Yes, I'm giving advanced warning: This is a rant. But a rant with a happy ending. Well, maybe not happy, but at least there is a conclusion. I try hard not to rant through this medium, because this is a semi-anonymous blog and my friends and family read this. Even RL reads this from time to time. So I try to remain accountable for what I say -- you know, protect the innocent and all that. And now you've had fair warning and sufficient time to click over to some other blog to read a light-hearted account of ... whatever.
Some of you know I had surgery this week. A small procedure. Not a big deal. (I'm working on a post about that, by the way.) And though I am feeling great and only cringe slightly when I make sudden movements, the recovery process has been less than wonderful. There are certain things I expected during this recovery period that didn't happen and I feel let down. To be specific, I expected my family to do things for me that just didn't happen.
The surgery was Tuesday afternoon, so in the getting-my-house-in-order phase I did what I could to prepare for the days I wouldn't be capable of doing much of anything. Honestly, there were a lot more things I could've done, but just getting the laundry caught up and the dishes washed made me feel as though I were on top of things around here.
But here it is Friday, and as I walked into the kitchen this morning there was a foul (probably fowl) smell coming from the overflowing kitchen trash. Seriously! Why hasn't anyone taken it out? What are they waiting for? And as I went about making the morning coffee, stacking dishes and clearing a space for the coffee pot, I realized dirty dishes had been piling up since Tuesday morning.
I got mad. Infuriated. What are these people thinking?! If they had just had surgery or were sick or whatever and couldn't do things they normally do, I would pick up the slack. I would do whatever was necessary to make them feel comfortable and make sure they felt I was taking care of them. I would make sure they knew they didn't have to do anything and the only thing they had to be concerned with was feeling better.
Moments later, feeling all good about myself and how wonderful I would be as their care-giver, I realized I had fallen into an old habit: expecting people to be someone other than themselves. See, the more I thought about what I would do the more infuriated I became that they aren't like me. Not that I'm better than them, but that's what I was thinking. But I'm not better; I'm just different. I look at things differently. I do things differently. I behave differently. I am me and they are them (or something like that). And when I expect people to be themselves I won't be disappointed.
So now I'm going to clean the kitchen and take out the trash and feel good about having the ability and energy to accomplish something today . . . because that's how I am. :)