"You have no power over me"

I'm feeling brutally honest tonight. 

I never cared much about "heritage".  After all, if my own mother didn't want me, why look any farther back?  Both my grandfathers were dead (both served in WW2, and only one came home).  One grandmother hated me. 

However, I do have to wonder about my DNA sometimes.  I have some Scottish ancestry.  I don't really "see" it in any way, but one:  bagpipes.  I love bagpipes. 

Most people, from what I hear, don't really find them inspiring.  I do. 

Now, to be honest, from what I have gathered my mother's side is English, if you go back a ways.  I do love tea.  I used to spend my allowance on little 10-packs of imported teabags, paperwrapped bags wrapped in cellophane.  I would reuse the tea bag over and over until I had wrung it dry. 

My love of tea became a little bit of a family joke, but a loving one.  My younger brother used to give me a metal tin full of imported teabags every Christmas (the tins were lost in a move).  I have had some tremendous teabag manias - where I bought literally every variety of tea available. 

Then, during other manias, I'd purge it.  During my last purge, I took all the teabags out of their boxes and combined them in a large plastic zip top bag, freeing up tons of space. 

I prefer a foil wrapped teabag, it can live in the pantry for a few years and still taste great.  Paper?  No.  Not in Texas, at least. 

[whispering]  We have roaches in Texas. 

That's the problem with some of the imported Asian teas.  They are delicious, but have paper wrapping.  I don't really do looseleaf - I have enough things to manage. 

Not to mention, what's hitchhiking in that box? 

So, most often, my "tea" is a stick of powder mixed into a glass of water.  I'm OK with that. 

As I've said in my header, and many times in my blog, a huge part of my life is coming to terms.  Coming to terms with the fact that I have an illness with a high mortality rate.  Knowing that if I go off my meds, I would be dead in months. Dealing with medication and it's side effects, knowing I must endure. 

Accepting the fact that good symptom control (and really, after Ron's blackout how many times would I have raved and raved, instead of moving on like I did today?) means less energy, less intelligence (the typo rate is up, and the grammar has gone down), more fatigue, and fewer interests.  I remember one reader lamenting the fact that I "used to be so interesting, always had a project and working in the garden". That is SICK. 

SICK - I may look like fun on the outside, but inside I just want to die.  Well - well, I had very little sleep last night, and a lot of drama.  I went to work, worked pretty professionally, and got it all done.  I took care of Ron - which can be very hard to do when I'm angry at him.  But I got it done because I needed to do it: I like that about me. 

I like that I am a practical person.  I like that my emotions don't rule me anymore. 

To quote the movie: You have no power  over me. 




That, friends is worth ANY price.