I an attempt to heal my back, I am now forcing myself to walk up and down the length of the fourth floor (I live on the fourth floor) three times. I'm gasping at the end of each lap, but I really think there's no way for my back to heal without walking every goddamned day. It hurts. Not only does it hurt, but you never get used to the gasping. They're like dancing partners: pain and gasping for air. And gasping for air is always frightening. Trust me, it's not something you get used to.
Everything that's good for me hurts. That pisses me off. And I can't just walk. I have to steel myself to do it. I have to exercise daily. Yeah, I've been doing that for eons. And it's miserable. But clearly whatever I've been doing isn't enough, or it's the wrong stuff to fix my chronically painful back. Why is my body so fucked up? Because I can't use it like a normal person would. Once again, by the end of last week I was in excruciating pain. Yay.
Okay, I can't breathe, I can't move without fear of pain, and I have crapass hearing. What's next? I think I've been more than a little patient.
I'm sitting here annoyed that we put Mad Men on at 10. We tape the damned thing. I thought the purpose was to put it on later, so we can zip (or is it zap?) through the commercials. I want to do all my brand new exercises. I hadn't want to write this now. I wanted to do it when I actually had something to say besides complain. This is dreary. This is drek.
I didn't care about the Emmy's. I don't watch anything- except sports. Sports relaxes me. Some golf, some baseball, hockey when the season starts. Ummm. This is all good medicine.
On Sunday evening the two New York members of my family come over. My poor Mom is also having a hard time hearing, and the pity is that hers is likely permanent. She struggles when she has difficulty trying to figure out what's going on. I understand better how disorienting this can be for her. I'll try to be extra patient. Oh so hard.
I never find these evenings relaxing. someone takes control of the television set. Television just doesn't relax me. Maybe it did once upon a time, but ever since I began working and living with Chip, silence has become absolutely gorgeous. I also like that I was able to have a real conversation if I felt like it. Not squeezing words during commercial breaks.
This just sets me on edge. I hate it. I hate the silences between the commercials, because we're not saying anything to each other. Just waiting for the show to start again. I'm not watching tonight. Mad Men is taped. I'll get to it when I want to. My life is on edge. I don't need to push myself any closer to it. I'm tense as hell.
I'm even having trouble reading. Not that Grant's Memoirs is a walk in the park, but I'm really enjoying it. (Even though he hasn't and probably won't talk about his drinking problem.) I wonder. There must be a good biography. That would be fun.
I don't like people taking over my house. My interests are not relevant. Fuck, I'm not having guests. It's my goddamned family who's supposed to be trying to cheer me up. Or so I thought. I don't get it. I don't understand. No, I'm not sitting here smiling, an open book ready to be read and enjoyed. Once I could be enjoyable. But not now. Never now. I think the problem is that my desires naturally assumed to be the same as theirs.
That's what it was like growing up the youngest (by six years). I watched what everyone else watched. I don't remember when my desires were ever an issue. (In this particular realm only. I don't mean to suggest that I was ill treated in any way. No! No! No! I was raised by very nice people and had two dynamite brothers.) But I was expected to follow along in a whole mess of ways. Including "how to fill an evening." I wasn't consulted. Even as an afterthought. That's why I have respect "issues" and a need to be "heard." Still so damned neurotic. Sometimes I would just like to make myself grow up and join society.
But I can't now. I'm only able to stay afloat. I guess it's time for my day at the races. Man, I just want to sleep, but no sleep for you chica. C'mon, girls! Work those buns! Trim that fat!