Scars and cars

Two things:

1) These scans are at the point that they have dried out so much, they now keep cracking when I move, ripping themselves open anew, sending immediate and searing pain through my hands or knee, when it does happen. I finally managed to drive okay, but it was an old stick shift today, and putting it into third gear was quite difficult with my right hand situation. It ended up busting open my scabs more than once, and drawing blood from them… yippee… haha

2) Speaking of driving that car, it is a ’97(?) Porsche 911. That means the speedometer only shows numbers in increments of 25 (up to a very high number), the engine feels very comfortable at around 80mph, and driving it is like a party for the senses in a way they always seem to forget that they adore. Driving such a car makes driving fun. A long drive into town, while mentally seems miserable, ends up being no big deal at all, and, in fact, a kind of total meditative experience as I am one with the wind and the glorious German engineering and power of an engine. I don’t even have the need for speed, myself – it really is the car. But, since I’m driving it, I tend to take it easy for the most part, and chill with traffic at safer and much slower speeds than one likely would expect from a driver of such a car. Nonetheless, that car makes driving fun. Really.

Now, I’m curious how this idea could affect my search for a reliable, responsible – both for me and for the planet – vehicle this weekend. The plan is to lease a Nissan Sentra, after verifying that I still like the vehicle, years and years later…, but that will be a hard comparison after driving this car again… oops. ūüėõ

Wishful thinking, y’all. ūüėČ

Post-a-day 2020

The Fall

So, here’s the short but sweet – well, you get the idea – version of what happened yesterday evening around 5:30. ¬†I had a pretty bad fall at approximately .68 miles into my run. ¬†I was supposed to do a little 5k to be in a sort of solidarity with a student I tutor, because we had to miss tutoring yesterday due to her mandatory participation in a 5k with her school. ¬†(She is neither fan of outdoorsy things nor of running.) ¬†I had already run just over that on Thursday, and I didn’t necessarily feel like getting out to run and do a whole workout (core upon return to the house, of course), but I’d told her I would do it on Friday, and I knew I always felt great after such a workout anyway. ¬†So, I headed out. ¬†It was an amazing start to the run, and the weather was great.

However, when my eye was caught by a mother doing a sort of super-protective stance between the road and her small child, possibly as a means of preventing his sprinting suddenly to the street when a truck was passing, that great feeling changed quickly.  Since I was caught off guard by her stance, and, of course, I had to process what I was seeing before moving on in life, I was mentally focused on the mother, even though I turned my head back to the road ahead of me.  And, though, I was looking at the road again, it was not quite enough time to process that one of the manhole covers a step and a half ahead of me, while it was supposed to be flush with the road around its rim, and concave for the actual cover, the indefinite-looking roadwork of the street turned that flush edge into a lip.

And yes, I did trip on that lip.

Put simply, I flew forward. ¬†I got another step and a half-ish under me as I began to fall, but I was already turning Superman, and I knew I was not going to recover my feet. ¬†I had a brief thought of not wanting to fall simply so as not to freak out the poor onlookers – it¬†has to suck to witness someone fall hard or be part of some accident… I regularly think of how terribly frightening it must have been for that angel driving behind me when I went down on my scooter on the road that night last year. ¬†Nonetheless, I saw before the thought even finished that, oh, well, they were just going to have to witness it, and I was just going not to worry about it, and to do what I needed to do for my own health and well-being.

And so, I went down, and I went down not just hard, but with a hard forward slide. ¬†Man, it was like I were Speedy Gonzales or something, because there was no way I could have been running very slowly to slide that hard and that far, and so quickly. ¬†And I always thought my longer running was slow. ¬†Good thing I’ve been working on improving that for myself… it really paid off yesterday evening. ¬†Not.

(Note: I’m not at all bashing improving one’s skills or athletic abilities – not at all. ¬†I am merely having a fun thought and play at how, in this particular instance, being better at the sport actually made for a worse situation. ¬†Think, I might not even have fallen, if I hadn’t been going so fast. ¬†However, that changes nothing in my plans to continue to improve in my running.)

Anyway, so I went down, and I knew people saw, and I had slight concern for them, but also didn’t care and didn’t have the mental space for almost any thoughts aside from dealing with my own body’s safety and survival at present.

It really sucked. ¬†I immediately rolled to my back. ¬†I was just lying in the street then, tears pouring from down my temples and upper cheeks, as I quickly examined my hands. ¬†They were a total mess. ¬†Gashed terribly, tissue fluid and blood already everywhere, and grainy gravel bits of all sizes and dark colors everywhere on them, mixed in with the blood and peeling skin and tissue fluid. ¬†My knee was stinging slightly, and I had a feeling it was much worse than it was letting on, hidden beneath my spectacular running pants – I could look at that more later, perhaps when I got home… it only would get worse once I let my attention turn to it. ¬†The pants had held up, so I knew they would hold in most of the bleeding that likely was underneath. ¬†Not that I spent more than a moment of thought on my knee… I just glanced and moved on mentally.

My hands… oh, my hands needed help.

While I was dong this self-evaluation and feeling growing intense pain, crying somewhat calmly yet entirely uncontrollably, the mother was talking to me from her spot back on the sidewalk.

Was I okay? ¬†Did I want them to call an ambulance? ¬†Did I want them to call somebody else for me? ¬†I answer with obvious shaking of my head to all of them. ¬†I was grateful to hear, when the husband was trying to move along, the wife (mother of the little kid) said pointedly, “No, she’s not okay. She’s really hurt.” ¬†Though, I only slightly processed it, what with the pain and my own mental focus at the time. ¬†When she asked if they could get me anything, I managed, after another several seconds of gasping-like breathing, to ask, “Do you have any water?” ¬†After which I resumed the intense breathing. ¬†The crying, of course, never paused.

I was still lying on my back in the road, and it had been at least a minute at this point. ¬†Granted, I was to the side of the road, but I was definitely entirely in the road, at least a yard or two from the curb. ¬†So, I ask again about the water, figuring out how to get water, if these folks don’t have any, and she answers to me that they do. ¬†A few moments later, I hear someone begin to approach, and a hard plastic cup being set on the driveway next to me. ¬†I say next to me, because it was perpendicular to the road, st the specific spot where I lay. ¬†It was not, however, actually very near to me. ¬†It was at least three yards away from me.

“Honey, just¬†bring it to her, ” I hear the wife say, followed by the husband’s hushed, “No.” ¬†Her response was borderline furious, and something within me felt like there would be a rage in their house tonight.

Alas, there was water, and I needed it for my hands. ¬†There was no possibility of my getting up from my spot in the road, so, I stuck my hands above my head, Superman-y again, and rolled two-ish turns toward the driveway. ¬†I then forced myself to sit up – though I’m really not sure how, seeing as my hands were no real use at that point. ¬†But I grabbed the little blue sippy-type cup, and started carefully tipping the limited, precious water onto one hand at a time. ¬†And it hurt. ¬†And I knew it wouldn’t be enough – there was far too much blood and dirt that wasn’t going to come off by just dripping a single cup-full of water onto it with no real rubbing.

Not that I wanted to rub my hands…, but I needed to do it.

A truck driving past as I fell, – the one from which the mother had possibly been”protecting” her child – backed all the way up the block, and stopped even with me in the road (in which I am still sitting, of course, but I’m by the edge now). ¬†It was, for lack of better descriptors, what I would call a Mexican work truck. ¬†Likely, the guy had been working on building a house somewhere down the road – one of the new builds I had passed on my way there, perhaps. ¬†The driver exited the truck and was doing something with the truck bed for a minute. ¬†I was almost certain what would come next – it’s just a part of the culture, you know?

After a few moments, I finally comprehend that the guy is standing near me, setting down a bottle of water. ¬†He then hands me a white piece of cloth and says, “Clean. ¬†I’s clean.” ¬†(That’s “it’s” without the t, by the way.). ¬†I could barely form any words in any language, though I knew he spoke Spanish and possibly almost no English. ¬†I believe I thanked him then. ¬†I set down the sippy cup back on the driveway, and picked up the icy cold bottle of water. ¬†This will hurt, I think, but I know I need to do it.

I struggle for a few moments in my efforts to open the bottle, but I cannot manage it – this simple task is impossible for me in this moment – and so I set the bottle back down on the ground. ¬†Within seconds, the guy was back at my side, picking up and opening the bottle for me. ¬†He then holds it out in a way that I know he is offering to hold it and pour for me, and so I extend my hands and allow him to pour. ¬†I cough out some tears at the pain of it, but we can both see that it is helping clear away the mess. ¬†When I’ve wiped away as much as I can tolerate, I nod and thank him a couple or few times, as I press the white cloth into my hands, absorbing what excess still remains, and shooting pains into my hands at every press. ¬†I was barely able to see his upside down face through my tears. ¬†But I saw him and thanked his face, even if I couldn’t see his eyes.

Meanwhile, the couple stood with their child on the sidewalk, watching, mumbling. ¬†As the Mexican guy stepped back into his truck, a white Mercedes that had been briefly waiting, with the guy and me in full view on the side of the road, and his truck parked in the middle of it – keep in mind, this is a neighborhood road, not some throughway or anything – decides to squeeze between me and the truck, now that the guy isn’t standing next to me anymore. ¬†When the mother on the sidewalk commented with fury at the fact that the woman had seen us and easily could have just gone around the block – and these are¬†tiny blocks, by the way, in a traditional square arrangement – I genuinely agreed with her. ¬†Though, I also felt sad at the driver of the Mercedes. ¬†How miserable must one be to be such an a** during an obvious “situation” of someone sprawled in the road?

Anyway… I really liked the wife/mother. ¬†Not so much the paranoia of the husband, though. ¬†Which, by the way, he picked up that cup after I set it back down to give it back to them… Just saying.

Okay, so everyone moves on. ¬†I have my keys and my phone again, and I roll myself the rest of the way fully onto the driveway. ¬†I lay there a handful of minutes, still crying. ¬†I hear a dog collar approaching on the sidewalk behind me, and am unconcerned. ¬†Minus¬†the tiny hope that the owner won’t be too distraught at the sight.

It turned out to be an older guy, out walking his dog. ¬†He asked if I was okay, and I carefully told him that I wasn’t but that I would be – I could talk now. ¬†Kind of. ¬†He offered to bring me bandages, saying that he lived just right nearby, and I said that that actually would be really great. ¬†His walk turned into a cautious jog of concern, as he raced around the corner, heading to his unseen home. ¬†I hardly even knew how he looked. ¬†I still couldn’t process such details.

And so, when her returned a couple minutes later, I sat myself up again, and got to work. ¬†I poured the hydrogen peroxide on my knew first, then my left hand, and both were okay. ¬†It hurt a bit, but it really just foamed and mostly was okay. ¬†The guy was surprised at this. ¬†He’d even said he would look away while I poured the peroxide, clearly indicating that he didn’t want me to be embarrassed at my likely reaction of intense pain. ¬†An old man had approached at this point, and was asking questions. ¬†I had already worked hard enough to answer them for the first guy – what happened; yeah, I’m definitely hurt; I’ll be okay, just not yet; I live about .62 miles that way – so I let him answer them for me. ¬†He didn’t seem to mind, once he saw that I clearly wasn’t up to it. ¬†Then, while they chatted, I poured the peroxide on my right hand. ¬†And that, my friends, was the exact memory I had had of hydrogen peroxide from my childhood, and the reason I was terrified of it as an adult. ¬†I had used it a couple times recently, and couldn’t understand why I’d been afraid of it. ¬†My mom had given it to me last year (?), saying that alcohol burns, not hydrogen peroxide. ¬†And it had been true so far in my adult life. ¬†Until this moment, in a stranger’s driveway with two older guys chatting about me and my present situation.

My body took over control as I convulsed and wailed, and even more tears poured from my eyes, the rate increased significantly from the original fall’s. ¬†I felt bad for this pour girl on the side of the road. ¬†I couldn’t imagine how the onlookers felt. ¬†(There was a secret onlooker across the street in the apartments, who had clearly been considering off and on whether to come help. ¬†She, too, looked hispanic, and I fear her concern was one not only of COVID-19, but mostly of a fear of not being able to communicate. ¬†I don’t exactly exude Spanish (or any language other than English, really), so I get it.

Anyway, so that really sucked, and I had to pour the painful cold water on it to make the pain go down at least somewhat – I couldn’t take it anymore. ¬†Funny how that cold water was suddenly not so big a deal anymore, right? ¬†Eventually, I blew my nose a bunch more with the rest of the paper towels the guy had brought, and I¬†put a compress on my knee. ¬†I had raised the pant leg while still in the street, and, aside from the clear layer of¬†skin that was plastered to the fabric, my knee didn’t look like it needed too much immediate attention. ¬†So, after the quick rinse of water and the peroxide, it was good to go, in terms of germ-prevention and safety until I made it home.

Now, all this time, I had been evaluating how I would be getting home. ¬†No family lives anywhere near me, so that was out as an option, if I couldn’t walk it. ¬†I considered a high school acquaintance who lived nearby. ¬†I was rather sure he would come get me and drive me home, if I really needed, but I didn’t want to turn to that except as a last resort. ¬†So, my options were really either to walk or to run home. ¬†If I ended up being able to run, I knew I would end up finishing the 5k. ¬†It was a slim chance, but it wouldn’t’ have surprised me. ¬†However, walking was the most likely of the three options. ¬†And, at this point in time, I noticed that I still had not felt that moment of,¬†Okay, let’s¬†get up, that we always get at some point after a fall. ¬†And, so far as I could tell, it was nowhere nearby either. ¬†I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. ¬†I mean, I hadn’t even fully stopped crying at this point, and it had been ten minutes already.

I had started “chatting” with the younger of the two older guys, during the times that I could use my words, and, after I had finished all my dressings, ¬†he offered yet again to drive me home – “We can put the windows down, be safe…” – I said, at last, “I think that would be a very good idea,” nodding and speaking with obvious effort, pinches of tears falling. ¬†He hopped into action, and took his first aid kit and hydrogen peroxide and, even, the trash back to his home. ¬†A couple minutes later, a Jeep came roaring around the corner, windows down.

I struggled to find the least painful way, and managed myself to my feet without too much disruption. ¬†But, oh, did it hurt to use my right leg/knee… ¬†The guy opened the passenger door for me, and I struggled my way into the seat. ¬†I fumbled for a while, throwing in involuntary cries of pain, getting the seatbelt on myself and shutting the door… I just couldn’t use my hands almost at all: no pressure on them from the outside, and no muscle flexing within them.

We chatted on the brief drive back that almost-three-quarters-of-a-mile path, exchanged names, and wished one another well as we arrived and I struggled my way out of the Jeep.  I thanked him over and over again, both during the ride and at the end of it.  And also before it, too.  And then I slowly and painfully stumbled up the walkways and stairs, managed to unlock and open the door, and get myself inside.

I had sent my mom a couple photos after the first group had left, before I lay back down on the driveway, and then had called her when the guy had gone to get his Jeep. ¬†I had known that she was driving before then, so I waited to call when I knew she would be able to see the photos. ¬†At my first, “Hey,” she knew something had happened. ¬†“What happened?” she asked, concerned, but not freaking out. ¬†She probably had figured I’d had some terrible interaction with someone mean – that’s usually the answer to¬†What happened?. ¬†I told her to look at the photo I’d sent her. ¬†She looked, and understood immediately. ¬†I told her the present situation and that I thought I would be okay. ¬†Now that I was home, I called her again, just to let her know that I was there, and also to see what she recommended I do to help myself at this point.

She prescribed me some time with an ice pack of sorts and an elevated leg, a shower, and then just before bed, rubbing gently hydrogen peroxide into my wounds with a Q-tip (cotton, you see), since I couldn’t get all the dirt off my hands.

The shower was long and hot and extremely painful at first, but it helped significantly by the end of it. ¬†The hydrogen peroxide left me, yet again, wailing involuntarily in pain, pouring tears, and practically shouting half-comprehensible phrases and annoyances. ¬†By the way, blowing your nose with a tissue and non-usable thumbs¬†sucks. ¬†That’s to say the least.

When I woke up in the middle of the night with a need to pee, I not only had to detach my palms from the sheets (painfully, of course), due to sticking tissue fluid, but hobble down the stairs, squat down to the toilet seat, and then attempt to wipe myself with a clumsy and burning left hand (the right was a solid no-go).  This repeated itself when my alarms went off at five forty-something to get me up for test proctoring today.

Today, my knee¬†hurts. More like my upper shin than my kneecap, but it still hurts. ¬†It’s kind of like a super bruise feeling, but the skin doesn‚Äôt really hurt. ¬†My hands, however, have been bad. I still have no opposable thumbs for the time being… if I try to use them, I involuntarily wail from the instant pain in my lower palm. The right is the worst. ¬†The left, starting this evening, has actually started to come around a bit. ¬†They were both still producing tissue fluid 20 hours after the incident, but have since mostly ceased. ¬†But any sharp movements or pressure, and they resume it. ¬†They felt like fire last night period. ¬†Tonight, they only get that feeling when they are either bumped or wet. ¬†Or, of course, I attempt to use my thumb for any kind of grip, or clench my fingers in an attempt to grip anything. ¬†(I almost couldn’t get out of my room this morning, because the doorknob is very thin¬†and takes a lot of pressure to get open…) ¬†In fact, it is extremely difficult even to type this right now.

All in all, that totally sucked, and it still sucks now, but I am mending safely, it seems.  And I am grateful for that.

On that note, I shall sleep.  But first, the photos:

This was yesterday, after rinsing off and rolling into the driveway.

This was the darned manhole cover with the “lip”.

This was after my shower last night.

I had to set the phone timer for this one.

And these were this evening, about 25 hours after the fall. ¬†I had to set the timer on these, too, because I couldn’t both hold the phone and click the shutter button… no thumbs, remember. ¬†(I tell you, it is one thing just not to have opposable thumbs. ¬†It is something else entirely not to have them in a world designed for opposable thumbs. ¬†I am having to learn drastic new ways of completing the formerly simplest of tasks[!!!].)

Post-a-day 2020

‚ÄėTis but a flesh wound

… but. goodness, does it hurt!

And this was after I had poured water on them to clean the dirt and rocks and excess blood off. And my right hand was even worse, but it was balancing the phone for the photo.

I’ll share more about the adventure tomorrow, but, for now, I have very limited use of my opposable thumbs, so typing on my phone is extremely difficult. Also, I have to be up before six tomorrow morning, and things have been significantly slowed getting ready for bed tonight because of the fall. Hasta tomorrow!

Post-a-day 2020

Tonight

I’m not sure what to share tonight. ¬†I’m sitting in bed, propped up poorly by a couple – actually, it’s three – pillows, my lower back aching something wicked for the third or fifth day in a row. ¬†I mean, it’s loads better than it was a couple days ago, but it is still¬†very uncomfortable, and I’m concerned I’ll have trouble sleeping again. ¬†It’s kind of funny, the irony of physical aches and pains. ¬†Oftentimes, what we need most in such situations, is rest. ¬†Yet, the pain is such that we have a hard time resting or sleeping. ¬†So, we don’t really end up recuperating very well or very quickly.

I started working on a song just a bit ago, because a friend asked ¬†– well, not technically, but I know he intended to make the request – me to create something I found beautiful. ¬†He said that there doesn’t seem to be enough of that in the world right now. ¬†So, I’m working on a song of things I find beautiful in life. ¬†I kind of hated it for a while, but I evaluated why I kind of hated it, saw that it was because I was trying to make it something that wasn’t true to who I really am and how I really feel about the matter, and switched into the proper gear for myself. ¬†I think it is going to turn out spectacular now. ¬†I’m even excited about it for myself, and not just for the friend to enjoy it. ¬†ūüėÄ

Anyway, I’m wiped, so I’m going to aim for intense, helpful, healing, deep, long sleep tonight, with a wake-up that is completely ready to take on the stormy day tomorrow. ¬†ūüėÄ

Post-a-day 2020

Bruised

Well, my toenail on my second toe on my right foot is officially bruised. It’s actually reddish purple now. Not the whole thing, but the whole left side, all the way to just past the center, as well as a small spot on the right side. And the tip is still white, of course, because that doesn’t change since it’s already been unattached to the skin for a while. But the attached part does not look very comfortable. Fortunately (?), however, it doesn’t look like it will be falling off.

I’ve had that happen before. It isn’t exactly unpleasant, but it isn’t pleasant either. I suppose the worst part is afterward, while there is no nail to protect the sensitive skin of the toe that is now suddenly exposed to the world and to shoes. That part of it totally sucks, actually, but it is still doable, easily survived. Just very uncomfortable for a while, I suppose.

I event had a run today as part of the workout, and it was totally okay. And even pressing on that particular toe and toenail doesn’t hurt anymore, which is quite good.

But yeah, it doesn’t look like this nail is falling off. Partially and strongly bruised, but not killed. Much like my pride and drive after that date with that guy way back when. Or like my brother’s when he busted a piece of his fancy motorcycle while pushing it up the loading ramp for the trailer to take it home from the racetrack…. and then shortly thereafter when he had his bicycle stolen out of the back of his truck (though it was locked up), after he had felt like it was a bad idea to leave the bicycles back there while he and a friend went into the store…. yeah, kind of like that… except probably nowhere near as bad. This is just a light bruising compared to all of that.

So… yeah… ūüėõ

And no, my hamstrings are not better today. However, despite the run, which wasn’t actually very difficult at all, they aren’t any worse than they were yesterday! ūüôā

Post-a-day 2020

Ouch

Well, my bum hurts… a lot… (Okay, now I am laughing, because that just sounds so totally charged with sexual innuendo, and get it is absolutely not one bit sexual.) So, the showerhead broke, because it’s actually made of plastic at the part where it screws onto the pipe, and it just kind of split. That means that, despite the double and triple efforts of duct taping the pipe and connection piece, a bunch of water comes out of the duct tape instead of the showerhead itself, making the water flow significantly decreased from usual. To stand under the full water flow – from the showerhead and the leaking part combined – one must stand directly beneath the pipe and showerhead, as opposed to out in front, as would be the place to stand under normal circumstances.

Now, imagine showering in this setting, and dropping a bar of soap. You squat down carefully to pick up the bar, and stand back up at a rather normal standing up speed… only to have your bum suddenly be on fire after hearing a loud clanking and feeling a big bash on your backside – you have just perfectly slammed and scraped your backside upward against and across the large bathtub faucet… the faucet that typically is a couple feet behind you when you’re showering, thereby rendering you shocked and confused at first… but then you recall the leaky water situation, and realize that you had not at all factored that into the squatting and standing back up scenario…

That was, essentially, the portrait of me last night. I now have an inch-long cut, a two point five inch-long red line on either side of it, a few deep red spots around it, and a bruised and lighter red area of about two point five inches by one inch to hold it all together. And it still burns, 24 hours after the incident even happened, let alone the dull pain of the hit’s bruise.

So, yeah, my butt hurts.

I actually couldn’t even put on my underwear all the way for quite a while last night, the skin burned so much from the cut (which had bled a surprising amount, considering so much of the butt is fat and all). And I couldn’t sit normal or lie down either for a long while. Instead of going to bed as I had planned, I stayed up and watched a film on the sofa, sitting on my side, allowing the cut to close up enough safely with the medicine, as well as stop hurting so much that I couldn’t let anything touch it.

Now, it is mostly just a matter of not letting anything rub across the skin there, nor pushing too hard against the area. Otherwise, it is doing rather well, and really just keeps reminding of my other butt injury this year, in which, while fixing a wedgie, my fingernail caught the skin at the base of my spine and top of my butt, right in the middle, and scraped off a whole inch-ish-long chunk. Yes, a chunk. It bled a lot, and all over my underwear – such a weird situation that one was(!).

Basically, I’m just wondering how many more of these absolutely ridiculous butt injuries I am going to be causing myself the rest of this year… or even my life. The last was in January in Japan, and this one is August in Southeast Texas. What will happen in another six-ish months, pray?

ūüėõ

…………….

In a totally separate note, I received official word this morning that my gym is closing at the end of this month, permanently. He had too many people drop memberships and all, so it is the safe and smart thing for him to do financially for himself and his family (the owner, I mean). While it is conceptually heartbreaking, I realize that my intense depression last month was very much regarding the fact that, while most everyone else was back at the gym as usual, and I was staying home because it was what we were told was the safest idea for the time besting in our city, I had a feeling that I wasn’t just missing out for now, but that I was missing out for good – that I wouldn’t ever be going back to the gym. Being upset over this idea as being real seemed irrational of me at the time, which only added to the sense of loss and the depression. However, now that I am on the other side of the depression and intense struggle, I have now dealt with the relevant concerns that were at its root…, including the idea of my never going back to that particular gym again. So, while the news is, well, new, I have already gone through the emotional turmoil of not being able to go to the gym ever again, so I don’t feel any need to go through it again – I’ve already handled that one!

Yes, it is sad that the gym is closing – it was a spectacular space filled with love and support that made huge impacts on many lives, mine included. However, it is both a new opportunity for the owner, as well as for me. As “High School Musical” so happily belted out for me tonight, it’s the start of something new – and I can feel it, and I am ready this time. ūüôā

Post-a-day 2020

Ouch

You know, I feel like one of the most annoying parts of menstruation is the intense pain and tenderness that shows up in the breasts. I mean, what purpose does that serve? Genuinely: Does it have a real purpose?

It hurts, it has no obvious purpose, and it is annoying. Plus, at least for me, it has me regularly cupping my breasts, in an effort to ease the pain…, which, of course, is not the most casual or clear way to be not drawing attention to them for nearby males. I almost could feel bad for the poor fellows who have to see women hold their own breasts like this, so gently…, if it weren’t for the fact that we women are doing it purely out of a need to decrease pain and discomfort, and not as a means to draw a guy’s eyes. The fact that it makes guys stare almost doesn’t bother us, because it actually soothes the physical pain to hold them with our warm, gentle hands…, but I said almost…

It is ironic, though, how an effort to decrease one discomfort causes another… ūüėõ

Sigh… anyway, mine hurt, and it has been for days longer than usual this time… ugh.

Now, for some stinted and shallow sleep…

Post-a-day 2020

Dancing and Dejection

I watched the 2011 version of “Footloose” tonight. ¬†I had seen it before, but I wanted to watch it again. ¬†Part of it was simply because I like the fun of the film, but I think a part of it was because I have been missing dancing so much in recent months. ¬†I had just determined to go out dancing, when the whole beginnings of the shutdowns were happening – I had even told people that I was excited about going dancing that weekend… I was quite bummed when it didn’t get to happen. ¬†Sure, I was excited that it meant I got to hang around the guy I liked longer, since the dancing wasn’t happening anymore…, but I was still bummed about the dancing’s being canceled… Besides, dancing is still part of my life, and it likely will be so for many, many years to come…, and the guy isn’t exactly on the road to be part of it, almost at all… so, anyway…

haha

It’s so funny to me how things can change rather easily, when circumstances change – we kind of just accept what changes and roll with it, as needed. ¬†But, when we want to have change, it always seems so difficult to make the change happen ourselves… even if it is changing something about ourselves, and it is something we truly want, it often seems to be difficult to make happen… but, throw in some crazy event, like a natural disaster, and we willingly and easily adjust to a totally different way of doing the daily… I’ve seen it so many times with hurricanes in my life so far, yet so few times with self-inflicted changed… because it always seems to be an inflicted change, not something truly wanted, even if we do want it.

Anyway…, I’m kind of rambling here, so I’ll let it go for the night, I think.

No, one last thing:

In college, my third year, I attended regularly events hosted by this one particular fraternity. ¬†I was not part of any Greek Life groups, but I went to things hosted by this particular fraternity because of what the activities were – they were things that actually interested me, like pick-up sports games and other silly stuff. ¬†I had been invited by people in the fraternity, so I had not barged in nor forced my way in to the activities. ¬†I had begun to build relationships with various members of the fraternity… I even considered, long and hard, how I rather likely would have joined the fraternity, had I only been male and not female. ¬†That was how much I enjoyed the activities and the company and the environment as a whole.

One day, though, I was told by a member, in private, that I kind of needed to stay away some – it was inappropriate that I was participating in so much. ¬†Now, these were open activities – open to all students. ¬†But, they were only so on paper. ¬†They were actually for recruiting purposes. ¬†The fraternity doesn’t recruit females, so they didn’t want girls hanging around who weren’t the little sisters of the fraternity. ***As a note here, the only little sisters they had were from a particular sorority, and almost none of them were even interested in these activities, let alone athletically inclined… only the occasional little sister showed up, and never for long, and she never played any of the sports.

I was heartbroken and embarrassed. ¬†I had been so cautious and careful, always verifying that I was allowed and invited by a fraternity member to each event and activity I attended. ¬†And yet I still was told that I shouldn’t have been there, and that it was inappropriate that I had attended so much. ¬†What else could I have done? ¬†I did everything I could to follow rules and all of Greek Life, yet it did me no good.

Suddenly, I had no interest in being part of the fraternity, even in the imaginary life where I am a male instead of a female.

I don’t remember what exactly happened after that conversation – that oh-so-miserable conversation – but I think it was actually the same day that the next conversation happened…

You see, I think there was some event happening that evening, and I was supposed to attend it Рseveral guys were expecting me and had personally invited or reminded me of it.  I think I was a puffy-eyed crumple near one of the quadrangles on campus, when a couple guys from the fraternity came across me.  They tried to figure out what was wrong with me, and encouraged me to come along with them to the event (to which they were at that time headed).  I explained Рwith struggle Рthe conversation I had had, the one in which I was told, essentially, to stay away from the fraternity for a while.

Frankly, they were appalled. ¬†I don’t remember their words exactly, but I remember how they worked to convince me that the person who had spoken privately to me had been out of line – I had, in fact, done everything appropriately. ¬†I had always been invited, they reminded me – I was¬†wanted at the activities I attended. ¬†And one guy’s opinion was not the opinion of everyone else. ¬†I loved them for their words…, but I think I didn’t entirely trust the fraternity again after that… I just remember feeling so¬†shaky, inside and out. ¬†My world had been shaken. ¬†I had followed the rules, and I had still been hit with an earthquake, and slightly shattered from it. ¬†These two guys were super sweet to me, but the hurt was never erased. ¬†I think that’s because I believed it, what the first guy had said to me. ¬†Yes, there were some guys who wanted me, but I fully believed that several were of the same belief of the one guy… and they didn’t want me around. ¬†And why didn’t they want me around? ¬†I was neither a guy nor a member of their unofficially linked sorority. ¬†Because I didn’t have the labels, I wasn’t good enough for them.

I think I established for myself that I was done with Greek Life after that. ¬†I had never liked it much in the first place, but now I had reason to¬†dislike it… and I did. ¬†The whole point of Greek Life was to bring people together (originally as drinking societies, but we won’t get into that right now)… and they had pointedly excluded me… me, a person who fit in beautifully to their events and activities, to their conversations and general atmosphere as a group… ¬†I had secretly hoped that I could become a little sister with them…, but they inevitably picked some girls who couldn’t have cared less about what the fraternity actually did, yet belonged to the right sorority and were besties with the current little sisters.

Anyway, that sucked… and I think I haven’t ever talked about that with anyone, aside from the two guys who tried to convince me that the one guy was being an a**hole, and that they really did want me around. ¬†I think it’s always been easier for me to believe that people want me¬†not around than that they want me around. ¬†So, this event didn’t exactly help me get over that.

Ugh…. big sigh just now…

Okay, that’s all I care to say about all of that… I think I’m okay with leaving it all there and being done with it for now. ¬†ūüôā

Post-a-day 2020

 

The best policy?

Honesty may hurt – and really badly – but I still believe it to be the best policy.

Being straight with people makes a world of a difference, I swear.

Yes, it can hurt to be told, ‘Unless you lose a lot of weight, get fit, and stop wearing that strong, fake body spray, we are definitely not having sex.’

But would you rather persist and persist and never understand why a girl seems interested in you, yet nothing ever happens between the two of you?

I feel like you just would end up going insane, and not being able to stand being around her anymore, for lack of understanding the situation.

Whereas, in knowing the truth, her having been straightforward and honest with you, you now have the choice either to do something about it to meet her standards, or you can choose not to pursue them and to let go of your currently vain efforts to have a physical relationship with her – no more wasted effort there, and you can turn your attention and efforts elsewhere for that, and instead focus on a friendship with this girl, in which you both can be satisfied from an open and honest relationship.

Just some thoughts for the night.

P.S. I just learned about testicular torsion…. youch.

Post-a-day 2020

Phew!

Okay, yay – this is exactly what I have wanted and needed these past several weeks.

I wanted a more definitive feel for the situation, and I now have it.

Sure, I totally cried really hard for a while, but it was what I was wanting… truly.

Now, I’m clear that it isn’t happening and that it isn’t meant to be (for now, anyway, but that’s good enough for me to be at ease about it).

I said what I felt I needed to say to let it go, and I am starting to be filled with this feeling of breathing deeply, and as though I hadn’t experienced such breathing for ages, somehow.

Ha.

It really is nice to breathe…

And, though it is an extreme disappointment that things are not working out as I had hoped, even wished, I have full faith in the World, in the Universe, in God… there is absolutely something better on the horizon.

This was an opportunity for me to learn, and I definitely have learned much from it… definitely.

(And I do not mean just a bunch of surface-level nonsense, but true and deep insight into myself and who and how I want to be and when and how I can be at my best, and what that means in terms of the people who are around me [on many levels] and the relationships and interactions we all have with one another.)

Yes, this has been quite valuable.

And I am so grateful to be able to let go now of the stress I was building within me because of it all…

Yes, it is lovely to begin to breathe freely again.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Post-a-day 2020