Sunday, January 6, 2019
Last bit of a beautiful afternoon, light breeze, sixty-nine degrees. Cloudless blue sky. Ili has gone to visit her parents, so I had the day to myself. I made breakfast before she left, and she was on the road by eleven. I went to the gym and walked an inclined treadmill and walked on a stair stepper machine. I came home and showered and dressed and got my cameras and lenses together. I was going to take advantage of the day. I drove out to a stretch of highway that I thought might be promising. When I got there, I drove into a market and parked the car. I felt small and vulnerable as I pulled my cameras onto my shoulder. I snapped a photo of a palm tree and began to walk. The distance between things is greater at foot speed than at sixty. Nothing was as interesting and it took me a long time to walk from thing to thing. I moved slowly, my ribs hurting, but more just because I was slow. In minutes, I was worn out. What had I thought I was going to do? I didn't have the moxie.
I struggled back to the car, twisted gingerly, slung the camera bag into the passenger seat with great effort, and pulled myself up into the seat. Then I sat. The day was beautiful, and I sat on a sad, ugly piece of road on my day off, tired, worn out, spent.
It was a sullen reminder of where I am physically right now. I am not up to much. Sitting around the house, I feel fine. But the world. . . it is still too much.
The sun sinks lower in the sky. The temperature drops. Ili is not home. I will be hungry soon, and I will want a drink. I am as dependent as a child.
Perhaps soon. . . .
Posted by cafe selavy at 7:32 AM