But to me time is always secretly so precious, and I'm currently wasting so much of it. So I constantly go from counting blessings to being mad, to feeling sorry for myself, then back to empathy. I chock it up to what I call athletes depression. It's a quick drop with a sudden stop. As it continues to unravel I want to mope, cry, whine, everything; and a deep thought is fleeting and quickly wiped away- because I know that there is just literally nothing I can do to escape, go fast, feel exuberance. I'm torn up because I aint no good to nobody, and can't do nothin bout it.
But still, being horse girl, there's always that lesson. (We love lessons) I can't help but think about all the friends and people that are fighting so much the bigger battle. Who are struggling out of a chair. Who's horse did far more damage than mine. I wonder if they feel the same mix of anger/indifference and love and longing toward the sport of riding. Many days I stick with the anger, because it's the only thing I feel I'm allowed to be mad at. I cannot be mad when people let me down, they have their own struggles, but I loved riding and well... Love sure hurts.
But the saga continues, and it appears that I loved my car, and my health too, so clearly that needed to be taken away.
I started my day with the usual range of sad/mad/could-be-worse. I thought about my friends and family, and how I miss them. I thought about how many of them might be classified as strange to so many of the basic, uninteresting people i sometimes find. But mostly it was a profound morning, because after losing my voice and my health- thank you flu and laryngitis (and my leg) I figured it was a time to listen and to think. Maybe get some Jim Valvano vibe in for the day. It was the tinder that might spark some feelings again that I have buried and snubbed for the past six weeks. That to be called weird is a life lived artistically. And art, in some form was going to help me get back from this funk, since my most supportive people are so far away.
But ONE thing in my cartoon life is never enough. Just like when I broke my back; my identity was stolen by the very same girl that held my hips together until the ambulance arrived. This injury was no different, I definitely had to be life slapped again. The day that I could return to weight bearing and become the budding lotus... My alarm went off with a celebration- exactly six weeks!! I was hoarse, feverish, weak, limping, but empathetic and ready to write, photograph, and fight my way back to normal. If only I could find my car.
...And the cartoon will start with this scene: we call the place and ask if they had my car towed, but it's a nail salon...
"Ok you want pedicure?" No I want my car. I came in on Monday, remember I had a broken foot? Peg leg? Did you have my car towed? "Ok so you want you toes done Monday?" No, I am trying to find my car, was it stolen or towed? "Ok I look for you card, I let you know if I find"
Thanks.
It was stolen. So here I wait. Waiting for the saga to unfold. When calling it in to the police I sounded worse than splinter from ninja turtles.
The lesson is this... Fair only has one meaning in my vocabulary and it comes in the fall and has the best corn dogs and elephant ears. The other meaning is certainly the derivative of "fairy tale". Because there is no such thing. Having something taken away from me is the biggest kind of hurt. I'm territorial. In the past six years I've lost a lot that I could get back, and a few things that I can't. A house can be rebuilt, bones heal, money comes and goes.
The lesson is also patience. Be still, as my sweetheart would say. Because once again- there is nothing I can do. I cling to my happy thought. I can stand upright this week and take a step forward without a crutch. I have people that I can lean on, dogs to cuddle, and a few people that support me the most who encourage me to write this down. So as the page grows, my burden becomes lighter. Maybe the more I tell the past, less will unfold in the future. I think it would be nice for an interlude.
