CRASH

Andy Warhol, 5 Deaths - 1963

I may be the poster child (old broad) for delayed emotional reactions. I fell, hurting my left foot, on Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t until Tuesday that the BIG SAD kicked in. I was so down, I could barely speak—a stone rarity. Right up there with the radioactive decay of xenon-124. (whatever that is)

You might be wondering—why sad? No bones were broken, I didn’t even scrape myself up. Yes, I banged a spot on my bottom left forefoot (right behind the little toe) which makes distance walking (as in a measly quarter to half mile) painful. Incredibly, I’m not pushing myself. I even skipped PT yesterday in case that would exacerbate the ouchy quotient. I walked 374 steps though (not including shambling around the house). So far today? 450. I’ll get more in later.

Sounds lovely, no? I’m doing all the right things at the right pace. How stunningly unusual of me!

So, 'the fuck’s up with the extreme doom and gloom shit? I mean, this is just a temporary setback, right? Yes BUT I keep having these periodic, discouraging glitches and hitches. My progress is already desperately lethargic. I make snails look like NASCAR racers.

Yesterday I felt, in every molecule of my being, that I’ve failed. That death will find me long before I can again walk a mile without support. I was blaming my laughably minuscule improvements on me not being diligent enough with the balance exercises, overindulging my reading-in-comfy-chair-instead-of-exercising tendencies and, generally, being overly dependent on Ten and Jen doing everything for me. I felt like I was just taking up space and causing a lot of fuss and bother for my loved ones.

Worst of all, I’VE BECOME BORING, DESTROYER OF WORLDS! I’m finding my very own self too tediously dull for words. I honestly understand how people can accept, if not welcome, death. Sometimes the effort to stay alive, and as mentally/physically healthy as possible, is totally fucking exhausting. I'm talking Enervation City.

My fall was on Sunday but it wasn't until yesterday that I felt our boy Sisyphus had it easy. Also, I had Blue Öyster Cult’s Don’t Fear the Reaper stuck in my head all day.

Today? It’s a new fucking day. I've walked a little farther than yesterday at this time, I’ll hop on the elliptical for a tiny bit and I’ll do all my damn balance exercises. If my foot starts to hurt, I’ll take a break.

I CAN do this shit. My Tuesday crash was, possibly, just like when the laptop gets obscenely buggy and needs a reboot.

And now Helter Skelter’s on the ol’ internal turntable.

When I get to the bottom
I go back to the top of the slide
Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
'Til I get to the bottom and I see you again
Yeah, yeah, yeah, ha-ha-ha!
Helter Skelter—Beatles (as performed by U2.)

I only mention it but one of my regrets—ok, a minor one—is that I didn’t see U2 before my sound system crapped out.