“Easy Come, Easy Go”
It had started out to be a fun day. I took “Dickie Dingledorf”, my re-born baby doll, to the Center where we play Bingo. He charmed most everyone, frightened a few.
One gal blurted out that he is terribly ugly and if his eyes were closed he would appear to be quite dead.
I, incensed, took umbrage and tore after her like a mad mama lion.
(Actually, I went to her and told her I still loved her, even if she was a poor judge of baby dolls), and that he was adopted.
Exhausted from the battle, I sulkily managed to lose every game of Bingo, fueling my smoking mood.
Afterward I fled to the library computer and tried to print out a story I wrote about my precious little baby doll: “Dickie Dingledorf”, “Bingo” for short.
The printer refused to print.
Returned home, fell on the bed for a three hour nap. Just this morning I increased my thyroid medication to 200 mg from 150 mg. Still falling asleep.
Time to get up and get dinner started.
First thing, I must head for the head.
I simply flushed the toilet.
Horrified, I heard an odd sound, turned to watch the bowl fill to almost overflowing.
Racing to the other bathroom for the plunger, I was brutally accosted with the sight of the wide white bowl awaiting its brand new toilet seat.
My olfactory senses screamed, unpleasantly reminding me that Fifi’s litter box has been untended for several days.
I usually attend to her desperate needs daily, but broke the toilet seat and am impatiently struggling to get the nut off.
Returning to the first bathroom, I am unpleasantly aware that the flooding brown muck had not abated.
Wildly I plunge and plunge and plunge.
Did I mention I have to do this in my wheelchair?
Plunge, plunge and plunge;
whine, whine and whine.
My girlfriend calls for a chat.
Knowing our propensity for gab fests, I beg off.
It would have been quite a sob spree.
By this time I am knee deep in, well, you know. My sister sweetly offers to help – I stare stupidly at her broken hand and just as sweetly scream she scram.
The toilet is still overflowing.
I mindlessly run screaming to Mike, who cannot help me because of the excruciating pain of his Rheumatoid Arthritis.
This month has Elvis Presley movies – one each night in “the merry, merry month of May . . .”
My Mike is not enthralled with Elvis, and May is almost over.
I whine that I haven’t seen Elvis in years. Mike realizes that this is a good time to let me chill and watch “Easy Come, Easy Go”.
Mary proffers the Yellow Pages. I take gulping deep breaths and yield to the knowledge that I cannot solve every problem every time.
I call an emergency plumber, sit back and sigh, yielding to the Technicolor splendor of Elvis having difficulty communicating unless in full glorious song.
And then I am struck by the horrific realization that I have trouble communicating unless I am in full whine . . .
I should be praising God, not whining.
KJV Proverbs 30:7 “Two things have I required of thee; deny me them not before I die: 8 Remove far from me vanity and lies: give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: 9 Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the LORD? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.”
I fall prey to whining when I should be praying.
Please forgive me, sweet Lord, and keep me ever mindful that when life’s challenges bring me to my knees – I should remain there – in prayer.
It’s so easy to whine, complain, grouse and ignore God at such times. When sanity returns, I realize that Satan isn’t giving me these trials.
God wants me on my knees, trusting Him and giving Him the glory I was going to keep for myself.
Thank you Lord, for the pain caused by putting my trust in myself and not in You. Thank you for sending a plumber to save my sanity.
Now I can go potty . . .
KJV Lamentations 3:39 "Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?"
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