Good Intentions

"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
- Elizabeth E. Curtis, AKA Gram or My Grammy


I recently took a brief hiatus from my blog. It wasn't really evident to most people, though, because I took some time before the break to write a couple of extra blog posts, which I saved for publication during the time that I would be away from writing. I returned to the keyboard several days ago, excited to be back to writing, and eager to get back to work. I sat down and wrote, filled with eagerness to get back to regularly blogging after taking a couple of weeks off. I had really good intentions.

As I quoted at the beginning of this piece, my little Gram, who had a saying for just about everything, often said that the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. We often think that we have everything positive motivating us, but things end up just the opposite. 

I wrote my first post this month on a Saturday, five days ago. I felt good about the act of writing and good about life. I was positive about what I thought would be my writing output for the month of November. I envisioned writing a new post about every three days or so. On Monday evening, I began to think about what I would create for my readers the following day. I also knew that I would have to do some work that day for insurance enrollment this week. My work was cut out for me, and all scheduled. I was ready for it.

And then I got thrown for a loop. Monday night, as Trent and I were watching a classic movie on the television, I suddenly realized that I had to go to bed NOW. I had been fighting a headache all day, only to have it bloom into a bouquet accented with sprigs of exhaustion and feeling sick. It's something that I have dealt with from time to time ever since I was hospitalized with a terrible attack of vertigo. I can be tired for days on end with no adverse reactions, then suddenly will have a night when it catches me unprepared. I have a moment in which I realize that if I don't lay my body down in bed right away, it will happen involuntarily. AKA go to bed now, or simply pass out/collapse. Since I have had this happen before, I heeded the signals of my brain without any worries. I just needed the rest that I was getting ready for. 

When I woke up on Tuesday, I really felt awful. I decided that it would pass, and had my typical morning toast and started to watch an excellent old movie with Trent. I tried to ignore the feeling that my head, more specifically my left eyeball, was going to explode. I wasn't going to listen to the feelings of nausea that my stomach was shouting about. I had lots to do, and I was going to be fine. Mm-hmm. Good intentions.

During the time that we were watching our movie, I noticed that I was slumping more and more toward a laying flat position. My headache was growing stronger and my stomach was churning. Let me state right here and now that nothing turns me into a gooey mess like a sick stomach. I remember during the years living with Gram, how she would always take care of me when I was pukey. If I woke up sick in the middle of the night, she was always there, gently rubbing my back and speaking soothing words. Somehow the horrible act of sicking up was lessened under her loving care. 

Gram would smooth back my hair and press a cool cloth to my face and forehead, and help me back to bed. She was ready to do whatever I needed to lessen the impact of my bout with stomach problems. I remember the first time that I got sick in the night and Gram didn't wake up. I was simply all alone in my bathroom, but I felt like I was all alone in the world. Here I was, a college student, crying over being sick. The fact that it seemed so babyish made me cry even more. And when Gram found out the next morning that I had been sick with nobody to emotionally support me, she felt awful. But that's just life happening, and it goes on. 

As I said before, though, feeling pukey is the one thing that will lay me low. I can handle pain and keep going, but if I am on the verge of throwing up, I have to slow down. So on Tuesday morning I had to put myself back to bed. And I kept trying to get up, but just going to the bathroom was enough to have my stomach on the verge of heaving. I was miserable. I tried to get sleep during the day, and did so in brief patches, flying awake with worry about things left undone. Trent knew that I was in bad shape because I am not one of those people who tends to just say she's sick and then put herself to bed. When I told him that he had to go fetch the mail because I just couldn't do it, he knew it was bad.

So I spent Tuesday in bed. And most of Wednesday. I tried to get some insurance work done in the very late afternoon and having something to distract my attention made me think that I was starting to feel a bit more more normal and healthy. Riding on the crest of this wave of diversion, I watched a tv program late in the evening after resting some more and started to feel skunky about halfway through. But I was getting better, darn it, and decided to finish it and then watch a favorite program with Trent. Suddenly I felt awful again and had to get right to bed. I woke up this morning feeling dreadful again and remembered Gram talking about good intentions. Yes, she was right. I went back to bed for a while to recover from my recovery. I hope I'm back on track now. At least I'm eating, and writing. And not puking. Yippee!





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