Ouch

My threshold for pain astonishes me. Good God. I’m not even shocked when my basement fireplace springs a leak on the outside wall allowing 2 gallons of water every 15 minutes into living space. Of course. After a brief smirk and “huh”, I begin systematic bailing/mopping that lasts 4 hours. All this on an already pulled/strained back muscle I acquired taking on gardening work to keep bills paid while the government continues to argue about the film incentives. In an attempt to heal my back, I mowed the lawn with one arm. That was fun. Ran out of gas with 4 swipes left. Of course. I tarred my own roof this spring. Just in time. Wet basement. Bone dry ceilings. Roseanne Roseannadanna runs through my head. This followed by efforts to diminish the unpleasantness via comparison to tornado victims. Coulda been worse. Yeah, but it still sucked ass.

I love that I CAN do all this on my own. I’m also sick of it. I’ve more than demonstrated my independence. I’m sick of not being the girl. It does keep me fit (when I’m not injured) and saves money. So fucking what. I’m tired of bruised and beat up knees/shins in shorts. Trashed hands that are 15 years older than the rest of me. Manual labor can suck it.

I do love a strong body. My theory is that body will come through in old age. My elderly nightmare is shuffling around a nursing home with a workout consisting of lifting nothing heavier than a checker. My Gramps passed on the athlete genes and was living proof the body you nurture lingers. Even as an old man he had a massive chest and could kill you with his bare hands. (For real. Thug experience not withstanding.) A body in motion stays in motion. This strained back muscle is part of pushing physical limits. I’d rather be sore or in pain than a gelatinous mass on the couch. Motion also helps my head. Move a muscle change a thought. I can indulge in delectables at book club, eat my weight in cheesy potatoes at Easter and still rock the skinny jeans with no muffin top. For an old broad, that’s a feat worth acknowledging.

The torn muscle also indicates it’s had enough. It’s tired, over used and needs a break. My life has been unrecognizable for a while. I’ve hung in, battled hard. I’m exhaustified. I want to go to bed and stay there. I can’t wait to get to the cottage this summer. I always think I need more time than I actually do. I like my life, as weird as it is. After a few days I’m ready to get back at it. I’m really hoping the State House passes the new bill to support films made in Michigan next week. I’m ready to devote myself to renting and making art. I’ll move my body via mountain bike. I’m somewhat alarmed at how much pain I’ve learned to tolerate. I’m also grateful I’m not the whiner I used to be. Balance. Some lolling on the dock cultivating a tan while reading a trashy novel is warranted. Will someone get me a drink? I’m too tired to move.