Pretty Well, Actually

I had a bit of a chat yesterday morning with a friend who moved away a few years ago, and when she asked me how I was doing, I was able to say, in all honesty, ‘pretty well, actually.’

Now, when anyone asks me that question, I really do give it serious thought, but my answer always depends on whether or not the asker really give two bits about how I am. I don’t ask unless I want to hear your answer, but the question itself has become such a standardized greeting, in retail, for example, that it doesn’t necessarily call for a real response. Instead of ‘Hi!/Hi!,’ it’s ‘How are you?/Fine, how are you?’ Pet peeve of mine.

But yes, pretty well, actually. I’ve come to terms with a lot more lately than I ever have. I’ve been able to finally find the right words to explain some things to my husband that he never quite got before. I’ve really and truly been able to take it one day at a time, or less, if need be. And even though I decided at the last minute to sit NaNoWriMo out, I’ve come to believe that yes, there really is a book in there after all.

Maybe I’m on a high because we leave tomorrow for my mom’s. She should still be feeling half decent from her last round of treatment, so that’s good. It should be a good trip.

The only real dark spots on an otherwise reasonably bright and shining excerpt of my life are my worries and concerns for the wonderful friends I’ve made here who are having their own troubling times; from a sick mom, to a sick brother, to maddening waits, to sisters popping out babies like they’re going out of style. I love you gals, and I just wish I could protect you from all the things out there that make you sad. If I’m doing better, I should be able to do something for you. I hope it all works out okay, and nobody’s brain breaks.

How are you doing?