Overdoing It (and Owning It)

So yesterday, in all my excitement, I did too much.
And I’m a little pissed about that—because “too much” shouldn’t include two naps (one during short chemo, for heaven’s sake), lunch out, and an hour at Belk. One hour.

Apparently that’s my new limit.

As the store lights got brighter and the music louder, I realized I’d entered that fuzzy zone where everything blends together—people, hangers, sparkly sweaters, the smell of perfume from twenty feet away. Basically, I became Sassy the Wonder Dog at TJ Maxx—overstimulated and wandering the aisles like I might discover enlightenment behind the clearance rack.

Then came lesson number two of the day: hydration.
I didn’t drink enough because I didn’t want to play “Find the Bathroom” every ten minutes. Rookie move. Dehydration turns your brain into mashed potatoes.

Luckily, my caretaker-extraordinaire granddaughter was with me. Without her, I might still be lying in a pile of comforters humming “Help Me Rhonda.” Instead, she not only kept me upright but also managed to find several things that fit—which, thanks to prednisone, now means “round and rounder.”

And you know what? That’s okay.

Because even though I overdid it, I also did it.
I had lunch. I went shopping. I walked around under my own power and even laughed a few times.

So yes, I’m mad that I can’t do what I used to do.
But I’m also grateful that I can still do something—especially when “something” comes with family, laughter, and a good reminder that this journey isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up, wobbling through the store, and letting the people who love you steer the cart when you start to drift.