Crutches

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I’m tempted to leave no blog-print today. Again. I feel both too full and too empty to write anything. Not sure what this funk is, but I wish it had a better beat. *sigh*

Once again last night as I was watching the last tv program before bed my head went ballistic. I thought I’d get up today, START my day with some exercises to warm up my body, then power through a good morning walk. Wish I could transplant that feeling into me when I get up. All I can really do is drag myself down to the kitchen to start some coffee brewing and get my oatmeal cooking. This is a great/shitty way to start my day: I feel like I let myself down and it all happens BEFORE breakfast. Lovely.

Okay, positive or negative. Which way you gonna flip today, Beeps? Oh, gee, I don’t know, George. Which way should we flip? Huh? Which way? We shall go and I will get some furry rabbits and I will hug them and love them forever and ever.

Yeah. My head is quite a play-area. Comes complete with the cartoon, too.

My RA feels better; hip-hip-hoorah!! So nice to not be crippled first thing when I get out of bed. Must be the break in weather. We’ve been promised a clear day today, tho the fog out my window says something different. Personally, I’m on the look out for tentacles.

Good swim yesterday, as usual. Wasn’t even bothered by all the people standing around in my lane area. Just turned before it became an issue, and swam back towards the deep end. Getting much, much stronger. Feel like I want to try some lane swimming for an hour. There’s this great rhythm I get into. I don’t swim fast at all. I glide. That’s the proper word for it. I glide through the water. I try to make as little wave as possible and just move forward. I don’t think about my breathing, only my arms and legs and the pattern they make over and over again. Completely mesmerizing.

One thing I’ve never been thrilled about is what happens to my face when I exercise. I get that red, super flushed look. It stays with me for about an hour afterwards, as I continue to cool down. I’m embarrassed by it. I know it looks like I’m ready to keel over with a heart attack half the time, but I’m not there at all. I just have an inordinately large amount of capillaries in my face. I was one of those kids you could trace every vein in their face; very translucent skin. You can still see them in my eyelids. And while I’m embarrassed because I continue to sweat and look like I just stopped running, I think this particular condition has a lot to do with my face continuing to look young even into my older age. If ANYTHING is gonna replenish your skin, it’s a fresh burst of blood supply moving throughout the area. So I hate it, yet I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Geez, when you factor in my smoking, drinking, and the lifestyle I lived, it’s amazing I’m not a wrinkled prune by now. I must be doing something right.

Have I said lately that getting old sucks? It does. I remember hearing that from my parents, and I’m sure they heard it from theirs….. STOP. Great philosophy shit but get down to it, woman! ….Okay, here it is. I was watching tv last night and the thought that my life is over went through my head. I’m too old to – fill in the blank, it filtered through my mind last night. All of it. That feeling of wasting my time here came over me again, and I felt sick. I feel that I’ve lived my life fantasizing about what I want to do and be rather than doing and being it. And while I can acknowledge that my fantasies influence my actions and my actions create who I am, I am not who I want to be and have not fulfilled many ambitions. The times I didn’t try have moved in temporarily to haunt me. I must call the Ghostbusters.

Right now I find myself in a position not dissimilar to the way most of my life has been: I know what I want to do, but I ain’t got the money. I gotta build back up, starting from the bottom. Again. Seems I can’t find a truly solid foundation to build my life on. That’s a hard reality pill to swallow. I can’t help but berate myself a bit. If I’d gotten off my ass earlier and concentrated on what I wanted rather than bopping around like a mad hatter trying to please everyone under the fucking sun I would be in a much more secure place right now. Ugh. I hate being the me who does things like that. Slap dat bitch up!

You know, I couldn’t even answer the question about what I wanted for a very long time. My brother used to ask me just that: what do you want. And I drew a blank. I couldn’t make a decision. Even when it came to what film to watch at night. He had to give me boundaries (choose 5 films for me to choose from). I didn’t start talking about ME and MY wants until I was almost 40. That’s how fucking bad I’ve got it.

So if I look at it that way, I’ve only been pursing my dreams for UNDER 10 years. I haven’t wasted 30. You know, if I take it from THAT viewpoint, it’s not so bad. I’m selling. My stuff is on MTV. My book is selling. I’ve been in a film. I’m known. All that on zero budget. Well, zip-a-dee-do-dah. I just found a way to be pleased with my own progress.

It’s a crutch. I know that; all rationalizations are in the end. But I don’t begrudge the odd pair of crutches to someone who breaks a leg. My life, my mind, my soul is broken. I can give myself a crutch here and there to get by for now. I know someday I’ll have to let the crutch go and walk on my own. So I don’t want to rely too much on it in the first place. I don’t want to become weak. My goal is strength, and sometimes that means working through the burn in short, controlled spurts. Building up to taking it on full time. I’ll put weight on that broken spot, even if it hurts. I must. I must keep testing it, to see how it’s healing. Someday I’ll put my full weight on it and it won’t be so bad. And then I’ll toss those crutches in the bin where they belong.

But for now, it’s sore. I’m sore. So sore that sometimes I give up. If the crutches keep me up and walking, that’s good. At least I’m moving forward. I’m not just sitting there.

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