Abscessive Thoughts

No, that's not a misspelling. Though I have often been labeled "obsessive", today I feel quite abscessive. My brain feels vaguely cesspool-esque, if not empty then full of unsavory elements that don't belong there. I'm worrying about my youngest, whose anxiety and depression is preventing her from partaking in and enjoying usual teen activities. In the process of helping her cope with this, sleep has been an elusive state.

Additionally, I am the proud possessor of an abscess. Not actually in my brain, of course. It's located a bit lower, south of my nose and north of my upper lip: the land of dentition. I am not happy. It hurts. It is full of stuff that is, indeed, unsavory. And it will require a root canal and antibiotics to repair.

I am also hurt. Betrayed, even. I am a very faithful slave to my teeth. Brusha, brusha, brusha. Big-time flosser. 6 month viits. I'm certain that I'm on my hygienist's top ten queens of dental care list, should she have one. And everything that I've read on dental abscesses seems to imply that such things occur only in mouths that are not given tender loving care.

Life is unfair like that. I take care of my teeth and this is the thanks I get? I ask about flood insurance, am assured I'm not on a flood plain and don't need it, and then Iowa turns into one big pond? I learn how to read and then George Bush says he might write a book?

Sometimes, though, life surprises us. Finally, after 50+ years together, California decides to legally recognize and sanction your union. John Edwards says he might consider being veep after all. Unhappily, you have to switch doctors and it turns out the new one is highly regarded by friends and family.

Once, I was a dyed in the wool pessimist. There was never any question in my mind that the glass was half-empty. And I sometimes secretly wondered if it might be poisoned. After years of living life and experiencing its unfairness and surprises, somehow I've slipped over to the optimist side.

My glasses definitely don't tend toward rose-colored. And I do occasionally catastrophize (if it's not a word, it ought to be). For example, when I discovered the bump in my mouth, I did spend ten minutes researching mouth cancer before I reined myself in and put my money on an infection.

Mostly, though, I never stop thinking bad things might change or good things might stay the same for a while. I find this to be a sensible way of life for me. I don't spend much time in lala land, imagining wonderful things that will never happen. I don't spend too much time in ohgabogah land, fearing horrible things that will never happen. I know that both good and bad will come. And go. And I hang my hat on that ebb and flow. Even if it isn't always fair or even-steven or even right.

Who would've thought that change would ever sound good to me?

Liz