Monday, April 11, 2016

Clearly, I haven't suffered enough...

Welcome to another week.  Bill and I had a wonderful weekend full of enjoying the good weather and eating at restaurants.  Yesterday, we even ran into the people who lived next door to us the first time we lived in Germany.  I have a real knack for running into people I haven't seen in years.  Fortunately, when this happens, it's usually a happy occasion.  I don't have that many true enemies.

Anyway, I was up early this morning because Zane had gas.  We didn't eat dinner last night, so he didn't get his usual table scraps.  He got hungry and when he's hungry, he gets painful intestinal gas.  Bill went to work even earlier than he usually does this morning, probably because we have to go to the dentist for cleanings today.  He doesn't like to take off work, so he probably went in to make up an hour or two of the afternoon he's going to miss today.

I have been up since about 5:30am and I just read yet another post from  Today's highlighted post was written by a twenty-five year old woman named Abby Norman who suffers from severe endometriosis.  I have to admit, Abby has a way with words.  On the other hand, as I was reading about her severe pelvic pain and the fact that she has to sit in hot baths all the time, I couldn't help but feel like this kind of revealing writing about suffering seems to be all the rage these days.

It's not that I don't enjoy a good essay about suffering.  Sometimes essays about pain are incredible pieces of writing.  It's just that it seems like this kind of stuff is very much in style.  I feel like I'm constantly reading about other peoples' pain and misery, crafted into artfully written articles eagerly lapped up by the masses.  While I felt some stirrings of empathy for Abby, I also couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable and maybe even annoyed.  I think it may be because I'm getting old.  Although I'm pretty free with my language, I caught myself feeling perturbed by Abby's use of the word "fuck".  And then, after I finished reading, I realized that what I'd read made me feel a little depressed.

I sit here thinking that I use the word "fuck" all the time.  Sometimes my writing is about painful things, though I usually try to include some humor into most of what I write.  Sometimes I use off color language.  What makes me different than any of the other writers out there who post about their agony?  Probably not much.  In fact, after reading Abby's essay, I feel like I haven't suffered enough.  I wonder what I'm doing sitting here, writing yet another blog post that may or may not be read by anyone.

Last week, I met a man who confesses that he stalks this blog.  He most likely found it after I posted a link to my much more benign travel/restaurant review blog.  I try to keep the travel blog mostly lighthearted, fun, and less profane.  This blog is the original; it's the place where I go to vent my spleen.  But even when I try to vent my spleen, it comes across as not very profound most of the time.  Sometimes I wonder why I bother.

I live a pretty ridiculous lifestyle.  Yesterday, after our fun day in Herrenberg eating Thai food and ice cream, Bill and I decided to order tickets to see Van Morrison.  We spent quite a lot of money for the tickets.  Just a few years ago, it would have been out of the question to spend as much as we did just to see a concert.  But we both like Van Morrison's music and he's not getting any younger.  And the concert is going on six days after Bill's 52nd birthday and a little over three weeks after mine.  I'm sure we'll have a blast doing something a lot of people do when they're young and carefree.  I feel like I'm living my carefree life now, although I have a tendency to invent problems anyway.  I worry constantly that the bottom will fall out and we'll be broke.

I suppose I should count my blessings.  I have a lot of them.  So my writing isn't all that profound or even that interesting.  I can't wax poetic about pelvic pain.  I can't complain about my slavedriver boss.  I can't even write about the trials of being a stepmother, since Bill's daughters didn't even give me the chance to try to be a stepmother.  I have a wonderful husband and I live in a beautiful, mostly peaceful country, even if we do have issues with riots between Turkish people and Kurds.  I'm basically healthy as far as I know.  I even have some friends.

Unlike Abby Norman, I'm not a young woman in constant pain.  I'm a middle aged person who seems to be "living the life", at least for now.  Well, I guess if people don't mind reading my self-indulgent drivel, I probably shouldn't begrudge them for writing theirs.  I see that many people commented on Abby Norman's essay and related to what she's going through.  I can't relate to it because I don't suffer from endometriosis.  However, I do suffer from Sims 2 withdrawal...  I love this theme.  It reminds me of living in Germany the first time and visiting Belgium.  I need a new Sims game that I actually enjoy playing.  Yeah... that is the source of my suffering nowadays.  No Sims 2!  Incidentally, the guy who wrote the theme linked below actually commented on this video.



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