Maybe Entertainment isn't frivolous.

My mother and I are listening to a very good novel by J.A. Jance, about a detective named Beaumont who opens up a cold case for find even more murder than he thought he'd find.

While we are doing that I am colouring, and my mother is playing iPad games.

Just like when I coloured while listening to Raffi, I'm finding this very relaxing.  Maybe, relaxing isn't really the appropriate word for listening to a murder mystery, but in a way it is.

My problems, sadness, and hurts fade away into a fictional world created by J.A. Jance.  It's like watching a good movie or TV show, but it lasts longer.  It lasted for a few hours last night, and almost all day today.  As soon as I got up, Mom asked if I wanted to listen, and I immediately said "yes".  We were so caught up in the storey we wanted to know what happened to the 2 little boys that found the body in a barrel, and to Beaumont, the detective who had knee replacement surgery.

Her descriptions of surgery, anesthetic and Rehab in hospital (the physio kind, not the drug kind), were exactly write.  I could envision the hospital and his pain killer induced dreams perfectly.  My mother spent 3 months in a hospital after having neurosurgery (see my "about me" page for more information).  We got to know the rehab ward intimately, and it is not at all like the rehab wards they show on TV or in the movies.

Having surgery many times myself I know she perfectly described the anesthetic, except for one instance: counting backwards from 10.  Every time I have surgery, I know the anesthesiologist is going to ask me to count backwards from 10, and every time I am determined to get to 1 (or at least past 7), but I never do.  I always count ten, nine, eight, seven, and then that's it.  I'm waking up in the recovery room, wondering why I can't complete such a simple task.  I was a math major in university, you'd think I'd be able to count backwards before surgery.  I can't.  I never can.

I've wanted to be a writer for a long time.  I've written short stories, essays, and descriptions of real live in diary since I was 12, when a teacher introduced me to creative writing.  It was after my grandfather died (the same one I mentioned in yesterday's post), and she suggested it would help me deal with my great grief and hurt.  It was therapeutic.

It was also fun.

The next year in school, when the short storey was introduced in the school curriculum, I was ready.  I drove into it with excitement and enthusiasm.  In university I started writing novels.

It was never intended to be my career.  I thought that entertainment, was frivolous.  I wanted to improve the world, and I chose a degree that helped me do that.  (no it wasn't math, but I needed a major and that was available).

Things didn't quite work out as I expected, but that's a different storey not for this post.

I never gave up writing, but even my own entertainment was frivolous (it came after I did everything important), so how could I think that providing the entertainment of others was important?  I thought feelings were frivolous too.  I felt them, I wanted to understand them, but my happiness, wasn't important.  Other's were important.

But I'm starting to change my mind.  I am important.  My happiness is important.  And so is the happiness of other people.

Happiness can be attained in many ways, and I'm finding some of them.  I enjoy giving to others.  But it's also important to give to myself (and that is not something I understood before).

It's also important to do things that I enjoy doing (also something I didn't understand before).

And if it's important for me to do things I enjoy doing, it's important for others to do things they enjoy doing, and that's where entertainment comes in.  People enjoy entertainment.  A good book like the one Mom and I are listening to know, entertains, removes me from my own sadness and hurt, and takes me into a land somebody else created.

And maybe by writing good novels, and actually trying to publish one of them, maybe I'll be helping people too?  Maybe entertaining people through my writing, is important, because maybe I'll be providing them with an escape, just as J.A. Jance is doing for Mom and I.

"Reduce Stress", on of my doctors said. "But how?" I wanted to respond but didn't.

My dog is trying to get comfortable on the couch, having resigned herself to not being allowed to go outside and bark along the dogs already barking outside.

My mother just went to bed.

Colouring books and crayons await me at the table.  I bought new colouring books and new crayons today.  I wanted a crayon sharpener, but they only come in the big pack of crayons.  I'm glad I did.  All sorts of cool colours like metallic and gel colours are included in the large packs.

I like colouring with crayons more, than pencil crayons or markers.  There's just something about it.

In my psychology classes, I took I learned about regression and it's evils.  At this point I can't remember why it was bad, to regress, but I remember it was bad.  Am I regressing?  I don't know.  I do know that a whole bunch of other people are regressing along with me, because adult colouring books are very popular.  I'm not sure about the crayon's part, or the children's music part, but it is relaxing.

I need relaxation.  And I need to reduce my stress.  Apparently some of my health problems are due to the prolonged stress I've been under.  For the last 5 years, I've been under a lot of stress.  Deaths, illnesses (one that included neurosurgery and 100 days in hospital), a house fire, a dog dying, the family house being sold (it was in the family for 70 years), two car accidents (one a major head on collision), and a heart attack, have filled our family's activities in the last 5 years.  We've been moving from crisis to crisis, without much time in-between each crisis.  We've just had a really really bad string of bad luck.

And all that stress?  It's causing me health problems: unable to concentrate, unable to remember things, stomach aches, back aches, and many other things.

The doctor told me to cut down on my stress.  But how?  If I knew we'd have a house fire, I would have prevented it.  There wasn't anyway I could have prevented the deaths.  And know body knows what caused my mother's Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus.  I have no control over the health of my father's heart.  If I'd know that somebody would turn in front of me, on a busy 80 km / hr road, I would have taken a different road.

How?  Just how does anyone propose I stop these horrible things from happening?  I would have stopped them if I could.  Believe me I didn't want these things to happen anymore than my doctor did.  Or the librarian (when we told the library that they weren't getting any books back because they all burned in the fire, the librarian said "I hate fires", as if we had a fire just to make her live difficult.)

And so I'm doing small things.  I'm colouring in adult colouring books.  I'm listening to Raffi.  I sing loudly in the car.  I play with my dog.  I watch TV shows that make me laugh.  I blocked everybody who annoyed me in any way from all social media accounts.  I block every stranger on social media that offends me in anyway, because I have enough stress without arguing with strangers on the internet.

I've done big things like cut off all ties with a cousin, who was prone to calling me and telling me about the mistakes I made.  I didn't need to hear it, and although I love this cousin, I just don't want to have anything to do with somebody who is "only telling me the truth", when she says that back when we were children or teens or some other age along time ago that I did such and such and it was a mistake and if I hadn't done that then, I wouldn't be suffering now.

We bought another dog about a year after our last dog died (from smoke inhalation), and pet and play with her daily.  I try to make choices that will make me happy.

But the thing is: it's not really working.  I'm still living a stressful live, and that constant stress: the cortisone and adeline that pumps through the human body when it's under stress, is causing health problems.  Or at least that's one of the possibilities.  There are other possibilities of why I'm getting sick, and I am perusing those ideas with my doctors as well.

And there's one more thing I'm doing to help with my stress: I'm doing it right now - writing this blog.  And you, by reading this blog, have helped me tremendously, because as I said yesterday, looking at the stats, helps me.  It makes me happy when people read this blog.  And for that I thank you very much for reading.