I'm an early riser. This doesn't mean I'm a morning person--just that I get up early. I can also stay up late with no problem. I've been known to stay up all night, grab a 2-3 hour nap in the morning, and have no problem with my sleep needs. I'm what's known as a "short sleeper". I have a genetic anomaly which actually causes me a great deal of misery if I get too much sleep. A sleep-in, for me, means my day will be pretty awful.
What this amounts to is a lot of alone time, something I usually enjoy. This morning, however, I awoke to continuous panic. A friend told me last night that I could call today--and I almost did. Then I remembered it was 5:00 a.m. on a Saturday, and there's also a one hour time difference which would make his time only 4 a.m. I decided no one loves me enough to field a panicked phone call at that time of day and put my phone away.
Panic makes me feel like screaming--and running. Especially when I don't know the source of it. I did neither. I worked steadily for about three hours, then I went to the gym. Usually this alleviates most of the panic, but today it hasn't put a dent in it. Darrin says it's understandable. I'm having hard, crunchy parts of my body cut out in three days. No one would feel especially relaxed about that. It was nice to have him sympathize. It would be nicer if he had stayed awake to talk me down. To his credit, he tried. But at this moment, he is snoring on the couch and has been in that position for an hour now.
Darrin took me to lunch yesterday for our anniversary/Valentine's Day. After years of coming home, exhausted by crowds and wishing we'd just stayed in and cuddled, we've learned to celebrate lightly on the day of, and do something romantic on a different evening when most couples are not vying for the same restaurant table, or theater tickets, that we want.
Valentine's Day, however, has always been a day I've loved. I've never ascribed it to romance, but rather, a special day to let people I care about know that they're important to me. I think this is because, growing up, Valentine's Day was the only day of the year my parents (mostly my mom) acknowledged that they loved me. I got a lovely card and sometimes a treat, and my mom made special once-a-year Valentine cookies. I loved them so much I had them served at my wedding. I suppose, for one day annually, I felt like I was loved--wanted--by my family.
So I made sure that others in my life knew of my love for them on Valentine's Day. I know many people despise the holiday. I understand why. I can't allow their negative experiences to change my feelings about a day of love for other people. I've always sent cards and chocolate (and sometimes those favorite cookies) to various people. One year my kids helped me make the cookies and we took them to several people in our neighborhood. No one understands the importance of the holiday to me--but I do, and I never want anyone in my life to doubt that I love them. I use the holiday to make sure they know.
Except this year I didn't. I've had so many consultations with doctors and surgeons and medical test people. And I've been trying to put in extra hours at work because I'll miss some time while I'm recovering from surgery. I'm scared, too. Probably that's stupid, but I am anyway.
I wish I'd been able to celebrate Valentine's Day as I wanted to.
I also think I want one of those chicken enchilada Subway sandwiches.
And I'd like to stop panicking. That would be good.