Safety First. Common Sense Be Damned.

My blog is suffering a terrible case of back-up. I have pictures, ideas and words to put to you but hardly the time to do so. It's all in drafts. All the jumbled bits and pieces are beginning to bottleneck. Let's get this one out of the way, while we still have time. Shall we?

When I was laid up, I made myself a promise. I swore I'd walk when I could. Maybe not fast, maybe not even aerobically, but I would walk (possibly with a limp). I expected to struggle with the heat and my will. I did not expect a struggle with my parents.

I try to rise around 7am for my walk. It beats the heat, traffic and helps me avoid other humans. I do not walk with humans. This has been hard for other humans to understand. Walking is meditative for me. It's my thinking time. I enjoy being alone on a walk and have no interest in listening to anyone's take on the newest Hilton or Kardashian dramas.

Well, you see that smashed gate? It's just down the road. The morning after one of our latest weather phenomena, I noticed it and took a quick photo. The tree fell, samshed the gate and brought down some "power" lines. These days, who knows what kind of line it really is. I knew enough to keep my distance and keep moving. Then I heard water rushing under the road so I took this little video. We've had a great deal of rain lately. This spot is usually a pile of cracked earthy crust by this time ever year, but this year it's a raging river. Well, a creek is more accurate, I suppose.

On the morning the photo and video were taken, I mentioned the gate to my mom. She asked how I knew about it and I confessed I'd seen it during my walk. She responded per her usual- dead silence, followed up by excusing herself from the phone call. Twenty minutes later, she called back and said they'd been talking about it and now wanted to talk to me about it. ::sigh::

I'll sum it up for you. A woman should not go out walking alone on the big road so early in the morning. I learned there are three terrible dangers to be avoided.

1. Rapists and Momnappers are a real threat. They are opportunistic and do not mind striking before sunrise when testosterone levels are at their highest.
   
2. What about the late for work, teenaged or drunk drivers? They are also a real threat. Do not even think that orange tshirt will protect you when they veer off and run you down in the street.
3. Wild animals are on the prowl for both the jugular vein and achilles tendon. The foxes are rabid and coyotes are wily. My knee makes me an easy target.

I reworded just a bit but that's the jest. Oh, crap! There was a fourth! Hang on...


4. The house will burn down and my sleeping children will perish while I'm away.


I don't see how I could forget that last one. But I did for one glorious moment.
I should tell you right now, my folks are odd birds. If you haven't picked up on it, that is. They mean well but I believe they have the capacity to love a creature to death. I'll tell you right now, I have struggled my whole life with my feelings for my parents. That and an effective coping mechanism to employ against them.

I walk while Joe is showering and having breakfast. I'm back within five minutes of his departure, before or after. My babies will not burn. The orange shirt is doing a fine job of making me look like a dorky roadside barrel and people (mostly) avoid the orange barrels. As far as rapists go, well...that's probably the most feasible threat because we all know they aren't looking for a hottie. I don't know... I'm not so worried about being swiped. I'm just not. But I am fashioning crotch, ankle and neck guards to fend off bitey wild things with excessive rabies and testosterone levels. Not really. I've got some pepper spray and a walking stick with which to beat them.

They want me to walk the perimeter of The Calmpound. I am to stay inside the fence. Where I am safe. And I am loved. But I'm not going to do it. I am 35 years old. I have a bad knee and lots of baggage. If I want to take that shit on the big road, I will. I've earned the right.

A Hiding Place

It's been a long week for me. You might have noticed my blogging has been more of the "Blog light" variety. (You can thank Christy for that new term.) This week I've been plagued by fatigue, a foul mood, a depressive state of unknown etiology, a deep loathing of my very own body, cooking disasters, schedule ruiners, and the makings for some really bad sex. 

I want nothing more than to bury my head in the sand. I only want to sleep and escape. My house is a wreck, my body is a wreck, and my attitude is a wreck. I feel like Medusa with a headful of snakes. Where is my cave? Where is my hiding place? Where is that peaceful state I can only dream about?

I believe peace can only be found through action. No one ever gets things back on track by lying on their left side all day while drifting in and out of consciousness, do they? No. I need to set a couple of short term goals. I need to clean any room. I need to face the funk. And this evening, when the kids are in the bed, I'll take a glass of wine out to the porch and sit with Joe. We'll talk for awhile and I'll start to feel a little better. I just know I will.