Es Kumt Mir

So, it's been snowing.

Yes, many of us have been locked in our homes, unable to see out of our basement windows.

I think that the reaction of people during snow days tells a lot of their persona.

They can be broken down into these categories:

1) Yes! A day off! Can't wait to snuggle up with a hot cocoa. And even though the gym is closed, I'll still get my exercise shoveling snow.

2) These township people are idiots! How come they can't get to my street even once?!? I'm calling the DPW right now.

3) I have to spend THREE WHOLE DAYS with my kids? I'm not paying tuition!

4) I really don't like the cold, but at least I still have heating and a home. Those poor people stuck on highways and various forms of public transportation!

5) I should have gone shopping to stock up. I should have bought boots. I should have gone to my mother. I should have gone to Florida.

I think that this year, the majority fell onto option 2. People have a feeling of "Es Kumt Mir" - everything is coming to me. Because I exist, people must do for me. So what if they're celebrating a holiday? This is their JOB. So what if the snowfall came down fast and furious? They should have begun plowing earlier. I deserve better. I can't function when things don't run exactly my way.

These people have got to learn fast, or when faced with a REAL test, they will fall down, down, down...

(And yes, maybe things could have been done better. But sounding like fools on a public website is absolutely uncalled for, aside from a Chilul Hashem.)

Give It Another Try

So we're switching doctors.
Again.
The last one was just not on top of things. Never called us to make appointments; didn't check up with us after blood tests. The new one is supposed to be much warmer. (Well, she is a woman...)
I guess we'll just have to wait and see. And hope that she's the right messenger.
But I guess what I'm most scared of is to go through a procedure that was done by the other doctor. At that time, I couldn't move for about an hour after this seemingly simple procedure. I was in massive pain, doubled over, crying my heart out. The doctor said he never saw such a bad reaction to this procedure. And now, it'll have to be done again.
I'm terrified. I have a very low pain tolerance. The rest of the stuff I do is bad enough, but this... I think the pain was akin to childbirth. (that's what I was told when I described my reaction to a professional in the field)
Ouch. Help me, please?!?

One in a Million

My grandmother, a"h, used to tell me that I am one in a million. She meant it in the positive manner, obviously. She cherished me, her beloved granddaughter, and made sure to let me know it at every opportunity.

This past Shabbos, I thought of my grandmother. I needed her desperately. Needed her to notice me, and to make me feel as if I was not only one among millions.

How else am I supposed to feel at a neighborhood kiddush, surrounded by little girls and mothers with strollers, all who barely manage to give a half smile or nod in my direction?

Like one in a million. That's me.