Ken and I both have the sick.
I blame Marian, but I could blame the gang at the O. I also blame myself for not washing my hands enough, not eating enough veggies, or for eating poorly over the holidays. I know it is my fault for getting run down, feeling blue, not exercising, and for leaving a sink full of dishes; allowing germs to collect and spread everywhere. I know I should wipe down the phone, change toothbrushes, and drink yucky apple cider vinegar with lemon instead of coffee with mucus forming cream. But Iâ€™d rather blame Marian for the hug she gave me on Christmas Eve.
I like to blame sickness on others; it keeps me from having to deal with the shame of sickness I feel. You knowâ€¦ the shame that I should live a better and healthier lifestyle. That being sick is just deserts and that I brought this on myself by getting run down or maybe I donâ€™t care enough to take this precaution or that. Deep down I know I must not practice enough, eat well enough, or care enough to quit some bad habits. I hate the feeling that the sick is all my fault and that I couldâ€™ve, wouldâ€™ve, shouldâ€™ve done something more, better and different.
Getting sick is a pain in the ass. I really hate it. I hate Ken being sick too, but more than just about anything – I hate the feeling of shame that comes with the sick.
But the truth is, Marian started it.
It is so clear I am not ready to ascend.