I'm ready to write a happy post, a this-is-going-to-be-a-kick-ass-year-with-a-bionic-heart post but I am just too tired and worried that I am becoming "that" friend. You know the one....the one that a lot of stuff happens to and she sometimes calls you at odd hours to tell you that both cars in her driveway were demolished by a falling tree that came down in a freak ice storm. The one that used to be a good listener, but lately is doing a lot of talking.
Balance is a tricky thing and it is easier to stay balanced on the high beam than on the dusty mat sitting on one's butt. I want back on the beam. I want to risk the spectacular fall instead of being lapped at the Y by the Silver Sneaker set. Note to self, when you are aged and in good shape do not cluck at a middle-aged walker in a rodeo Tshirt. Clucking is never good form.
I went back to work this week, fully prepared to go all in.....the stories I heard knocked me back to the mat....none of which I will share because Dr. Drew is a narcissist(thanks Lorette for the article) and a horrible therapist role model. Narratives are personal unless you are a blogger. Even then, one's son can happily come down the stairs at 9:30 and announce he has read your blog book from cover to cover and don't you think you used a few too many curse words? Note to self, put the blog books on a top shelf.
Emma's teacher called today to tell us that she was teary and wanted to see me. Scott picked her up early and when I got home, she was laying on the couch. She had a nightmare last night that I had died and Gollum had become her new mother. She seemed so sad that I contemplated consulting a grief/loss specialist....then, I felt her forehead. She has a temp of 102. I have never been happier to feel a fever. Note to self, never forget to rule out the physical before jumping on the specialist's bandwagon.
Since I am not climbing for 6 weeks, I thought I would try a french manicure. It might take my mind off the 10 pounds I have probably gained. It has not.
So, sometimes to regain balance, listen to a poet:
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will
tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean, blue air
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely
the world offers itself to your imagination
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.