Ouch!

My shoulder hurts. It's been hurting since last thursday. I remember when pain would only last a day or two but now it's been almost a week and constant massage has not been as helpful as it's been enjoyable. The knots are slowly working themselves out but it seems that I am going to have to wait until they do it at their pace, not mine. Is that what it mean to get older finally? Accepting that your body is changing its way of being?

My official one year goal is to be leaner and stronger than I am now, and age has not really occurred to me. I will not abuse my body in this process as I have learned that I need to be more like a supportive mother than a drill sargeant with it-it rebels. But this week it is not co-operating. It wants to have heat and stillness. I push it as far as I think I can get away with-not too much, but a bit more. Some things just take longer now, but I do believe it is quite possible to be stronger at 42 than I was at 22. I hope so.

higher ground

I just gotta get away from the gossip mongers and the drama queens. they're startin to get in my head just a little too much; it's gone way beyond merely amusing stuff to wag on about to those of us who should know better. So, gather around all you people of wisdom and insight, people of interest and faith and curiousity. Come sit in my parlour, share a glass of wine or scotch or coffee or tea. Let's come and talk of the way the light looks after an evening storm, the way it feels to get slammed by a bigger body than your own, the day you felt like the only one you could rely on was you. Let's rail against the government or big business or the very rich. Let's commune over the growing of tomatoes and the planning of great big futures. Let's notice the art and share the good stories and laugh and laugh until we pee our pants almost.
I'm going to shut the door to the drama queens and vampires. Not answer the phone to the gossip girls. Raise myself a little higher in the world. Come sit with me.

old books, old loves

I just finished re-reading a favourite book, one that does not have a happy ending but one which I love whole-heartedly. As I approached the end of this book I became more and more tense-knowing my beloved character was going to meet a most unhappy and violent end and trying to stave it off while being compelled to read on. I guess it's the literary equivalent of rubber necking. Now it's done and I am in the mourning period-a cooling off that I go through after I finish a good book. I have to let it work its way out of my system. I have to keep it out of sight so I am not tempted. It may take days or weeks until I feel like I can begin something new and different. I tried to pick up a new book this morning but it was too soon-I just wasn't into it. I leafed through an old OPRAH magazine last night-not even caring about it but just going through the act of turning the pages.

It's like the end of a relationship isn't it? You and these characters have been intimately involved and now it's over-against your wishes. The thought of dating someone else, someone new and different is just not appealing. You still have the language of the other in your ear at night when you go to bed, the images of that person's terrain. Invitations from other books go ignored on your shelves and bedside tables, the effort of putting yourself into them just too much to think about. Okay, so I may be exaggerating for the sake of drama. But then when you finally do feel ready to open another book and leap in-there you go! and you are in that other world again.