Wrecked

Inspirational song: Waiting for the Mail (Charlie Robison)

I feel like I should give an update, after expressing my despair last night over how slow my mail delivery has been. Of the two packages that were still missing, one did finally show up. It was predicted to arrive on the 21st, and today it suddenly popped back up on the radar, and the tracking said it was headed my way. I'm glad it made it. It was a new abstract painting by my favorite artist. Quelle surprise! It is lovely, and I can't wait to get it framed and to find a place of honor for it. The lines on it are very bold, and it's striking. I am really enjoying getting to know it. It always takes several viewings to see it fully, to develop a relationship with it. This process is so much fun.

I'm developing other relationships too. I am finally starting to see the end of my stint as an elderly shut in, and lately I have been reconnecting with some movie buddies, and gaining a new one. The youngest Bonfire came over tonight, and we had dinner (I am an excellent cook!) and watched the first Anchorman, so we can go see the second one with all the original jokes fresh in our minds. Perhaps not the most highbrow entertainment we could choose, but it was absolutely necessary. And once the bottle of wine was drained, and the movie was over, we switched to getting her caught up on a little pop culture. I couldn't believe she had never seen or heard Wrecking Ball, not the original or the Chatroulette version. (Seriously, if you haven't seen the Chatroulette version, look it up. And then tell me that this guy is not Keith Moon reincarnated.) It was so nice to have a night to relax and be silly and to be no one but myself.

I get the idea that I failed at physical therapy this morning. I was only assigned exercises, but they were to be done at home, not in the clinic with their machines. I think if I had had more supervision, I might have either seen more progress, or known sooner that it would end this way. But I am not so surprised, if I am to be honest. I am a little stronger, but I still can't walk more than about 20 yards at a decent pace without feeling like I have just hit the corner of a coffee table at a dead run. It's so depressing to be hurt someplace where no one else ever gets injured, and no one knows how to treat. I'm a wreck.