I have a story to tell and it is not the story I promised, which I will get to, but its not cooked yet.
So yesterday was rainy. Miserable, cold, grinchy, soul-shriveling December rain which - given that we've had about 4 days of sun since May - I took very very hard indeed.
I woke up in the gloomy half light and heard it. I stuck my head under the pillow. I stayed in the shower too long hoping for it to turn to summer while I steamed. I only partially dried my hair because WHAT IS THE POINT UNIVERSE, WHEN YOU VEX ME SO?
I stomped around my house looking for my favorite Smartwool hiking socks and a merino top. Because I WOULD BE WARM.
I had to wear JEANS. Even though I have PMS.
I muttered. I ranted. I pouted. I had no perspective at all. It was also a day I could not be later, so it was a touch earlier than I like. I assure you I mentioned this in the muttering and swearing.
When I left the house, cold water immediately began working its way down my collar, OF COURSE.
I stalked in a militant and aggrieved fashion down the street.
I live in a Victorian neighborhood, you know this, right? It's pretty. Wee brick row houses with a bit of gingerbread - Victorian but not fancy Victorian. Street parking. Mature trees lining the streets, gas lights and brick sidewalks. There's a creek. It's nice.
I wasn't really noticing all that, not until I put my heel down badly on one of the 100 year old bricks, raised from it's bed by a one of those charming mature trees and lurched sideways which a cartilagey crunch.
Don't say you're sorry. Because, my darlings, I LAUGHED.
For one thing, I have sprained my ankles a zillion times over the years. Twisted, turned, wrenched, sprained, and totally fucked and I could tell within a few steps that this is minor. Painful, but not debilitating.
Mostly though, it was so perfect. I sprained my ankle, this ankle in fact, once about 4 years ago 30 seconds after a tirade about being behind and stressed and overwhelmed. I needed to sit down and my body made me do it. This time, I was acting like a toddler who lost her popsicle in the dirt and over what? Nothing as important even as that popsicle.
The universe is full of swift lessons. And I had to laugh.
In the past I have had a tendency to - when wounded - sort of carry my bandaged limb around like show and tell. Look at my boo-boo. Notice my pain. And I noticed yesterday that I was indifferent to that. I mentioned it, if at all, when asked ...or because I HAD to tell the tale of my comeuppance. But I didn't need my wounds tended in the same way. It was just a thing that happened in a life full of them.
And that maybe has a little bit to do with the other story too.





