It's a superstitious day, people. FRIDAY THE 13th!!!!!
I was having a phone conversation with my friend Kelly a few weeks ago when she told me the closing date on the house they have been building was finally set for the 13th of June. She was so happy that all of the construction and meetings and decisions and ... did I mention decisions? ... were finally going to be finished, until I casually said, "Oh, it's on Friday the 13th."
Apparently when a person is stressed out from building a house and living in a cramped apartment with her husband, kid and dog, finding out your move-in date is doomed by being steeped in superstition isn't all that great of a thing.
I, of course, wanted to reassure her. "My birthday is on the 13th, Kelly... I have had five different birthdays on Friday the 13th and nothing bad happened on any of them. I lived through it and look how great I turned out!"
Silence. More silence. Then a trepidatious reply, "Are you kidding
Then it hit me... I am seriously one of the unluckiest people I know. Murphy's law was written for me. And I am on the phone trying to convince her that the 13th is not a jinx at all. Well, I didn't get her convinced but we were definitely distracted by all the laughing about the alternate universe my mind is apparently existing in.
This isn't the first time I've been made aware of my complete and total denial of my reality. My first instinct is to react to a situation like I'm perfectly strong and healthy. Last year a friend of mine was feeling light-headed and nauseous when we were in public, and I knew she was shaky so I asked her if she wanted me to help her walk to the bathroom. She looked at me like I had three heads and finally asked me how I was going to catch her if she passed out. Aaahhh... right. Hand her my cane, maybe?
This winter I was on the phone with Susie when she mentioned that she was explaining to a co-worker about me and said (accurately) that I was disabled and pretty much home bound. Those terms never cross my mind... I mean, I can hardly walk and I go months at a time without leaving my house, but disabled and home bound? What was she talking about?
My brain may take it to the extreme, but I think selective denial is how we all get through this life. I know a few years back when my mom showed the grandkids how great she could do a cartwheel, she truly believed in her mind she was 18 and it wouldn't hurt a bit. And then she did a fantastic cartwheel that hurt a lot. I'm sure when dad goes water skiing he forgets from time to time that being a hotdog might be biting off a bit more than he can chew. But I think it's ok to live a little by turning a cartwheel or popping up on some skis or pretending to be able-bodied if it keeps us young and active and healthy in our minds.
So, I've decided the disabled part I can totally accept - but home bound makes it sound like someone chained me to the door or something. You all will play along if I just say I'm a stay-at-home disabled chick for now, right? I'd just hate to tempt fate and jinx myself by completely leaving my mind's lovely alternate reality... I mean, it is Friday the 13th, after all.