Emotional Tiggers

One Saturday morning in late May, I had a few quick errands to run on the northern outskirts of San Antonio.  Borrowing Mom's van was not an option since one of those errands was picking up the 5' x 8' trailer I'd bought for Mom yesterday from Tractor Supply.  With a forecasted high around 95, I had to plan a suitable strategy for surviving the trip in my '95 Jeep Wrangler sans air-conditioning.

First I would hit HEB Plus, the Disneyland of grocery stores, where I could leave the windows down;  an empty Heap, oh, I mean Jeep, meant no temptation.  From there, I would head over to PetSmart for a rapid dash to swoop up cat litter and food.  Such a quick errand would allow me to leave the windows open, fragile groceries chilling in blue insulated grocery bags.  Tractor Supply would be next.  The trailer was already paid for, the title done, so it would be all ready for me to slap on the Jeep and head for home.  I could be home by noon.  It could happen.

Saturday is not my day of choice for running any errands, let alone wading through the crowds of a popular grocery store.  My agoraphobia may be mild, but shopping is one of the main triggers.  At least it's not a mall.  At least I've been there before with my sister.  I was bolstering my already mopey self with heavy walls of Zen denial and lists of "at leasts,"  when the first notes of Paul Simon's "Kodachrome" played on the stereo.  With an eager grin, walls shed, I cranked it up and belted it out.  Oh yeah.  I do indeed "got a Nikon camera."  Two in fact:  one D-80 for the digital world and one N-90S for Kodachrome.  That's right.  I am a photographer, a poet, a mighty woman worthy of great things.  Oh yeah.  "Mama don't take my Kodachrome away!"

Still grinning, I parked my beloved at the back of the parking lot, grabbed my canvas bags, put them in a cart and trekked off to the store.  I calmly navigated through oodles of produce picking humanity, intent on my list.  Weaving through home goods to pick up the ever important toilet paper and baggies led me to the far side of the cavernous grocery park for some health and beauty.  Dad needed bed pads.  I needed body powder.  Body powder.  He didn't like my body powder.  Bleak thoughts threatened to pull my mood back down.

I passed two women, mother and daughter, examining sun screens.  "I don't know," the mother said, "I just don't believe it could be 100%."  I caught myself mumbling, "That's not what it means."  Shit howdy.  What was I doing?  I stopped my cart, backed up and said, "Excuse me, but it's doesn't mean 100%.  The SPF number means you can stay out in the sun that much longer than without sunscreen."  Of course, there is debate as to whether anything over 15 is worth it and the whole broad spectrum issue to consider, but at least I could share a little bit of knowledge.  I knew the product they were considering protected against both UVA and UVB rays, because I'd already checked.  I gave an apologetic shrug and smile.  "Sorry.  I was passing, and I just overheard."

"Oh, no," they replied, "thank you.  You look like you would know."  We laughed.  Yeah.  I'm a fair skinned farming fool, and I do wear the SPF 100.  And a hat.  The sunglasses that protect my ultra sensitive blue eyes still work better than any sunscreen, turning me into an anti-raccoon.

Good mood restored by a very minor good deed, I continued shopping.  I was almost done when I saw OFF! still on my list.  I had brought my laptop out to the porch the evening before only to be chased back to my office by mosquitoes.  I scanned the aisle signs and decided to check by insecticides.  Bingo!  There they were right by another perplexed shopper.  I reached for my favorite compromise to 100% DEET (which melts nylon and may not be that great for your skin but is a camping must-have, especially in Canada where the mosquito is the national bird):  Deep Woods Off!  The lady asked me, "Is that good?  Does it work?  My dad was mowing the lawn last night, and he was eaten up by mosquitoes."

"It works well enough.  It has more DEET than the regular one, and DEET is the active ingredient."  When she thanked me,  I laughed, and joked "Maybe I could have a new career helping people shop."    I felt pretty good.  I was interacting like I thought a normal person would; a person not crippled with fear and self-doubt.  Huh.  Come to think about it, I've been doing that a lot lately: actually interacting with strangers and smiling.  I guess that's one of the benefits of not facing daily scorn and disdain.

PetSmart and TSC were also positive people experiences, even though picking up the trailer was not as quick as it should have been because the ball on my Jeep was too big for the hitch.  An hour later, after much discussion  and fumbling, (I said, "Is the ball too big?"  He said, "No, the spare tire is in the way."  Off came the spare--a real chore--to reveal that the ball was too big.), I was finally on my way home, reflecting on my morning.

They say that when one door closes, another opens.  I tend to stay in that room until God gives me a good swift kick through the other door, like I stayed in my marriage because I made those vows and meant them.  I am going through a divorce not of my choosing, so my days are filled with emotional triggers that can pull me back down.  Even a simple task like washing the dishes or scooping a litterbox brings back his voice in my head, telling me that I don't do it right, that I'm not good enough.  Sometimes I just need to tell that voice to "Shut the fuck up" and let me enjoy a bubble bath!  I need those little emotional triggers that help to build me back up with bubbling, buoyant happiness, like a great song on the radio or a small act of kindness that remind me that life is wonderful and getting better every day.   Emotional Tiggers.