The good thing about being two fiercely independent business minded folks, is that we realize that ‘things’ can happen, and that fences can be mended.  Well… truthfully, that’s more Kevin than me.   Most people you can hurt, and they are bruised, expect some reparation and then make you feel like shit about it for a few weeks, but they get over it.  Me?  I turn into a porcupine, shoot my quills at you, allow all your blood to nearly drain out of you, stab you some more with my quills… and then stare at you from a distance for a few weeks, spiking my quills anytime, for any reason I feel like.

That’s how someone behaves when they’ve been hurt in relationships a lot.  It’s called armor.  Difficult for a partner to get around to be sure, but there for a very important reason.  My trust lies underneath those quills, and if you’ve wounded me… it takes some time for them to flatten out.  Time to trust you again.  I’m human.  I’m a human that also thought I was angry enough to pack it in over the “thing”… until a couple people reminded me that in a five year period, and years of supporting me through some very hard times and trials, that one monumental fuck up was not enough to ditch an otherwise successful, and good marriage.

My quills are mostly down now, unless one of us brings it up.   Must be the Italian in me.  Or the part of my heart that’s been too trusting in the past, and never wants to get fucked over again.  Yeah… probably that part.

As for getting lucky… my husband got my limping, Advil overdosed backside out of the house (much needed) and to the casino (I know, not responsible… but you gotta live too).  He gave me gambling money and we rolled with it until we were both almost broke.   Then I took out some of my own money and sat down at a machine and started doing well, and Kevin sat beside me, and said he wanted to go, complaining that the maximum bet on the machine was too high.

Then it hit.  Big time. Well… not enough to buy our dream house mortgage free, but I think $2,000 is a pretty exciting win.  After paperwork was filled out (hello IRS!) a very smiling Kevin took me out for a nice Mexican lunch, and take home tortilla chips and salsa (essential for writing) from my favorite Mexican restaurant in Sherman.

He deserved to win.  I was jealous but happy he won.   We got out of there and Mr. Reese is enjoying the afterglow of a great win, as I am writing this, with one cheek on a pillow.   In life, there is a balance to everything isn’t there?  Good things, bad things, good luck… and bad luck.  But dragging your wife out of bed early in the morning to “get lucky” at a casino paid off… and I haz nachos.  And a very happy husband.

*shrug*