My #gladitude this week is something a little different and stems from a plethora of issues I’ve been having over the past several weeks with things like memory, family…and life.
See, I’m the throes of studying for a final exam in my Chartered Herbalism Program and, like always, I’ve put way too much pressure on myself, coupled with the chaos of my reality…and I’m…stressed.
I remember everything.
Not for myself, of course. EVER. But for everyone else. I’m good at it. Eerily so.
I remember everything…normally.
The past few weeks have seen a staggering increase in the “forgets.” Not just brain-fog, either…this surpasses EVERYTHING…I’m frustrated. Really, really frustrated. I’ve been forgetting the little things AND the important things.
I’m the Queen of Rememberings in this damn house…and I’m totally sucking at it.
I’m tired. Ridiculously so.
How on EARTH am I going to remember eleventy-billion pieces of information for this final that’s 70% of my entire mark?!?!?
“It’s a general kind of exam…you don’t have to memorize 200 herb names in Latin, only the ones that are regularly mentioned…and just general questions about anatomy…and…well, it’s general knowledge you wouldn’t *need* a resource book to know.”
I’ll just haphazardly throw out that the three books use “generally” about 65-75 herbs regularly. I speak sarcastic, not Latin. And twin boys screeching banshee-talk says I’m not remembering SHIT about any of ’em.
Anyway. I digress.
This week I’d had to attend at my old law firm where I was a law clerk specializing in family law, estates and will, and the real estate that arose from any of them, in order to have a document notarized for submission with my final exam.
I cried when I got back into the car.
I miss my “old life” SO badly. The busy law firm with my successes at helping families or consoling distraught clients…of arranging visits with children or preparing for trials and case conferences…writing to Judges…planning arbitration…being a Notary Public. Feeling important.
I… “babysit”…a job providing childcare to other people’s children was never supposed to be my profession.
I’m not… “heard” in the house as my queries for help oh-so-very-often go undone.
I go to… appointment after ridiculously repetitive appointment.
And then: #GLADITUDE
I remembered a photo I’d posted on Facebook eons ago…
And I wondered to myself, sitting in my car wiping tears off my I-hate-having-wet-ears face that was burning with malar rash…
“What if the point of ‘Me.’ is something I simply hadn’t yet evolved to?”
So, what if I was this kickass law clerk for a decade, and had a really shitty single-mom kind’o’life and that it was all so that I’d learn specific lessons in life that would be usable/beneficial at some later point in the timeline of “Me.”?
What if…bear with me here…what if my “life” simply hasn’t yet started?
[dude, what are you on??]
We’re always asking what the meaning of life is, right? What is the purpose of life, even?
Then I thought back to earlier at the end of last weekend when Lupus Interrupted surpassed 3/4 of a million views.
What could possibly be so damn interesting that people take away from what I write and post?!?!?
Mind boggling, I tell you.
And y’know what? Given that I don’t have the foggiest freakin’ clue? There’s a purpose in there, in “Me.”…and it’s just growing like some fetal concept within the boundaries of my past and present circumstances and events.
And? When I do finally hit that “purpose” of “Me.”?…I cannot WAIT to see what it is.
I haz it.
And I really hope the answer has colour an’ bling an’ shit. 😉