The Last Time You Were Really Seen

Three miles into my walk I stopped to catch my breath and read a text and laughed.

“I bet I am faster than you.”

I think I responded with something like “not a chance” but almost went with “if it makes you feel good believe that, be my guest. I only let you think you are the boss.”

And then I hustled home to make sure that I beat the thunderstorms because five years in Texas has taught me the weather turns quickly.

Caught my reflection in a window and shook my head at what I saw because it didn’t match what I see in my mind.

Thought for a moment about the difference and reminded myself that I can still run and I can still move like I always have because I can.

But I recognize that some things are different and that irks me a bit.

Plopped down on the couch, turned on the television while I cooled off and listened to some man tell some woman, “remember the last time you were really seen, that was me.”

And then I wondered if I couldn’t say that too.

Four Years Post Surgery

It is four years since I went in for surgery to repair a hernia that turned out to be a double.

Thought about it courtesy of Facebook memories and the last visit with my surgeon before I left LA.

“You tore the hell out of yourself, be cautious. It’s going to take some time for you to heal. Pull over every few hours and take your time unloading because you’re the kind of guy who will rip your stitches right out.”

I thanked him for the confidence and he laughed.

“I recognize the type. You’re built like a fire plug and I can see that you have spent some time throwing the weights around. Be good to yourself and be patient.”

That first year back in Texas was rough, amongst the hardest I have had and the months of not lifting wasn’t good for me. Timing couldn’t have been worse and the stress of certain situations was exceptionally high.

I ate almost every meal alone and have vivid memories of when I got sick with a fever of 102 and when I slipped on ice and dislocated my finger.

There wasn’t anyone around to take care of me so I did what I had to do.

The flu or whatever the hell I had that gave me the fever was worse than the dislocated finger. I remember lying on the couch wondering how my grandfathers could be in my apartment and then wondered where I was.

Had to beg the guy at the Chinese restaurant to deliver to me even though I was outside of the delivery area.

Dad suggested I ask someone to drive me to urgent care and I refused.

“Don’t get sicker by being stupid.”

“I am going to beat it or die on the couch.”

“Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to, but I think I would feel better if I did.”

I meant it but I also meant it when I said I would try not to die. I hope to never get Covid but I sort of imagine that is what it would feel like…maybe.

One More Day

Got stuff going on that I’d rather not have to attend to and this sense that more is coming so I remind myself I am one day closer to getting beyond it.

One day closer to answers.

One day closer to it being history but damn if I don’t want to ignore it all. Damn if I don’t want to get into my car and drive until I hit the ocean.

Sometimes I miss the surf. Sometimes I miss the giant Redwoods. Sometimes I miss the Northern lights. Sometimes I miss many things.

But I am not particularly adept at just giving up.

The guy that has challenged me here is going to find me staring at him on a computer screen and I am going to make clear who I am.

I didn’t die on that couch, at least as far as I know so I’ll do what I need to do and be one step closer to to getting one more day in towards the larger goal.

On a side note, this is what I listened to while writing around the web today.

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