Catwoman

It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.
~ Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

What is the story that I tell myself about me? I suppose it depends on the day. I want to believe I’m a strong, fierce, warrior babe and MAYBE, on my best days, I RILLY am. I also want to see myself as kind, mature, thoughtful and giving – NOT as a self obsessed twatola. I wobble between these two. I suppose most of us do ('cept for Prez Narcissistic Shitheel and his crew of greedheaded buzzards).

 Then there are the days – today is one of them – when the only possible story is that I’m a feeble old catwoman who’s an awful, selfish drain on my loved ones. 
 
Jen and I just returned from our morning walkie. Going for a nice ramble along the seawall just after sunrise sounds abso-lovely, don’t it? Yes but, recall if you will, staying upright requires boatloads of concentration for yurs, balance nerve-free, truly. I need to strictly focus on the road in front of me NOT on the gorgeous sky and bay or the cunning little cottages. Yeah, you KNOW I’m not EVER totally successful at this!

So, after one short mile (normally we do 1.5) where I leaned on poor Jen for support nearly the whole time, I’m a sweaty, weak-ass mess, sitting in my comfy chair with Coco on my lap (who is administering restorative purrs). Yup, I’m in feeble old catwoman mode.

How to snap out of this? After a bit of a rest, I’ll do a round of balance exercises and go out for another short walk. I NEED to build up more strength and endurance ESPECIALLY with not one but two potential big-ass surgeries on my goddamn horizon.

Yeah, fuck me, now I have the theme song from Rocky in my head.

You may wonder “why don’t you buy a walker, Donna? Wouldn’t that make walking easier, less stressful and danger-laden?” Yes, yes it would AND I wouldn’t have to use it all the damn time – just on my more rickety days. This, at right is the one I’ve got in mind – the Drive Nitro. Slick no?

Why haven’t I bought one (and painted it with silver zebra stripes) yet? Because it feels like giving up, admitting that I’m NOT in superwoman shape. The very idea of it makes me feel old. Well, guess fucking what, I AM old but I’m bloody well NOT giving up.

Nope, I’m making adjustments so’s I can remain as strong and independent as I wanna be.

FUCK this weak-ass shit! I’m motherfucking Super Catwoman, hear me roar!