Tell Me a Story: Pep Talk of the Sugar Plum Faeries

I feel old and broken. Hells bells, I AM old and broken. Well, lemme roll that back a tad—I’m older. I’m no kid anymore, I’m past middle age and, since I’ve managed to make it through the last few years, I’m, relatively speaking, not completely busted or decrepitly ancient. I’m at that awkward age (face it—every age is awkward for me). I'm too fragile to dive into the mosh pit but still vibrant enough to conquer the known universe (which actually just involves a lot of desk work and administrative crap. Truth! I've done the research).

I have hope that my walking and endurance will continue to improve with exercise. I seem to be sane, emotionally stable (more or less) and am able to make sensible, self preserving choices (generally speaking). Of course, perhaps I’m also wildly delusional. Always a possibility ya know.

What this is, is my version of a personal pep talk. Why do it? I’m finally beginning to remember my dreams again (a few surgeries ago I lost the ability to bring them to mind on waking). The last few have been less than pleasant. They've been about having to sell Valhalla and move away from the water. In one of last night’s episodes I was scouting homes out in Worcester (if you’re not from around here, that’s pronounced Wŭstäh—yur welcome). Just so ya know, Worcester is so far west of Boston (50 miles!!!) as to be considered Midwest. Okay, okay, actually anything west of Worcester is considered Midwest. Sorry, didn’t mean to dive into the deep end of the Hyperbole Pool there.

Living on the water makes me happy, gives me great comfort. I feel more secure and hopeful here. Not seeing the bay, the harbor islands, the seashells—the very idea of that loss gives me a giant sad. So, last night’s dreams? NOT fun or encouraging. Hence the need for pep talking.