“It’s hard not to find it all a little bittersweet, and lookin’ back on all of that, it’s nice to believe…. When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think my favourite song— the one we danced to all night long, the moon like a spotlight on the lake. When you think happiness, I hope you think that little black dress, think of my head on your chest and my old faded blue jeans; when you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me….” –Tim McGraw, Taylor Swift
Catching up with some friends over the past few weeks, they’ve had the usual greetings: “how are you?” “How have you been?”
To most, my reply is some variant of “I’ve been really well!” To these particularly close friends, I answered “Physically, I’m pretty much dead, but otherwise, I’m good!”
My health’s been sort of a mess lately— physically, mentally, emotionally….
I take more pills than most people twice my age.
I’m stressed, anxious, or depressed at nearly any given moment.
I sleep at the most absurd hours, then can’t sleep at night and vice versa in a horrid cycle.
I’ve had some sort of cold/allergy hybrid for several weeks now, waking my (poor, poor) roommate and I up in the wee hours of the morning each day.
My knee, fragile from an accident in high school, has been only borderline functional for several months. With dance starting up, my lack of mobility becomes a more and more urgent issue.
Much to my dismay, I haven’t been to the gym since June.
That’s a long time. A really long time. Instead, I’ve been moping or recuperating on nearly a constant basis.
One of my favourite things to do is run out to the battlefield. I end up at one of my favourite spots in the world.
A four-mile run isn’t the best decision when you can barely walk, however.
It’s frustrating. It’s horrifying to feel so utterly helpless. It’s humiliating to think that something as simple as basic steps are so often beyond my power.
But I will get over this. I will persevere and get back to the field, you have my word.