I've got a case of the fuckity funks. It started Friday. I was having a most unremarkable and mostly mediocre Friday. It was nearly over when I got word that Death had been at it again. This time he claimed my acupuncturist.
No. No it's not, Death.
Like most healers, she did not let on to me or other clients that she had been living with cancer. I knew something had been off the last few times I had seen her this fall before my surgery, but she's human. We all have rough patches. I had no idea how rough it had been though for her. She was only 60 and she had led a very full life. She always wanted to know what I was reading as she loved books. The last time I was in, we shared our favorites of the Janet Evanovich series. We agreed that when we were looking for light and fun, she fit the bill. I always appreciated how easy it was to get in to see her for an appointment and she never rushed me. She'd let me steep for little longer if I thought I needed it. I may not have held with some of her theories on healing like angels and muscle testing, but when she'd use those little electrodes on my needles, I felt so much better afterward. I just sat for what felt like an eternity and stared at the wall after hearing the news of her death. It hit harder than I would've thought honestly. I suppose though it's been a rough year of deaths, so this just stirred up all that grief that had been hanging out in my head, layin' low. Just sitting there waiting for a little nod to set it into action. News of her death was a true shock, but it wasn't the last one of the day.
Surprise! We've got more "Fuck you!" in store for your day.
That evening at dinner, my sister told me that my favorite math teacher had died. He was 90, which seemed unreal to me. He retired two years after I graduated, but he didn't stop teaching. He still volunteered at one of the middle schools here in town. One of my friends on Facebook said she felt that he hated her class. I'm trying to recall if I was in her trig class or not because I honestly don't remember things the same way she did. As a teacher, I know there are certain class periods that can be challenging for any number of reasons, but I don't think I have ever felt that I hated a class or that a teacher hated my class. I can't for my life feature this man hating a class either, but maybe there was something in play that I wasn't privy to. I do know that I got through Alg II/Trig because of the man. I also transferred to his geometry class the year before because the teacher I had before him essentially called a room full of honors students stupid. I'm sure he didn't see it that way, but I was an A/B student. I looked around and saw at least ten students I knew who were perennial 4.0 material. Even this jackass I don't think hated our class. After that, I transferred teachers and passed geometry with an A and then Alg II/Trig with a B. I would've totally failed trig if this man hadn't been willing to let me go over my bombed tests with him. When it was just us after school, I could talk through the problem and work it on the board without the pressure of a test. I always did better in that format. Because he took the time, I learned to identify how my anxiety was impacting my education. In college, my professor noticed it, too. I told him about how I got through trig and he willingly let me do the same thing on my exams for his class. I am forever grateful for what this teacher did for me, and it saddens me that anyone feels he could ever have hated them. I can't help but hope I never made any of my classes feel that way. Of course, Death wasn't done yet.
Oh yes. Just one more.
Last night I learned that one of the regular customers at the Greek restaurant where I belly dance also died. We knew he hadn't been well for a long time, but he and his wife along with another couple loved to come to the restaurant and watch. They teased us, praised us, tipped well, and supported our efforts at the restaurant and at community performances. I feel for his wife and his friends. They were always getting ready for some adventure somewhere. I recall thinking one time that when I was in my 80s I wanted to live such a rich life.
Time for Death to take a vacation.
I know many people this week are mourning celebrities like Prince and Doris Roberts among so many others. However, as shocking as their deaths have been, it's the ones that hit closer to home that have me in a fuckity funk. The weather's not helping either as it's rainy and overcast. I've been really missing Mary, and Poofus, and my grandparents. Somehow though I'm supposed to be prepping a shimmy performance for this eight-week session. Maybe getting my tookus off the sofa and practicing some shimmies will help me shuffle off this mortal toil. Maybe a particularly zealous washing machine shimmy will shake me loose from the fuckity funks and set me free. Maybe. Maybe not. I should try though--for Marian and Rudi and Sam.
Apparently Death can shake it. So can I.
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