Mourning

I'm mourning.

It feels so dramatic just to type that.  But it's true.  I've been trying to pinpoint the feeling that has been taking over, the feeling that creeps up on me in the middle of the day, while I'm laying in bed trying to sleep, even sneaking into my brain while I'm doing something that has nothing to do with me or my body.  But I feel so damn silly saying it.

I'm mourning.

Life could be so much worse right now.  I'm blessed to have so many things -- health, family, friends, and a kind, fuzzy cat that makes the cutest sounds I've ever heard come out of an animal.

I'm mourning.

There is a war going on in my body.  The repair is a temporary fix.  It will eventually get worse.  I can not control this.

I'm mourning.

What is wrong with me?  How dare I act like such a baby!  It's not like I have cancer.  I'm not dying (well OK, we are all dying, but that's the deal with everyone).  I have so much to be thankful for and I can't even see it.

I'm mourning.

I'm mourning the likely inability to create life, or at least the ability to create life the way nature intended.  I'm mourning the fact that millions of teenagers who don't know a thing about life can get knocked up at the blink of an eye and I cannot.  I'm mourning the fact that there are so many ignorant, close-minded, dumb-ass people reproducing  like crazy, having children that they don't even care about or know how to take care of.  This is so unfair.


OK, pity party is over for the night.