Went to a yoga class last night. You know the type of yoga you do in a sauna-esque setting, I think it's called a "hot room"? For a merciless hour and a half? Some participants were wearing wrist and ankle weights which I think I am gonna try next time. Maybe it will help with the insomnia. Maybe it will de-Frankenstein my appearance. Maybe it will help me recognize the stranger in my mirror?
The mirror, a few months ago:
It's like reverse plastic surgery I guess.
After class, some smoker stopped me on my way to my car, and asked how I liked the class. "It was hard work," I said, "but I think I'll be able to sleep tonight." "Are you single?" he asked. "No, I am married." "Where is your husband?" "He doesn't exist." "You have an imaginary husband?" "No he is real, he just doesn't exist." "That's impossible." "I know. That is why I cannot sleep."
I need to rethink my profile. For one thing I haven't been globe trotting for almost two years -- a few trips, yes, but I am not currently living the good old cosmopolitan life. Far from it actually. "World traveling", in my book anyway, is more of a lifestyle, where work and/or other international engagements necessitate the going from one country to the next and living out of a suitcase is routine. You know, what I mean, when home is on the road?
And don't even get me started about that "fashionably late" part. What was I thinking?
Mine was allright. I am still going strong with the mimicking normalcy plan. I guess my rough logic is that if your car doesn't start, you put the car in neutral, have your friends push it forward till the motion stimulates the engine into starting. Doctors on hospital shows revive patients they've just lost by mimicking the heart beat till the heart starts beating on its own. So here I am sticking with my plan and keep breathing life into our existence till things come back to life.
No one's getting much sleep around my house these days. So when I say I have no clean clothes left it is no exaggeration or no humble way of fishing for compliments -- you know, like those Chinese housewives who keep insisting that their dish is "nothing special" just something they "whipped together in a haste" but "is no good" when you and I both know that they took two days off work just to have enough time to properly marinate the crab and get every intricate detail perfectly right.
In a futile attempt of finding a clean shirt this morning I came across this thing in the back of my closet. It's about ten sizes too big so I was just about to cut off the bottom 10 or so inches with a pair of scissors, (you know, tuck the reminder in my pants and no one has to know) when it dawned on me that if I tied a belt around it this whole mess would look totally deliberate or better yet, if I tied two belts around it people might even think I am one of those fashion forward women who know exactly what they're doing. I wish I had some big necklace handy in my car but all I could find in the glove compartment were these earrings (in my humble opinion, bold pieces of jewelry are a great way to persuade the world that your get-up is pre-meditated). And you know what, as soon as I made my grand entrance into the bank this morning, the manager immediately bumped me up to the top of the line, had me sit down in one of those comfortable leather armchairs and handled all my transactions personally. It's all about the accessories I tell you.
Nevertheless, I am gonna do some laundry tonight. At least a few pairs of jeans and a couple of shirts.
Our wedding anniversary is just around the corner and the best part is Geoff is almost done with his 4-week antibiotic treatment. No offense to penicillin, (I might not be a fan of needless medication and/or overmedication but I do actually consider antibiotics my friends) but... I am gonna be so happy when he'll no longer have to take all these pills every single day:
And here's the famous intravenous penicillin. The nurse has us store it in the fridge and take it out about 1/2 an hour before she hooks it up to Geoff. Our whole house looks like a hospital I tell you.
There's even a biohazard disposal container planted in the living room. I am so happy Smokey hasn't discovered it yet.
A day with a doctor's appointment means Geoff and I have to come up with things to wear that are not covered in food spatter, coffee spills and arm pit stains. In this house, articles of such high class are hard to come by these days. I have to admit though, as much as I had to resist the urge to just roll into my car in my dirty sweats (while Geoff kept asking me if I thought the doctor would feel offended if he showed up in a bathrobe) and force myself into this semi-unattractive number that concluded the totality of non-dirty articles left in my closet -- in the end I found it quite amazing to discover what a long shower, talc, some clean clothes and a breath of fresh air can do for one's outlook on life. I am gonna do my best and try to mimic normalcy until life becomes normal again and I'll no longer have to mimic it. Does it sound like a good plan?
And in the spirit of mimicking normalcy, here is a blog post. And after I am done posting this I am gonna go do some laundry.
Your comments on my last post were so soothing -- so amazing what just a few words can do. I think somewhere between those frantic 911 calls, the ambulance ride, the intensive care doctors and defibrillator shocks, time got paralyzed for me -- like all of life was contained in a frozen moment with no exits.
Things are still not "normal" (whatever that means really), they haven't been "normal" in a year and a half but still, somewhere in all this craziness, the lack of sleep, the nurses coming and going, happiness still shines through. It's not that stuff like this makes anyone happy, hell no, but that very reason why you want to get through, the reason why you just don't want to give up -- that reason is innately integrated with life and happiness and I am telling you it does shine through.