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Wrestling At 99 Days

Had I known that yesterday was 99 days until I went into hospital, it would have probably made me feel a bit better. As was, the weekend was really a struggle. On Saturday, a shopping trip to the grocery store bought me tears when Auntie and I returned to the car. The store was so busy and crowded. The stress of it was just too much. Sunday as well, had its problems. I felt like I was still recovering from Saturday well into the day, fighting off a screaming headache, probably from dehydration, caffeine addiction, and stress. To be honest, I was hard on myself, feeling that I should be able to handle a simple trip to the store. As Auntie put it, though, I am under a considerable amount of stress at the moment. Even if I didn’t have transition, surgery, and all that, I still have a monster commute and a job that can be quite intense at times.

Auntie reiterated a desire for a vacation soon. She’s right; we both could use one, but not yet. The recent stress, though, has turned my thoughts to past long drives across the States. I would drive for hours and hours and hours, sometimes 19-20 hours without stopping. Despite the duration, time would often seem to stand still. My mind was free to roam, masticating the past in an attempt to make it all add up to something worthy, something understandable. With playing music far too loud and only the rhythmic thumping of road noise to keep me company, my analytical brain could be set loose, first to just vegitate and rest and then to use the sensory deprivation for what I can only equate to an analtical dream state. At either end, too, a warm but weary homecoming made a reward. I used to get this time to reset myself twice a year. God, I miss it so.