Peter Sellers as Dr. Strangelove. I think I was about 12 years old when I saw that movie. The whole cold war thing had us terrorized as kids ("Duck and Cover!" says Bert the Civil Defense Turtle). Seeing Dr. Strangelove was the first time I realized that scary stuff could also be funny, even though it feels kinda weird. Heh-heh.
Or did you think I was referring to a neo-Nazi faith healer?
Who cares? Today was a breakthrough day! I did three loads of laundry, dragging it down and up two stories. I also stood at the dryer for a good 20 minutes folding the clothes. Then I put the clothes away, cleaned the cat box, stripped and made the bed, and made a short shopping trip. It was tough, but so was I. Even though the standing was uncomfortable, there were no twangs or cramps.
On top of that, I walked completely upright all day long with little or no discomfort. I can feel the muscles and nerves aligning up, chakrawise. After two weeks of hobbling and dreading standing up (anticipating from minor irritation to twisting pain), I spent a good number of hours functioning like normal. What heaven!
I'm not overdoing it, but I want to keep up the moving around because it feels so good. In my darker and more painful hours dealing with this back, I couldn't help thinking of that scene in "Midnight Cowboy" where Rico says, "I don't think I can walk anymore. I've been fallin' down a lot. I'm scared…You know what they do to ya when, when they know you can't, when they find out that you can't walk-walk. Oh Christ."
Not that I was ever that bad, but it does make me realize I could be: take care of myself, keep myself healthy and happy as often and as long as possible. And keep moving forward. With a song in my heart.
But the best news is that I'll be able to finish sorting those last three boxes downstairs and donations are done. I can get the cleaning women in here ASAP followed by the city inspector for the last-minute tweaks to make the property legal for sale.
As a kid, we moved around a lot. Dad used to say it was cheaper than paying the mortgage, but most of it came from a nebulous malaise he had, and moving to a new town or a new job or a new opportunity always beat out facing his demons. For most of those moves (over a dozen), Mom was the happy housewife who got to take on all the responsibilities, from packing to house hunting.
You could always tell when moves were imminent, because Mom would start absently scratching the inside of her elbows where she would get a crimson rash that would not subside until we were moved into our new home.
I've been scratching the inside of my elbows numerous times today. No rash yet; that will happen when I sign the listing agreement and have to clean every frickin day.
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