Who said that life was never meant to be a struggle?

I'd like to go up to whoever said that and give him (or her) a good slap across the face. But-that has probably been said so many times in history-whoever said it first is probably dead. So-too late.

Life is a struggle-and, more than occasionally, a huge pain in the ass. But it's all we've got, so we might as well make the best of it. We're all going to die anyway.

Such a cynic! Absolutely. Things go well, and we're all hey, it's wonderful, life is great. Then a huge pile of shit falls on our heads, leaving us having to dig our way out of it, and once in awhile we even have the use of a shovel. Duh!

These two weeks have been like that: the boiler breaking, the vacuum cleaner dying (okay, it was twelve years old, so all good things come to a sad and sticky end.), the bin thief threatening to do me in (I'll have to practice harder with the elbow crutch-just in case I need to stick it in his eye and run. Too bad I can't run).

Remember the man who wrote the first line of his book: Life is difficult. Well, he wrote it, made gazillions, and then died young of -cancer? Heart failure? Whatever. He's dead. So that is the end of his life being difficult. And the guy who invented jogging? Dropped dead at 42. While jogging. Go figure.

I've been really thinking about life-especially the end of life. The first part of every year I get down because that was when I walked out, I had enough of bullying and abuse, so off I went. With nothing.
In May I feel down because that was the month I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and three weeks later I had the mastectomy-and then I had to wait to find out the results of the biopsy, so I would know how bad it was. It was bad. Call me lucky.

Then there is August-where the incompetents nearly killed me with gentamicin, destroying my life as I knew it (did they apologize? Hell, no). And the whole event began at the end of 2009, so it hasn't been a hellish nine years. It's been a hellish TEN years. Talk about a decade of a shitload...

Halloween (appropriate for the Brexit that will probably never happen), my birthday, Thanksgiving, and, of course, the dreaded Christmas-all approaching like the express train at the end of the tunnel. It's no wonder why I'm cranky, testy, impatient, and basically bad tempered. Me and probably most of the population.

The end of this year marks ten years; I truly feel that whatever I ever did to anyone in this lifetime I have paid for many, many times over. Enough already. Enough-but there is no surrender. None.

So now I'm remembering the old saying about how you define insanity: insanity is doing the same thing over and over and over again and expecting different results. It's time for some lateral thinking. Actually, it's time for some thinking. Period.

PTSD? Anger and hatred over injustice? Depression over what happened/what might happen/what could happen... all useless. The past is the past, and if I could change anything, I would. But wishing for things to be different will never make them any different. It'll just make me more depressed, more impatient, more bad-tempered, more cranky. And older. Who needs that?

My friend abroad beat cancer, but paid for the win with failing organs and seriously bad mobility. We talked about it when I phoned her the other night, and came to the conclusion that we both could be dead now. So maybe-just maybe- we might start thinking about how lucky we both are to have survived everything that was thrown at us. In ten years, I came very close-too close- to being a statistic. A dead statistic. And, after ten years, I'm finally discovering how lucky I am to just be alive. There are things that I am no longer to do-like racing cars, flying hot air balloons, riding a bike-and, of course, staying upright most of the time. But-maybe at some point I'll sit down and make a list of all the things I can do, and everything I could be grateful for-and, really, it's a long list.

I haven't gone soft-just the opposite. People still piss me off. I still get up in the morning and remember where I am, that 99% of 99% of people are complete brain-dead assholes who have no manners and less personality than a doorknob. But it's always been that way. I have met a few-very few-who are different. The rest all seem to be the products of inbreeding.

When you actually get this, and that nothing has ever changed, nothing will ever change, you find it easier to duck when they are coming at you. Usually. Hopefully. Why get upset (I'm still learning this lesson) by people who (collectively) have less intelligence than a termite?

That brings us up to date. I've got to go to Starbucks. And then I've got to buy a new vacuum cleaner. Who said that life has to be easy?