I suppose that even the most tilted of us eventually begin to find balance, including me. Try something new. How did that feel? Good? Do it again. Bad? Don't repeat it. So many things in my life have changed that I wouldn't know how to begin to start telling it all. And when I had the first inkling that I might want to write again, I stumbled on "where to start" or "how to begin". Even I am no longer very interested in the results of the MRI or the CT scan, what the blood test results were on any given day,or who said what to whom about what. I couldn't possibly retrace all the steps taken across the months and I don't particularly care to relive much, if any, of it. What to do? What to do? Hmmm . . . maybe just start again, but give advance notice that this blog may not look much like its old self. I don't look much like my old self, either. Actually, I look and feel kind of healthy. Does that mean it's time to write again?
In December, still feeling quite damaged, I was asking myself that very question and I took the tentative step of e-mailing certain of the faithful followers who had made great efforts to reach me through U.S. Mail, e-mail, on the phone,etc. "What has happened to you? Are you OK?" I felt a little responsible to say "Look, this is what happened to me and I thank you so much for your interest." Some had even landed on my birthday last summer, and they get extra points. What I got back after that e-mail was renewal. Refreshment. Validation. Love. Support. I needed a measure of each of those things. Note to self: ask for what you need. You might just get it.
I don't walk miles and miles any more. I haven't been able to do so. I was afraid I would get fat if I wasn't in harness and plodding. I didn't. I'm kind of skinny (for me). But there's a photo op calling my name about 2 miles from home and the 4 mile round trip wouldn't kill me. I wonder if I could do that tomorrow? If the photo op is calling my name, it deserves to be captured and shared. I fancy I'll need a step ladder to do justice to any pictures snapped, but we'll see what happens. One of the lovely faithfuls of December asked me if my sense of humor was intact. It is. It slept for awhile. It is now awakening.
My beloved black cat, Virginia Woolf, and I were sleeping and when pandemonium hit at 4:35 a.m. The noise was unbelievable. I let fly with some words that do not bear repeating. Virginia Woolf windmilled across my body, bloodying me here and there. Once I located glasses and the lamp, I was sad to note that my much-loved oak Regulator clock (which weighs approximately what I weigh) had hurled itself from the wall, taking out several bins of CDs and landing all on the hardwood floor. I took it as a sign. It's time. Time's a-wastin'. I don't have any time to lose.
In my ears right now: As if no time had passed since I first heard it.