Work In Progress

After months of sorting out the details, a return to work date was set.  I had a month.     That sounds like a long time.  If you work full time right now and someone said you had a month off work it would feel like forever and you would probably howl with delight, fist pumping your way around the office.  Having been off work for almost two years, a month felt like a moment away.     Twelve trips to the gym, four weekends, only a few more chances to spend the day with Sista....how could I possibly get everything done that I wanted to do before I went back?   Tick-tock.  Tick-tock.   A grinding of gears heralded the resumption of the countdown clock that overshadowed my eight week adult day treatment program. A deadline....a deadly line.... slipping through my fingers as I desperately grasped at each lesson, at each session  because I only had 40 days to be "fixed", become capable, balanced, competent and whole.   Only the tick-tock was my heart...po

I have written often of the "small world" of my back deck - here and here - and here  and (sheesh) here  where I cocooned my first summer after my crash, reading, writing and just learning how to live inside my body and yet be part of the world that existed just outside my patio doors. It was my haven---a morning glory entwined gazebo, purple-pink sunrises, warm breezes and warmer coffee.  From the comfort of my chair, I could watch the "big world" go by over my fence.   Each morning, mass transit swallowed waiting patrons, only to spit them out at the end of the day as they returned home.  I imagined them all going to work-- happy, competent, well adjusted and 'normal'.  At the end of the day, they came home--- mostly looking like their same happy, competent, well adjusted, 'normal' selves.   It made me feel small and broken and terrified---and definitely not normal.      The "big world" was too much for me, a

Before , when I was working and 'moming' and home making and being a  Perfectionista----before the crash and the dark spiral and the hospital and the rebuilding----before all of that I used to be able to fit into a little red sheath dress. I have written about this dress before, here and here ; how my shape changed; about learning to be comfortable with the change to softer and rounder. For a time, I went to the gym and gave it a solid effort and when I didn't see results I shrugged and gave in to poptarts and brownies.  Instead of facing the muffin in the mirror I continued to buy bigger clothes.  To me, it was always about how the clothes felt and not the number on the scale.  I don't even own a scale! I bought some cute dresses that flared at the waist.  Tops were loose and pants were stretchy.  Trips to the local second hand store inched further and further up the size scale to find things that fit. But the red dress sat in the closet, a constant remin

My youngest discovered a new game on my phone. Tiles glide up the screen to classical music and the goal is to tap the dark ones.  Variations include the tiles speeding up and slowing down, more or fewer tiles, varied colors , etc.  I get dizzy just watching  and am pretty sure he will do some serious damage to his eyes if he plays for long.  Clever designer though---the classical music somehow makes me feel, as a parent, it can't be all bad.  Recently he was on a roll and announced he might reach 1000 successful taps. I watched over his shoulder as his score climbed; his fingers beating a staccato rhythm on the screen. As he got closer, I held my breath hoping he would make it:  856, 910, 980, 1000....1021!   "Look mom!  Look!", his face beamed in pure joy as he swung around to show me the screen. "Awesome job honey! I saw! You were CRAZY fast!"  I planted a big noisy kiss on his velvet cheek. As I turned back to the task of pulling d