For the past several days we’ve been inundated with much-needed, but plan wrecking, rain. An outdoor party on Saturday had to head indoors and with a new musical type: a kitchen band. Table and chairs hastily crowded into any space available to set up the music, but the revelers were intrepid & carried on – after all, there was still beer – and plenty of it!
The showers turned into a deluge and the end of the night left a muddy path from their kitchen out to our cars after slogging back and forth through the muddy side yard with equipment and other paraphernalia, and I was grateful it was someone else’s house, but felt some guilt at the mess they’d have to clean.
It was so fun to sing and make merry, and I was glad that I only had a couple of beers so I got to watch the party-goers devolve into drunks by the end of the night without the morning regret for me. I’ve been on the miserable end too much in the past several years as alcohol wooed me again.
In AA’s parlance I’m considered a ‘yet’, and I don’t take that lightly, but it’s very hard to give up when you’re at those crossroads still having choice. I’ve witnessed many good people done in by alcohol and other drugs, and I don’t want my story to end that way.
Yesterday, it was overcast again, having rained heavily the day before, and getting through the day enervated me so much it was a triumph to get supper going. Luckily my S.O. helped me rally, and while we were eating our turkey burgers and veggies, the sun rolled out from the thinning clouds like a mercy from the gods, and S.O. said we should go out & play catch. I balked inwardly, feeling full, and wanting the TV to passively entertain me, but I surprised myself and said yes.
We got outside and the air was warming and fresh as we lobbed the baseball back and forth. The few clouds left were puffy, some lazily stretched out across the western sky, outlined in various hues of pink, red, and orange, and the bugs were few for about a half-hour.
We switched to hitting and my S.O. puts me to shame with his two and three base hits, while I can barely get mine out of the infield. I haven’t played ball for many years, figuring I’d be hurt more than I’d have fun, but I was wrong. I might not throw as hard, run as fast, or hit any better than I ever did, but our time outside, having fun, and just being in the moment created more joy than I’ve had in a while.
I tend to live in fear most of the time because that’s what I learned will keep me safe, as superstitious as that is. It’s tough to break out of that when it’s wired in my brain. I make different choices when I’m able, and sometimes I conquer myself, and sometimes my PTSD wired brain does, but I’m most glad that I can appreciate beauty, that my love is intact, and that endorphins still course through my body when I play.
This is probably life’s intermittent reinforcement at its best, but I’ll take it!
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Abstractly Distracted’s Blog, 2010 – current