Just Can't Pick it Up

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So, feeling, once again like I have my shit together, but having a lot of trouble picking it up.

Let me tell you about the weekend.

Saturday morning I woke to a swollen left ankle. Big deal, cry me a river, right?

Well, I had a choice of which leg to put on the floor. The swollen, very painful ankle, or the still real stiff, swollen, surgically repaired (twice) knee.

I laid in bed from 3:30 to 7 a.m.

Thinking...

Of Jeff

Of Dad

Of Aunt Carolyn

Of Uncle Jim

WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF?

I didn't say it was profound thinking.

My problem being that I needed that time to lie there and consider everything. Besides, if I'd gotten up, I would have had to let the dogs out, feed them, and give them a ride in the car.

I took a pain pill.

It would work for the ankle and the knee. It wouldn't work for the WTF? portion of the program.

By 7:00 I got out of bed. I put on a pair of pajamas and headed to the door with the dogs. I stayed in the backyard, looking up, feeling the love of those who'd gone, but feeling the pain they left behind.

Melky immediately wanted her ride. I didn't have milk for the coffee anyway.

So I limped to the car.

Damaged as I was, I felt that I could still move forward.

Picture it:

Limping on both legs...doing the ow, ow, shit, ow, mother fu&%$, as I walked down the aisle of the mostly empty store. In my pajama bottoms, Carhartt, and sneakers with untied laces.

I felt the eyes of the cashier boring a hole through my back. She must have been thinking: "WTF?"

If she only knew.

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