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21 more things = 42

The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...


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If you've never truly felt pathetic & wondered what it feels like, try crying in the shower.

2 posts ago I was waking up before dawn, hyperventilating & crying with no tears. The silent, ugly, dry heave. I'm not sure if this was an upgrade from the previous night's crying in the car, followed by the driving-while-crying episode, or if it's just the next link in the chain of release. I'on'tknow.

I wrote Sunday morning as the sun rose since I couldn't sleep. I moved past, or so I thought, the dreams that awakened me & the feelings that followed & figured the best way to handle it was to get myself together to do what I'd already paid for set out to do. I ate breakfast, turned on some music & turned on the shower. Before making it in, I found myself crying on the bathroom floor. I promise I'm not sharing this to milk sympathy (don't want it) or to paint a picture of myself as a severely waterlogged woman (generally I'm not). I'm just speaking my truth, feeling it fully, & trying to find some acceptance here. As happy as I am, as much joy as I have in my life, there are times when shit catches me off guard & throws me up against the wall, hand around my throat. Anywho... I talked to myself, out loud & everything, about looking ridiculous, being thankful I live alone so no one had to witness this spectacle, & told myself to !GET UP! & get in the shower & make the day happen. I did. Somehow the water from the shower gave the water from within permission to flow & become 1 with it. I don't recall a time I looked more pitiful.

The bathing managed to go down, I got dressed, I headed out. The problem is, where I was headed was back to where I'd been Friday & Saturday for the final day of the event I love so much. I've altered my movements in this city enough—to give myself time to really enforce this silence thing with The X—I decided it's time to reclaim my right to do what I love without having to consider him anyone else. So, despite it being too much for my emotions the day before, I decided to forge ahead because I'm built Ford Tough! I pride myself on paying attention to road signs (admittedly some get by me) but managed to miss the message for a few reasons. One-I'd already paid for this day. Cash was put out, I intended to get all I'd paid for. Two-my assumption was that the tears were something I needed to overcome & face my challenge. Three-I ain't no punk no pussy, no bitch, no shit like that. *thanks Martin* Four-what do I know of hyperventilating? For all I knew that was some random mess my body conjured as a response to all this emoting. If I'd been “listening in English” I'da heard that I shoulda stayed my behind home; or at least gone somewhere that did not contain the 1 variable that was setting all this mess off.

My drive over was easy breezy. I found a good parking space. I got there on time for the class I wanted to take. I took it. I rocked it out with a HUGE SMILE on my face. I went to go change for the few hours break I had ahead of me & prepare to search for vittles & rap with friends. On my way into the bathroom someone else was on her way out & opened the door right on my big toe. I went down, the door went back & tried to take my toenail with it. The door won. The nail didn't come off, but was pulled out of the nail bed on 1 side. The women around me, bless their souls, went into immediate action. The woman responsible was attempting to calm me so she could do Reiki on my foot. Another woman made some “calming” lotion appear & began to massage me as an actual nurse gave orders for movement, placement & attempted to get me situated for an infection free trip to the ER. Before actually making it to the car to go, I was offered a bag of parsley to chew on, given a fresh ginger juice & a watermelon juice (that has since exploded in my car), some Emergen-C, a bowl of fruit & a variety of pain meds. I love homeopathy, I do, but once blood is involved & parts of me are no longer connected to the parts of me they once were....it's all about Western medicine & the beauty of having healthy insurance.

A very nice acquaintance, who I suspect will eventually become my friend in adventure-seeking, gave me a ride to the hospital & stayed by my side for the rest of my Labor Day Weekend Fiasco. Thanks, Girl!! You made it that much easier for me to get through this. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't holla. I didn't cuss. I didn't fight. The whole fiasco brought me a sense of calm, adding perspective to the emotions of the hours before. It all made sense, for some reason, that I would be in this wreck of a position, forced to be still. I was moving fastly (yeah, I said it) through certain aspects of my life. I have some things that I thought I'd addressed & I'm discovering that I'd only moved them aside. I have pages of my own story that I've skipped, uncomfortable with the words that awaited me—perhaps even leading me back toward something I really don't deem necessary. But what do I know of bigger plans? Right now, it's my responsibility to listen & learn. Later will come the application & I will pass or fail. My goal, of course, is to pass. There are no guarantees & the test prep is often too subtle to recognize. But I hear you.

In the last 36 hours I've discovered a new crop of folks willing to ride for me. I've been reminded of some of the old crop who never reneged on the job. I've been able to bear witness to who IS full of shit & chuckle to myself as The Crush just doesn't get that his presence is no longer needed here—nor does he see that his “situation” doesn't allow him the time to be here anyway. Unreliable much? I've embraced the stillness, accepted the quietude, & relish the moment in the not so distant future when I'll be back on my feet & able to be able again. For now, hobbling around my apartment will have to do. I'll get some work done & work hard at resisting the urge to reach out to The X & speak my truth (whatever it is...cuz I'm not clear on that). Additionally, I'll be mindful of the work it takes my mother to do what she needs to do for herself in her space, working with a leg & foot that don't respond to the cues she sends & her “never give up” attitude as she deals. I have much to be thankful for & know that this too shall pass.

I am hurting. But I am good. I am inspired. & I WILL ______________! (blank to be filled in as I discover what comes next)

Watch me move.

Post Script--
Thank you for the rides to my car, the fruit, the ice, the BLT's, the dinner, the housecleaning, the conversation, the ride to get slides, & the other offers to help since I got on the injured reserve list. Hell, even the parsley.

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