Combines my love of cooking with my love of cursing. Damn son. Thank you.
Combines my love of cooking with my love of cursing. Damn son. Thank you.
“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” He said.
I nodded. I understood why he was scared, I’d been there before. I waited a moment before I said, “It’s simple really.”
“How so?”
“Either I’m the person you’ve waited your entire life to meet, or I’m not.”
I shrugged as if I didn’t care, as if thoughts of him didn’t make my heart inflate with plasmotic joy. I could have been easier on him, less scary, less intense, less me. I didn’t need to demand that he consider “forever” or admit to being a romantic, but that wasn’t my style.
Sometimes when you hold the treat up extra high, the dog jumps and misses, sometimes it doesn’t even try, and sometimes (rarely but sometimes) it jumps and claims it.
Briefly I considered how healthy it was to compare men to pets.
Someone once told me that they think I feel things more deeply than most. I’m not sure if that’s true but I seem to be more in touch with my “feels” than the average bear.
That said, there are a lot of emotions wrapped up in blowing out an ACL, that I skipped past. It was easier to focus on getting through the surgery and physical therapy. I could always deal with the fear, anger, and frustration later. So I swept it under the rug in my mental apartment… and forgot about it.
Nine months later those emotional dust bunnies sneak out, usually when I least expect… after a run or hard work out, released from where the hid embedded in my muscles. Specifically they include…
Fear. Like the fear that I’ll reinjure myself. My body remembers that sickening feeling of my knee extending into positions only achievable through injury (or demonic possession).
Anger. I am so pissed at myself and my body for letting me down, for not training enough for not being strong enough… for getting old. Stupid maybe but its how I feel.
Frustration. That it takes so long, that it seems to much harder than I remember. That results seem slower… then I wonder maybe I am not doing enough … And then I [fear] that I am not doing enough… and so it goes.
The most challenging thing for me this go-round has been dealing with how much of my identity is wrapped up with being active. I’ve always considered myself a cerebral, geeky chick with an active hobby that I love. Somewhere along the way I started doing a bunch of yoga, running and hiking. Having that taken away – kind of blew and totally depressed me. Little d depression, but still, I found it hard to get up in the morning, which made me mad at myself [please see *anger*]
Enough excuses. I’ve finally moved, found a gym with awesome classes and a sport league. Time to do work.
Those stairs aren’t going to climb themselves.
That book isn’t going to write itself.
That table isn’t going to pivot itself.
That beer isn’t going to drink itself
