When life gets tough I sit around reminding myself how it's never been any better for anyone else. I think about wars and POW camps and epidemics and massacres. I think about people my age with multiple sclerosis and cancer and other debilitating conditions. Like that poor Pearl Jam guitar guy with Crohn's disease that causes him to run for the porta-potties in the middle of a set sometimes. I think about how Eleanor Roosevelt's parents didn't love her and how Harry Truman failed at every business venture he ever tried and how his wife Bess had to deal with her father blowing his brains all over the walls of the family bathroom, and the mass murder by poison of her teenage boyfriend and his whole family, and almost dying of the flu, and various other horrors (she had a lot) and instead of cracking up she ended up being first lady, which she found pretty annoying, and then going home to Independence to paint the kitchen cabinets.
Tonight I watched "The Nazi Officer's Wife", a nice little jaunt down Anxiety Lane. Then I watched a cheery show on torture and the death penalty and how electric chairs used to set people's heads on fire and so forth. (I knew that already but haven't thought about it since I worked for Westinghouse, the builder of the very first chair.) Not sure if watching the rack and wheel segments made my leg feel better or worse. In between laundry loads I just unpacked the two handcrafted wooden tank toys and matching Red Cross trucks with smiling (except for the one whose mouth wasn't painted on by mistake, he looks scared) little Fisher Price trooper drivers that I bought at my city's annual craft fair last month. My city's craft fair is a lovely homey event (I really mean that) where police get free Cokes and snax and there is a sound system blaring hideous country songs about Do you remember the day the towers fell? It's a wonderful world we live in, indeed.