Sunday, October 25, 2009
This summer, at the beginning of August, I was once again hospitalized for asthma problems, complicated by pneumonia. I have to say, it was my own fault - I'd been overdoing, rushing from one activity to another, and, as a consequence, not regularly taking my meds. Too often, they were in one location, and I was in another.
Most importantly, I'd violated my cardinal rule - when traveling, take along the nebulizer - AND the meds.
However, the burning the candle at both ends was the precipitating factor. I'd just become exhausted, and continued to try to function.
I have to remember that Ecclesiates verse:
A Time for Everything
1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2 a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3 a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
9 What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboreth?
10 ¶ I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.
11 He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.
12 I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life.
13 And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labor, it is the gift of God.
I have some trouble "enjoying the good" - I tend to want to accomplish all that I can. Maybe I should also post that other poem about ceaseless striving:
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Anyway, don't run yourself into the ground, and take all your meds on time.
Do as I say, not as I do.