When Life Gives You Lemons…

You know  you’ve had a weird week/month/time when you can recognize your car a mile away. Yeah, the one with 400 white droplets on it. The one that’s parked under a bamboo tree in your spot behind the house that the birds just love. Or sleep in. Or just shit in, and that you’ve had zero time or inclination to wash. That is only second to my house which I don’t recognize anymore. It looks like 6 teenage boys moved in for a month. I love my house. And car. I’m not sure why I’ve been treating them so badly lately. They just ‘are’. Like Buddha. Having said that,  my house was an assailant a few times in the last while.

Earlier this summer, I tripped over the raised stair from my living to dining room, (well, actually I tripped on my own pants) but the stair sent me flying onto the tile kitchen floor and en route I whacked my foot against the medicine cabinet and sprained it – the day I was going to a music festival where lots of walking is required. I went anyway.  That same medicine cabinet that houses the 15 bottles of vitamins and meds for my sweet, ageing dog. That dog who, after several nights of discomfort, I decided to give a percocet to last night, that I had leftover from my 100 pill scrip  (yep you read that right. Doctor, are you okay?) I got for my neck pain.  She snuck out onto the deck and at 10:30pm I went out to wake her to tell her to come in and, well, if you’ve ever had a percocet, that’s not happening. I bend down and throw away the many thousands of dollars I’ve spent on fixing my herniated disk to pick her up. No chance. Okay, maybe the front part of her. Nope. I draaaagggg her from the deck to the inside. Omg, I’m sweating. It’s 5 feet. She’s heavy. I get her in, just in time to escort her to the front door where she likes to sleep and wham!

That sprained foot I got over earlier just got another beating from the bookshelf in the front hall. Hey house! House that also hides keys, sunglasses, my phone and hairbrushes. I think my house is actually alive. Don’t ever think inanimate objects that don’t move are safe. My foot swells. I just look at it and hunch my shoulders. Par for the course. This on the heels of yesterday’s insanity. My evil neighbour is yelling at my handyman because he wants her to open the gate so he can have access to the side of my house to finish the parging job he’s doing. Nope. Not happening. She hurls abuse at him, even though we have written permission from the city. I was never a NIMBY but since living next to this – 13 years and counting, I’ve hardened. Another call to the city. Another work order issued. Another ‘you know what she’s like’ from the TCHC supervisor. Yes I do and how is this acceptable on any level? I sigh. I move on. My herniated disk is being aggravated by the fact that I don’t listen to the doctors who I pay money to. I sit on my couch, aka my office, cross my legs and put the computer on my lap. I hear the collective cringe from the chiro, physio and healer. I am an idiot. But I’m a comfortable idiot.

Until I am done editing and fine tuning photos/words/colours/sharpness for my upcoming book, I am a victim of my own sadistic pain. The kind that runs up from your 3 middle fingers to your elbow and beyond.  ‘You’re your own worst enemy’. I heard that a lot growing up. It’s 3am. I am not listening to my mother’s voice. If I had TV it would be that time of night to purchase something from an infomercial. Which I have done. No one has clarity/sense – common or otherwise – at that time of night.  I decide to eat instead. The same dinner/lunch/3am snack I’ve been preparing for myself for the last month. A toasted bagel. With tomato. Mmm. Nice the first 8 times then not so much. I think I AM a teenage boy. I look at my legs. Yes, I am definitely a teenage boy. Oh my god…I have to go to the waxing salon! No, I don’t. That’s #43 on the priority list.  Today I spend time, ignoring the pain I will inflict upon myself, doing more final edits. I’m a bit obsessed in these last days/hours/minutes. Poor Sunshine (my dog). She needs to get out. At 3:30pm, we jump in the car. Okay, not jump. We take a good 10 minutes getting in the car. I put on my favorite play list and off we go. The horizon darkens. It starts to rain. We get to Cherry Beach and the heavens open. I sit there with the car running so she won’t die of humidity and wonder who coined that famous phrase, ‘timing is everything’. I don’t mind sitting in the car. Most people have gone, it’s just the rain, me, heavy breathing in the back seat (hey, it’s Sunshine, get your mind out of the gutter) and some real peace. It’s kind of nice. I think of that other turn of phrase, ‘behind every cloud…’ and I smile. We circle home, have a wet walk to the park which is less than 5 minutes away and get soaked. That’s nice too. It’s still warm out. And tonight I went to town. I cancelled my plan, and made a huge life decision. I’m not having a bagel with tomato for dinner. I went all out and made a stir fry. And instead of cleaning my house, or car or working on my ‘work’ work, I wrote this blog. I am my own worst enemy.

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