The first: I was talking with a psychologist, and was asked, "When you got The Diagnosis [capitalization mine]... did you ever ask 'Why me? Why did this have to happen to me?' "
"Actually," I said... "No."
"NO?!?" she asked, quite surprised.
No. Not on the day of The Diagnosis, and actually, never since. Have I been pissed off at it? Yeah... Grieved because of it? Not enough, but yeah... but asked, "Why?" Honestly, I really don't think so. The question's just never come up. I told her, I'm an organist—I've never asked myself, why do I play the organ? Why would I? I just do.
"Well, I guess it's just not in your psychology," she said; and, I guess, that was that. I suppose it didn't mean as much as she thought it might. Well, M.S. is full of surprises, but I hadn't thought they would extend to other people.
Thing two: I was telling one of my students what I frequently tell seniors who are applying to college. There's nothing you can do to make them want you. You can make them not want you; but you can't make them want you. And if they reject you, just remember... if they don't want you, you don't want them. I have never in my life ever been proven wrong on that. And I've often found out after the fact just what a blessing it was to not have been sucked up into whatever it was, because the situation I avoided turned out worse than I ever imagined. So don't worry: If they don't want you, you don't want them.
Hours later, I realized... no wonder I've been suffering for so long. I forgot my own advice. It was clear that they didn't want me... why was I trying so hard to buck the tide? They didn't want me... and clearly, given how much I suffered, I actually didn't really want them, either. I was right, and didn't even know it; and also, didn't listen to my own words of comfort. Physician, heal thyself, as the saying goes. This made me feel even better about my decision to cross the Rubicon yesterday.
And the third thing: I'm at a gas station on the way home after the day's adventures, filling up the truck, and as I'm standing at the gas pump, my bladder starts yelling at me, "I gotta go! I gotta go! I gotta go! Now now now now NOW!!!"
Great, I think. Ambulation triggers micturition—or at least, it claims to. But doesn't really. Or does it? Bladder clearly doesn't know, but I'd sure like to. Hell of a system. What will it think of next?
And then, I think... A day of realization, of moments during which important changes of consciousness "click" into place, and we end the day... with a pee joke. Well, I don't ask "why," but sometimes I want to ask, "A pee joke. Really—that's the best you can do? Create the starry heavens and all life, and ... you go for the pee joke."
That's funny. Chalk up another one in the "humor you can't write" column. But, after all that I've gone through in the last couple of days, I end by laughing at myself... Even on the M.S. Highway, that's a good way to end the day.