“Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some kind of pain.” ~ Bob Dylan
“The most fundamental aggression to ourselves, the most fundamental harm we can do to ourselves, is to remain ignorant by not having the courage and the respect to look at ourselves honestly and gently.” ~ Pema Chödrön
“One of the challenges with pain—physical or psychic—is that we can really only approach it through metaphor. It can’t be represented the way a table or a body can. In some ways pain is the opposite of language.” ~ John Green
It has taken 68 hours for me to feel the desire to move. At all. It was a big help to have the Nurse Practitioner highly recommend medical cannabis as a muscle relaxant, in lieu of a pharmaceutical analog, which she cautioned against. Nuff said there; I was gonna do it anyway. It was the comment about her hair that endeared her to me. She had just gotten a haircut, to make a donation of her long ponytail to Wigs for Kids. It made it hard for her to figure out how to tie her hair back to keep it out of her eyes while stitching up my brow. Finally she said, “Oh, I’ll just tie it up top and look like Bam Bam”. She had let it hang loose again before I finally opened my eyes, so I never got to see it. Before beginning the suturing she said, “You look like a ‘fix-y guy’, so I’ll walk you through it”. And she did, along with her explanations to her nurse, a young Native woman who was just about as pretty as can be, a major part of her beauty conveyed with a smile that rivaled Julia Roberts. Listen, there is a load of healing force in beauty and humor. Nine stitches later . . . yeh, let’s just say that I left some skin on the white line of the highway in front of the store where I work – and jiggled my brain around pretty good. I’m okay. Lovely black eye as well. It was an accident, but I never got to confront the driver who had played large part in it. Oddly enough, he looked like Warren Zevon. He rolled his window down and said, “Are you alright?”. I flashed him a peace sign and silently told him to get the fuck away from me. Within maybe 30 minutes I was on my back in the examination room, with two women, one seriously funny and the other strikingly pretty. Today the shock is mostly lifting. I’ve got a gnarly headache. A need to do a small load of laundry. A throbbing soreness on my left temple. Of course there is also the fact that a head injury was how my PTSD was born in the first place. Don’t know yet how that’s going to play out, but I reckon I will have recovered my brain by the time I get to work tomorrow. Ouch.
All is well. Goof gloriously.