Baggage claim

Saturday: After I finished making soup last night, I felt out of sorts. I haven't been depressed in some time, and I didn't really feel depressed, just anxious (more so than usual). I was worried, because things seemed worrisome. Then for some reason, I started singing Donna Summer's "Heaven Knows," a song I haven't heard or thought of for a very long time.

I sang Donna's part and Joe Esposito's part. I don't know the song that well anymore, so it wasn't one of my better performances. But I felt better anyway. I remembered most of the words, and I sang it twice, yielding to my imaginary audience's demand for an encore. Then I stopped, because you should always leave your imaginary audience wanting more.

As I washed the dishes, I had an idea for a story, but then I thought that it might be too close to my real life. Of course, that's where the greatest writers get their best ideas, but I'm not one of the greatest writers, so I'm not going to write this particular story. I don't even remember the idea.

Actually, I totally do remember the idea. But I don't want to write a story about myself. I'm the least interesting topic to write about that I can think of.

Oh who am I kidding. I'm my favorite subject. What else do I write about 95 percent of the time?

*****
Sunday morning:Yesterday was an exhausting day. My mother-in-law had chest pains and shortness of breath, so I took her to the emergency room.

If nothing else, the emergency room on a Saturday is a place to watch people, and I love to watch people. The staff checked us in and hurried us to triage right away, but after the nurse determined that my mother-in-law was in no immediate danger, we sat and waited.

When my husband called from work and asked me to take his mother to the hospital, I was already up and showered and dressed, well into my second cup of coffee. So I had a distinct advantage over most of the other ER waiters, most of whom appeared to have rushed out the door after an unexpected early wake-up call. They wore pajama pants or leggings and sheepskin boots and whatever coat happened to be closest to the door as they ran out of the house. One lady in her 60s or so was the exception; she had obviously dressed very carefully before she left the house, and she looked very nice--neat and stylish. She was alone, and I couldn't decide if she'd already been up and dressed and ready for a day of shopping or museum-going and then had a medical emergency and headed to the hospital instead; or if she just didn't like to leave the house, even for the hospital, unless she has herself organized. Either possibility seemed likely.

It was hard to tell what the other people were there for. The well-dressed lady was a heart patient, I think. She was wheeled away for a chest x-ray just after my mother-in-law returned from hers. Neither of them were thrilled about the mandatory wheelchair ride, but hospital policy is hospital policy. The other patients were in various stages of discomfort or distress, which they had to endure in the very public waiting room on the hard plastic chairs. I hoped that all of them would soon be in private rooms, resting in semi-comfortable beds.

One lady was carrying a grocery store tote bag that was obviously her purse for the day. She rummaged through it every time her name was called, pulling out insurance documents and prescription bottles. After 30 minutes or so of just waiting, she pulled out a magazine and a bottle of water and a sleeve of crackers, and settled in for what she must have expected would be a long wait. She looked a little disappointed when a nurse called her name a few minutes later.

*****
I thought about this woman as I planned obsessively for what to bring on my trip next month, and what to wear on every day, and in every possible weather scenario. I get very anxious when I'm far from home. I usually define "far from home" as any distance from my house greater than 20 miles, so overseas trips are a source of acute anxiety. Control helps me to manage the anxiety, and there's no greater feeling of control than having exactly what I need, and exactly the right way to carry it all. Bags and shoes and jackets are the most important items; but any time I take a trip, I overthink about every item that I'll need to bring or wear.

It would be nice to be the person who could just grab the nearest re-usable grocery bag, throw in her wallet and keys, and maybe a snack and some water, and just run out the door. I should be that person. As many times as I've obsessively planned for every item that should accompany me around the country (or around the corner if we're being honest), I can't think of many times that it made a difference to the trip.

Or maybe it did. Because maybe I'm just so good at packing that I've never forgotten anything and so have never felt the lack of whatever a less-careful packer might have left behind.

******
Thursday: So my mother-in-law is fine now. Her chest x-ray, EKG, and blood work were all clear. She'll see a cardiologist next week, just in case, but she's in very good health and I'm hopeful that we'll have her for many years to come. I suppose I should have told you that right away, but then you'd lose the element of suspense that's so important to a rambling, no-point blog post about absolutely nothing. Nothing but me, of course. I'm still my own favorite subject.