Reality Check
"The intellect directs the will." -Thomas Aquinas.
"You're a stitch, Tommy."- Desperate Irish Housewife.
My intellect is telling me there is nothing to worry about, or at least no point in worrying. This coronavirus will live out its course until it doesn't any more, and odds are I and my family will be just fine.
That's what my intellect says.
In reality, of course, my body is having the final say.
I say my prayers, I go to bed, I fall asleep. Two hours later I wake up with odd aches all over my body. It turns out this is because I have twisted myself into a pretzel in my sleep. Every muscle is tense, from my neck to my ankles.
I stagger out of bed, hurting all over, and look for the ibuprophen. But wait! Aren't we supposed to avoid ibuprophen these days? Okay, so, where's the Tylenol? You know, the stuff that never works? Do your thing, Intellect! Tell the Will that the Tylenol will work this time!
Intellect: Take the Tylenol.
Will: Um, maybe.
Muscles: You're both joking, right?
I make every effort (well not every but a few) to be a rational human being. But I'm beginning to wonder if I'm kidding myself about the powers of the intellect. In my experience, my body will rat me out every time.
When my kid was very young, she loved to talk. She talked, and talked, and talked. And since she was an only child, she mostly talked to me. Nonstop. All day.
Intellect: "This is beautiful," I told myself. "I am so blessed to have this precious time with my darling child. Every word she says is a treasure. I live for these endless conversations. They are the joy of my life. Really. The absolute, freaking' joy of my life."
Will: Hang in there, she's got to fall asleep sometime, you got this.
Body: breaks out in nervous hives.
I am an introvert by nature. Going to parties where I don't know anyone has always been challenging. Especially my spouse's business-y parties. I meet the same people every Christmas and never remember their names. So in addition to being stressful it's deeply embarrassing.
One Christmas I told myself, Enough of this. I can handle this party as well as anyone else. I will sail into the gathering full of social confidence and greet everyone by name, Shouldnt' be too hard, they have nametags on.
Half an hour later:
Husband's buisness associate: Hi, Sue! Merry Christmas! Remember me?
DIH: Hic.
Business associate: Sorry?
DIH. Hic. Hic, Hic.
I called a cab and went home, hiccuping all the way. So much for social confidence.
I still want to believe that my intellect, such as it is, will one day seize the upper hand and direct the living daylights out of my will.
A girl has to have goals, right?
"You're a stitch, Tommy."- Desperate Irish Housewife.
My intellect is telling me there is nothing to worry about, or at least no point in worrying. This coronavirus will live out its course until it doesn't any more, and odds are I and my family will be just fine.
That's what my intellect says.
In reality, of course, my body is having the final say.
I say my prayers, I go to bed, I fall asleep. Two hours later I wake up with odd aches all over my body. It turns out this is because I have twisted myself into a pretzel in my sleep. Every muscle is tense, from my neck to my ankles.
I stagger out of bed, hurting all over, and look for the ibuprophen. But wait! Aren't we supposed to avoid ibuprophen these days? Okay, so, where's the Tylenol? You know, the stuff that never works? Do your thing, Intellect! Tell the Will that the Tylenol will work this time!
Intellect: Take the Tylenol.
Will: Um, maybe.
Muscles: You're both joking, right?
I make every effort (well not every but a few) to be a rational human being. But I'm beginning to wonder if I'm kidding myself about the powers of the intellect. In my experience, my body will rat me out every time.
When my kid was very young, she loved to talk. She talked, and talked, and talked. And since she was an only child, she mostly talked to me. Nonstop. All day.
Intellect: "This is beautiful," I told myself. "I am so blessed to have this precious time with my darling child. Every word she says is a treasure. I live for these endless conversations. They are the joy of my life. Really. The absolute, freaking' joy of my life."
Will: Hang in there, she's got to fall asleep sometime, you got this.
Body: breaks out in nervous hives.
I am an introvert by nature. Going to parties where I don't know anyone has always been challenging. Especially my spouse's business-y parties. I meet the same people every Christmas and never remember their names. So in addition to being stressful it's deeply embarrassing.
One Christmas I told myself, Enough of this. I can handle this party as well as anyone else. I will sail into the gathering full of social confidence and greet everyone by name, Shouldnt' be too hard, they have nametags on.
Half an hour later:
Husband's buisness associate: Hi, Sue! Merry Christmas! Remember me?
DIH: Hic.
Business associate: Sorry?
DIH. Hic. Hic, Hic.
I called a cab and went home, hiccuping all the way. So much for social confidence.
I still want to believe that my intellect, such as it is, will one day seize the upper hand and direct the living daylights out of my will.
A girl has to have goals, right?
I justify getting our kids to stop talking occasionally because I am supposed to make sure nobody else kills them, either.....
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