Maybe I Should Wear a Cone of Shame

I don’t know that I’ve ever had a Monday so stereotypical as this past Monday. You know, one where you’d really rather just pull the covers up over your head and go back to sleep?

Yeah.  That was my morning.  Between me and Miss Sophie, we stayed in the road for appointments.   One in town and one out of town.  By the time we were all home and settled back in, it was mid-afternoon.

That evening my sweet cousin texted me to check and see how we were all doing.  Because she has a hot spot she won’t leave alone, Miss Sophie had to wear a cone–the “Cone of Shame,” as some call it.  It’s not serious, but she keeps scratching so the cone was the obvious solution.  As I told my cousin about both visits that day, she wrote back, “Well, at least you’re not having to wear a cone too.”

Well, if that isn’t the truth!

After I laughed and appreciated having someone on my side who can keep it real and yet keep me laughing (a true treasure), I got to thinking about what she said.  And while I’m glad I don’t have to wear a cone, I’m not sure if maybe I shouldn’t be wearing one.

After all, I tend to pick at things until they fester up again, instead of leaving them alone and letting my heart and soul heal.

In cases like that, a cone around what is worrying me would be a welcome reminder for me to leave it alone.  Let it go.  Move on and beyond.

I was thinking about this today when something that frustrated me a few weeks ago started rumbling around in my heart again. After a few minutes of reliving it and getting all riled up again, I realized what I had done.

Opened the wound.  Felt the pain again.  Set the healing process back all over again.

So yes, please, could I borrow that cone of yours, Miss Sophie?  It seems to be working for you.  Maybe it’s time I learn to quit picking at those worrisome spots.

May we all learn to let things go.  Even just a little.

Love to all.

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