Sinister: Meandering Metaphors for a Better Tomorrow

[rrrrobyn]

Hello!
No, really, Hello!

Not sure where to begin, so here's the middle.

Did I ever mention that I was born in 1975? Yes, That Song just came
on randomly. I'm certain I was happy then, on and off. But what that
also means is that I'm turning 30 in January! I'm excited about this
though and will be having a party with some kind of theme. (The theme
may just be Booze though, possibly Scotch (though maybe Whiskey or
Rye.)) Anyway, I'm not big on measuring time with the usual
increments, but 30 seems a good age to toast the measurement that is
the Year and then all the other measurements that I've used up until
now, including Fun, Ideas, Good Meals, Excellent People, TV Shows,
Things I've Read, Places I've Lived/Visited, Pets, "Relationships",
etc., etc. I like numbers, certainly, but you've got to count
some*thing*, and those things seem more important than the numbers
themselves. (But forget this tug o' war btwn abstractions and the
things; let them live together as they should, no fighting.)

And from the depths of the draft folder comes the following two
paragraphs:

I think a good cheer-up song is "Secondhand News", but that's my
nostalgia-related soft soft for Fleetwood Mac (b/c, I mean, it's kind
of a sad song despite the toe-tappiness.) (Not from draft folder: I
have a new computer now so I'm going to download that song so it can
come on randomly. (Yes, though I could download before, I couldn't
really listen while doing other computery things. 200MHz processor! A
friend correctly identified this as masochistic, and, with the death
of ye old laptop and the introduction of laptop-manna from heaven, I
must agree.))

Injury story... I seem to get minor injuries fairly often, mostly
bruises and small cuts from bike riding, running into table edges,
cutting limes while drunk, etc... Once I fell off a skateboard after
drinking half a litre of red wine at the beach. The next morning I
stood up to get out of bed and immediately fell down due to the
*pain*. Having never broken a bone before, I assumed that this was
the major pain everyone had been talking about re: broken bones.
However, the emerg doctor said I'd torn pretty much all the ligaments
in my right foot, and there was nothing he could do about it. Oh,
maybe my hangover coloured his tone cruel and mocking, but still. It
took a month for my foot to feel right again. A few years later when
I broke my wrist snowboarding (not drunk), the pain seemed less
severe, yet I was treated with nothing but kindness and a plaster
cast (and codeine). 

Thinking about the broken wrist now (not from the draft folder), I
remember when the cast came off and feeling as if the part of my arm
that had been in the cast did not really belong to me, as it seemed
to simply sit there off the end of my elbow, all soft and pale and
weak, like some abandoned animal I had to take care of. It's funny
how quickly our bodies adapt to change, forget about what was and
move on with the show. Mentally, of course, I wanted my arm back. So
when it did come back I'm sure some part of my body was, like, "oh,
*this* again? eesh." And then that part was crushed by Arm Power.
What is this a metaphor for? I'm sure it's a metaphor for something
because why else would I think it? I'd say it's a metaphor for things
you sometimes forget about but still want in your life because
they've got some kind of necessary power, a place in your life that
makes things better. 

So, hey, Sinister, I notice that you're still 1500-odd strong.
Different, but still kicking. Not a blip in time, but time itself, I
say. Both measurable and something I don't want to measure, with
evenings, mornings, afternoons or otherwise. I'm obviously having a
Being day (, dude.)

blip-blip,
Robyn


=====
I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything. ~Steven Wright
~~~
Robyn Fadden    rfadden at yahoo.com    Montreal, QC


	
		
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