The People Behind My Eyes

The other day I wished this house didn’t have so many levels. Two levels is one too many when the cat escapes and runs up a flight of stairs to your roommates area refusing to budge. Had she run outside I would have gone after her but she ran up 15 steps to the top level. I remember thinking, “Ahh Damn! Of all places to run.” I left her up there. She eventually came home. It’s not like I could go up and get her. I tossed pieces of liver up there hoping to peak her interest but Bella didn’t care. She wasn’t budging. I just went back to my area, closed the door and figured she’d come down on her own. This event was only a few days after getting stuck at the store because of the stairs.

Today in therapy Dr. T and I discussed my declining mobility. I realized the other day that the only thing that depresses me is the limited use of my hands. With limited use of them I can only do so much painting and so much baking. Those two things bring me the most happiness. But had I been a biker or a runner, had my main source of happiness come from a physical activity I believe my outlook would be much different. I think I might feel a greater loss. I enjoyed bike riding but not being able to get on a bike now doesn’t cause me any real sadness. I enjoyed hiking and walking trails, but not doing those things hasn’t really taken any joy out of my life. But my hands, oh my hands, now that is where a bit of grieving comes in. I’m greatly annoyed when my hands shake and I can’t hold the camera still to take a picture. I’m pissed enough to walk away and say I won’t try again. But then something catches my eye and I pick it up and try to shoot another shot. I’m pissed when I drop things or when my hands cramp up and freeze in that very painful position that takes prying to get them back open. And I’m pissed when I buy a loaf of bread from the store when I know my own is better but making it right now just isn’t possible. Even so, the grief I feel over my hands is short lived. For some reason that grief hasn’t been debilitating. I’m grateful for whatever the reason that keeps me from tossing my hands up and saying, “Chuck it all, I’m sick of this.” Maybe it’s because my focus isn’t totally on one thing that makes me happy. I have a lot of interests and maybe that’s why if one part of me isn’t able to keep up there is something else to look to that feeds my inner self, the self that isn’t subject to these types of frailties.

Austin’s August

Note to kitty cat: Run up the stairs if you will. I won’t shake my cane at you as I curse enough to make a sailor blush. You got into this mess, you can get yourself out!!!

I’ll be at home getting in some sort of my own trouble. I’ll be at home creating something, playing on the net, touching up shaky pictures or laughing on the phone with friends. You’re little feline self can come down on… your… own!!! Wait until Barney sees you on his bed, ya little furry so-and-so…..

If I’d Been A Biker or Runner
Thursday, May 10, 2007-4:02PM EST