Saturday, February 27, 2010


So I had an anxiety attack. Like a full blown, oh my god what the hell is happening anxiety attack. I tossed and turned and suddenly realized that the only possible explanation of what I was feeling, which was some sort of cross between iron man lungs (that while expanding to a certain level, could only go so far without exploding), and the sudden onslaught of a heart beat that threatened to beat it's little self right out of my ribcage, meant that I was in dire need of a pacemaker, because, after all my mother ended up needing one. And, if you know even the slightest thing about me, you know that god has for some reason, decided that my penance for being rude, disrespectful, and at some times even a bitch to the one I call 'mom', was to inflict on me all of the same issues that my mother has ever had. Honestly, if you follow my mother's life story up until my current age, you will find me. However, I digress, slightly. To recap, I had a first ever anxiety attack in the middle of the night, to which Mike sleepily responded, "it's called being drunk".. trust me, I would have taken the spinning bed over what happened last night.

I've had a stressful week, but not something that I think would have warranted this sort of event. So, I did what every girl in my position would do without Oprah's personal line... I called my mom. I explained to her everything that happened, and she of course has an in depth analysis of what she think happened to me. Basically, I'm f*cked. I hate to be vulgar, but for the first time in my life I learned that these are common place in m family... lovely.

So my granny is sick... again, which since I am a chronic facebooker, you all know. I love her, I love my family, and I can't help but think about these things when I lay my head down at night. I'm blessed, I know that. I hope that at the end of my days, I have a granddaughter who thinks the world of me, and despite being unable to communicate with her any longer, this same granddaughter takes an immense amount of pleasure in seeing me in her own daughters smile. Because I think, if you have that sort of profound impact on someone's life, you have done your duty on this earth. So yes, does her battle with the inevitable descent into the end bother me... of course.

But here's where the solace comes into the situation. I had a shitty day, a shitty few days, but I had a small army of friends and loving family to wonder how things were. I had the BLESSING to turn to people with tears in my eyes (or bad collagen injections as I tried to pass them off as last night!!) and know that hugs and random acts of chocolate were in my near future.

So as I go to bed tonight, with a red wine stained shirt from the incessant giggling that unfolded when we were retelling stories with old friends, and a heart that is both heavy and so utterly thankful for it's overflowing emotion, I can't help but echo the song that is playing in Ben's room right now. "In this life... I was loved by you".

So I'll take the middle of the night anxiety attacks. Because, as my Garth so brilliantly put it,

"Our lives are better left to chance,

I could have missed the pain,

but I'd have had to miss the dance"

And, again if you know me, I'll dance...always. Even if it's polka, because even polka can be fun if you set your mind to it.

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