Last night was the solstice, right? Shortest day of the year and now they start to get longer, right? Please.
Wide awake and staring out the open window. Yes, wide open. Because I get to regulate the temperature anyway I damn well please. And because there is something absolutely enchanting about watching and listening to an almost empty night. Parking lot spotlights are the only way to verify whether or not there is precipitation. We have invisible weather. And even if the air is not moving I get to smell the glazed evergreens outside. My cheek freezes. My canes are frosty to the touch and, holyfreakingkeerist, do I really have to pee again?!
I may have mentioned it before, but it is really tough getting used to being disabled. I was invited to a lovely baby shower this weekend and almost didn't get to go because I could not walk down a hill. No ice. No wind. Two beauties standing guard and offering encouragement. I simply couldn't do it. The angle was preposterous and the pain was too great. I felt and looked like a freak. Cried so hard my face dripped snot. So party appropriate. One of the lovelies came up with a Plan B and, forty five minutes later I managed to hobble into the hall. It was totally worth it.
But last night. Man. All alone. It gets really scary. It hurts so much. When I am in public I try so hard to behave. I try to remember how normal people act. People suggest: just take small steps or go slow and take my time or you can do this it's not that far. I've already gone three times that far since I got out of bed and every single step was agony. Every single step was small, that's why it takes me an extra half hour at least to go anywhere. I always take my time because I have no other option. Slow is my fast these days.
When I'm in public I have already washed my face with cold water and told myself to just soldier on. I have already decided not to wallow in self-pity. I have gathered up the pain, screamed into my pillows, leaned against my dresser while pulling up my pants, bitten my lip when my knees begin to snap-crackle-pop, and prayed that I make it down the hallway, across the asphalt, and into my precious Ancient Vehicle without collapsing.
And most of the time I do. But, I'm here to tell ya it ain't easy.
Wide awake and staring out the open window. Yes, wide open. Because I get to regulate the temperature anyway I damn well please. And because there is something absolutely enchanting about watching and listening to an almost empty night. Parking lot spotlights are the only way to verify whether or not there is precipitation. We have invisible weather. And even if the air is not moving I get to smell the glazed evergreens outside. My cheek freezes. My canes are frosty to the touch and, holyfreakingkeerist, do I really have to pee again?!
I may have mentioned it before, but it is really tough getting used to being disabled. I was invited to a lovely baby shower this weekend and almost didn't get to go because I could not walk down a hill. No ice. No wind. Two beauties standing guard and offering encouragement. I simply couldn't do it. The angle was preposterous and the pain was too great. I felt and looked like a freak. Cried so hard my face dripped snot. So party appropriate. One of the lovelies came up with a Plan B and, forty five minutes later I managed to hobble into the hall. It was totally worth it.
But last night. Man. All alone. It gets really scary. It hurts so much. When I am in public I try so hard to behave. I try to remember how normal people act. People suggest: just take small steps or go slow and take my time or you can do this it's not that far. I've already gone three times that far since I got out of bed and every single step was agony. Every single step was small, that's why it takes me an extra half hour at least to go anywhere. I always take my time because I have no other option. Slow is my fast these days.
When I'm in public I have already washed my face with cold water and told myself to just soldier on. I have already decided not to wallow in self-pity. I have gathered up the pain, screamed into my pillows, leaned against my dresser while pulling up my pants, bitten my lip when my knees begin to snap-crackle-pop, and prayed that I make it down the hallway, across the asphalt, and into my precious Ancient Vehicle without collapsing.
And most of the time I do. But, I'm here to tell ya it ain't easy.
No comments:
Post a Comment