I've been using the word, "giddy" a lot lately. Not only does it express my immature nature in general but it describes my feelings about spring and gardening and being on the home stretch of publishing my book. I feel like I've crested a very steep hill. The trail was full of obstacles such as jagged rocks, deep puddles of murky, ooey-gooey stuff, sharp, pointy things growing along its edges. But I'm on it, one step at a time.
You know how it is after a dark cloud floats away and the sun comes out? This, my friends is how I've been feeling lately, all bright and sunny. But then this mentally disturbed person(s) has to go and detonate bombs and hurt a bunch of people. It's like that dang dark cloud is trying to mess with my sunny day and I don't like it one bit.
I've got PTSD so I don't allow myself to think about scary things very much. I can't mentally put myself in situations like the Boston bombing for risk of a panic attack. I hope I never again find myself in a life and death situation. However, I would like to think that if I did, I would be one of the strong people, the helpers that Mr. Rogers' mother pointed out to a young Fred. I'd like to think I would ignore my own safety and tend to the wounded instead of running the opposite direction, concerned with only my own well being.
At this time when we're all scratching our heads and hoping the authorities catch the bad guys, I want to salute the helpers. You who put yourselves at risk to cradle the wounded, your compassion astounds me and I want to be more like you.