Well, my life has become the 3 legged dog.
There used to be four legs. I felt balanced. Work was great, friends groovy, family's healthy, and I was in love with the man of my dreams.
Then one day I got hit by a bus and lost one of my legs.
Work was still great.
Friends still groovy.
Family's health and well being--still there.
But the man of my dreams, well, he went off into the dark midnight.
I have spent the last month remembering the how's, what's, & why's of the breakup. Trying to make myself feel better by putting life into perspective, appreciating what I have, what I've been given, & what I've worked for.
But that one ghost leg, well I felt that loss like someone cut my jugular.
especially after a couple of martini's...
at night...
alone in bed.
However, even cutting out the martini's...at night....alone in bed still fucking sucked.
You would think that with life's experience it would get easier, but its doesn't. Visions of a natural disaster filled my head. Earthquake, Flood, Apocalypse. No one's there to help fight off Zombie's, those Mad Max guys, or the WeHo bandits who want to loot my cupboards because I was a Mormon once and have a weakness for food storage.
My team was disassembled.
The time has crept on since that awful Sunday, it's been 4 weeks, but it feels like 4 billion years. Some days are harder than others. No idea why I'm fine on Tuesday, but Thursday I've got tears in my ears and gargling with Draino sounds like the best idea since sliced bread.
It has been extremely difficult and I've let a lot of things slip. I hold myself together at work, because even an emotional puddle like me knows that would be REALLY BAD!! But as soon as 6pm hits, it's as if I exhale and the emotional tornado hits me head on. I race home, slam the door, lock the locks, and hide in my PJ's on the couch.
Eating hasn't been my favorite either--except cake.
I really love to eat cake and popcorn.
oh and beer.Not wine, its giving me bigger headaches than usual. And I tried the liquor way & well I was in the bathroom from 4am to 10am the next morning regretting that vodka solution.
I'm sure if I googled those 3 items, a diet proven to work would pop up. But, I'm guessing the way my jeans aren't zipping up, it's not the best way to go.
Let just say I'm out of whack. Not only emotionally, but physically.
All week I was sick, little by little I got worse and worse, till I finally had to stay home from work.
As I was laying on the couch in a Ny-quil induced trip, midway through Ugly Betty season 3, waiting for the Hot & Sour Soup to be delivered, I called out UNCLE!
This was NOT the way I was going to meet my demise. "I'm a kickboxing bad ass writer that has a wonderful job, great friends, and a hot as hell wardrobe. I'm not going to take this laying down!"
Well, I had to take it laying down because I was really fucking sick. BUT like the 3 legged dog, I knew I had to teach myself to walk again. I mean the dog knows his leg isn't there, but after a while it's like it was never there. Life as he knows it goes on. Fire hydrants, garbage smells, fence posts, the world again is his oyster. He doesn't whine about it or drink vodka from his dog dish. I had to learn to get back to my life.
Today I woke up feeling like a new woman. First off I could breath, not being filled with toxins was kind of awesome, and my voice didn't sound like I smoked a pack of menthol's.
This weekend I'm heading back to Muay Thai, I'm working on a writing project tossed aside "back in the day", and you know, I'm even going to start training for that half marathon I signed up for when I was drunk.
So take that universe! I'm back and working on being better than ever.
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