Day 14: What's a Suitable Palette for Musings on Mortality?
We have the first coat of paint on the entrance and hallway, so naturally I am feeling immense colour regret right now. I am trying not to panic, because this almost always happens - Eve says she likes the colour, and assures me that she had the same reaction painting her room, which looks fantastic. I don't know. I didn't want to go all white and beige, but I'm a little afraid that by going with a green I kept us in the nineties colour palette. At least there will be fewer colours and better flow. And we can always repaint. I am panicking. I will stop.
I got the results of my bloodwork. My bad cholesterol is a little high, but the doctor needs a blood pressure reading to interpret the numbers. I borrowed my dad's home blood pressure monitor. This was very stupid. I have now taken my blood pressure fifty times in the last two hours and actually it doesn't matter what colour I chose because I am about to drop dead. I thought I was being clever avoiding having to go to the clinic. I should have gone to the clinic. Have you heard of the Framingham Risk Score? It's something that can be calculated based on your bloodwork and other factors to estimate your risk of having a heart attack or stroke in the next ten years. Not sure how they calculate how likely I am to have an actual stroke every time I HEAR the words 'Framingham Risk Score' right now, but someone should look into it.
Not gonna lie, I am struggling a bit with the whole mortality thing right now. I know I have been very lucky that I haven't lost anyone very close until the past few years, and I am kind of a grief neophyte. Every memory I have about anything right now seems to remind me of my mother-in-law, and her parents, who we were very close with even before we moved to Ottawa (they lived about an hour away for years, and then about an hour away differently when they moved to the nursing home). I am acutely aware of the fact that my parents are older, so I feel like I should spend more time with them, which is great, except it's November and a global pandemic, so I can go over and have a drink and a chat and then at some point it becomes a little awkward with them wondering if I'm ready to pop off home and me going "no, but we have to CHERISH THESE MOMENTS AS A FAMILY BEFORE YOU DIE. Is there any more tonic?"
Angus is a college student, but he is also a grown-ass adult. Like, he could get married and have a kid tomorrow and it wouldn't be that weird. It would be weird, because I would be a grandmother, but it wouldn't be, like, all our friends gossiping and judging our parenting failures weird.
As I go through the house, things that I have been keeping for years in case I needed them suddenly seem either ridiculous or sad, because I've missed the window to use them. I'm glad I can get rid of stuff, but it means I'm at a whole other stage of life, that much further along the road. I feel a bit like life is one of those carnival rides that I get on and then I'm terrified and can't catch my breath and I'm afraid I'm going to lose a contact lens and I wish I'd worn a more supportive bra, and then just as I get in the groove and settle down and start to enjoy it, it's over.
It's okay. It's like Eleanor from The Good Place says. All humans are aware of death. So we're all a little bit sad, all the time. I just need to keep it from taking over. Like always when I start to spiral, I need to stop thinking about the next however many years whizzing by, and just stop and focus on a fixed point. And that fixed point should probably not be a doughnut.