Lossed
I lossed, apparently, my ability to spell or conjugate in the past tense. I had to look this word up just now. I spelled it wrong here on purpose to make the point. I hope someone out there (preferably one of my students) caught the mistake. "Know the rules; then, you can break them," I can hear myself chiding.
Sometimes, losing is not bad. My friend J came by for a visit today and upon seeing me motor on my own two feet, he asked, "Hey, where's your walker?" He was referring to the pink durable medical accessory with the pretty flowered crossbeam that my ever-thoughtful boyfriend chose for me at Walgreens. This is the one I was going to take a picture of for this blog to illustrate just how "parked" I am. There will be no driving. Apparently, there isn't suppose to be much walking after brain surgery either.
"I lost it, " I said, referring to the walker. I might have been referring to my good mood, my solid mind, my unbreakable sanity, or any other uplifting characteristic that exists within a stable human being. I'll explain this later. Here's the story about the walker.
My boyfriend, herein referred to as M, had taken me for a ride to the reservoir. This is a significant step in our relationship. If the neurosurgeon could have peaked into my soul through the dime-size hole he drilled in my skull after peeling back five inches of my scalp, he would have seen something that looks like a National Park Calendar. I am a nature girl. Nature is where I belong. Most of my life, I have lived in a self-induced solitary state, but nature could always coax me out. I know nature. I know that nature knows me. Taking my boyfriend to this place was something I had premeditated to avoid.
Desperate in my current state, I acquiesced and asked him to take me to my soul-place. Now he had seen me with my skull split open and strolled into my innermost self. Dammit. This fucking tumor forced an opening where all the yoga, hands-on healing light energy, shamanic sessions, self-help books, and straight up psychotherapy never even stood a chance.
We walked by the reservoir - me leaning on the walker and M, and M coaching me along like we were in one of those sappy movie scenes where love cures someone's handicap. Apparently, this crack called love works, because I got into the car without my walker and we drove away.
Today, I determined to descend and ascend the stairs, AKA Mount Everest; so, I did.
Abandoned on the side of the picturesque highway, the lovely pink walker, hopefully, was able to hitch a ride with and rehabilitate another convalescent.
Sometimes, losing is not bad. My friend J came by for a visit today and upon seeing me motor on my own two feet, he asked, "Hey, where's your walker?" He was referring to the pink durable medical accessory with the pretty flowered crossbeam that my ever-thoughtful boyfriend chose for me at Walgreens. This is the one I was going to take a picture of for this blog to illustrate just how "parked" I am. There will be no driving. Apparently, there isn't suppose to be much walking after brain surgery either.
"I lost it, " I said, referring to the walker. I might have been referring to my good mood, my solid mind, my unbreakable sanity, or any other uplifting characteristic that exists within a stable human being. I'll explain this later. Here's the story about the walker.
My boyfriend, herein referred to as M, had taken me for a ride to the reservoir. This is a significant step in our relationship. If the neurosurgeon could have peaked into my soul through the dime-size hole he drilled in my skull after peeling back five inches of my scalp, he would have seen something that looks like a National Park Calendar. I am a nature girl. Nature is where I belong. Most of my life, I have lived in a self-induced solitary state, but nature could always coax me out. I know nature. I know that nature knows me. Taking my boyfriend to this place was something I had premeditated to avoid.
Desperate in my current state, I acquiesced and asked him to take me to my soul-place. Now he had seen me with my skull split open and strolled into my innermost self. Dammit. This fucking tumor forced an opening where all the yoga, hands-on healing light energy, shamanic sessions, self-help books, and straight up psychotherapy never even stood a chance.
We walked by the reservoir - me leaning on the walker and M, and M coaching me along like we were in one of those sappy movie scenes where love cures someone's handicap. Apparently, this crack called love works, because I got into the car without my walker and we drove away.
Today, I determined to descend and ascend the stairs, AKA Mount Everest; so, I did.
Abandoned on the side of the picturesque highway, the lovely pink walker, hopefully, was able to hitch a ride with and rehabilitate another convalescent.
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