Sshhh, listen, do you hear that?
That’s not idle cranial chatter pinging around in my brainpan. That’s the sound of genuine, bona fide thoughts. Lucid ones. Isn’t that something after all this time; I can think again. That or the marbles got loose.
So what mysterious force sparked this resurgence, you ask? I don’t know. My little world went topsy-turvy on me this month, like a snow globe in a paint shaker. Upheaval and disorientation are the orders of the day lately.
First, I moved to an unfamiliar area. Then I had the thyroid ablation, a tiny nuclear bomb in pill form. Then parted from the one constant I had, namely my dog. And, as a final insult, I got caught in a knock-down-drag-out-fight with the wind. That’s right, I said the wind. See : ixnay on the indway* :
It came blasting out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time to assault me in public, in full view of office workers, in broad daylight. I was tossed and blown and ricocheted when I wasn’t clinging like a bad smell to handholds and dear life. My entire self-image came into question.
No longer was I the reckless, undaunted dame I believed I was, but a quivering weakling. An ignoble wuss. It was disgraceful. There is shame in such cowardice, plenty of wisdom, too, but it was the shame that gnawed at me.
Was that going to be my future, I wondered, a craven, skittish existence? Was I destined to be the pigeon in my new and alien neighborhood? Oy. I drew the curtains and dragged my sorry self through days of bitter recriminations and muttered epithets. Until I awoke that sunny Saturday morning to my seminal moment, my epiphany, which was: Wait a second, I’m not a weakling!
I don’t cower. I’m not timid. And I can take a punch, dammit. So snap out of it.
Okay, as seminal moments go, it lacked panache. But it was effective, it was rational, it was even motivating. I began venturing out into my new neighborhood, on foot and unaccompanied. It’s not scary, in fact, it’s kind of wonderful. There’s a sense of community here and architecture and church bells and wide, tree-lined avenues. My bunker mentality has evaporated. This feels like home.
I stand up straighter, I’ve regained my footing and some of my confidence. New ideas occasionally pop into my head (at least I hope they’re ideas, not arteries), like the days when I had focus. The executions still blow, but the ideas are solid. Where there are ideas, there is hope.
Things are slowly returning to normal and life is good.
Copyright © Publikworks 2012
the whirly girl 
8 responses to “: seminal moments in the new ‘hood :”
I’m so happy to hear this! You sound great!
What in the world happened to your dog? Oh, no.
LikeLike
Things have worked out so much better than I imagined they would, that’s for sure. I’m just so happy things are settling back down and returning to a more normal rhythm. It’s been a long and stressful couple of months.
Thanks for sticking with me, Angie. You’ve been a true and loyal blogger buddy, I won’t forget it. xo
LikeLike
Glad to hear you’ve left the bunker. But please do explain about your little pooch guy.
LikeLike
It’s nice to be out, Susan. I was getting cabin fever.
My little pooch guy is healthy and happy and staying with friends. I think he’s having the time of his life, to be honest. See my reply to Lenore Diane for details.
Thanks for stopping by, it was nice to hear from you!
LikeLike
My two fur balls like me, but as adapto-cats, they’d be happy with anyone who looks after them. Although you must miss the Wonderdog, hurrah for finding him a new happy, home.
LikeLike
I miss the little dude more than I thought possible. I do see him often, but it’s not the same, you know? I feel like a divorced parent with visitation rights. Still, he’s happy and this is a temporary thing. I hope. Thanks for commisserating, Susan, I appreciate it.
LikeLike
Yay! We love normal. Wait. I don’t know normal. Well, I like what I hear about normal. (smile) Um, Lisa – what did I miss about your dog? You mentioned your dog … is your pooch OK?
Sounds to me like the blunk is over, eh? Woo hoo!
LikeLike
I should have qualified normal to ‘my normal’, which is no one else’s definition. Someone told me once there’s no such thing, anyway. Normal is simply a dryer setting. I thought that was a great line.
About Bart the Wonderdog: he’s flourishing. My new place, the only one I can afford, won’t allow pets. A friend of mine has taken in the little guy and made him part of the family. He has a fenced in backyard, little kids to play with, and a new dog buddy. I visit him frequently and he ignores me. He has better things to do. He’s off a leash for the first time in his life and he’s in heaven. Thanks for asking.
The blunk might be lifting, but it lingers. I’m just not happy with my posts so far this year — they seem kind of flat and lifeless. But I’m not going to give up. I’m determined to work my way out of this. Somehow. Wish me luck.
LikeLike