I’m going to let this photo speak for itself as much as I can. Obviously, I am miserable. Oh, explain you say? Gotcha.
I woke up yesterday feeling 1000% better than I had the previous two days. I’d gotten a full night’s sleep and my pain seemed to be gone. I went downtown to see my roommate, pay bills (gonna #1), and then headed to Strawberry Hill for a quick walk (gonna #2).
I slipped on my tennis shoes and got through the walk pretty swiftly, taking my usual break at the overlook to rest and enjoy the scenery. I took off down the last stretch, which is a decline. I wasn’t exerting too much energy past the forces gravity had upon me when I was slapped backward in the chest.
Not by a branch or even a hobo living in the woods. No, by my own heart, reminding me that I have some kind of arrhythmia that eludes medical science. It didn’t want me to move on, even though it had been two years. Selfish of it, eh?
I called my dad who talked me down, then my mom who let me cry. I don’t know who said exercising on an empty stomach was a good idea, but I want my money back. And my day. And my night, the one I’m losing as I sit here, chest sore, scared to close my eyes.
Even after an assuring phone call from Marigold (because stepmother just sounds so wrong), I feel uneasy inside. I feel exhausted. But most of all, I feel upset that my day of gonnas was derailed.
I know that it was best of me not to force myself to do anything else, but part of me can’t help but feel guilty. I feel like I’m breaking a promise to everyone who reads this. And more importantly, I feel like I’m breaking a promise to myself.
I know I have to get better, but I don’t want to give up on the chance of normalcy. And I absolutely, positively, damn-sure don’t want to give up on this project. It has to be seen through, even if I have to take baby steps. I just hope that I’m a little less Bob about it.
Today, I’m gonna: pack up and drive home, do a few resumés, and hang out with family and friends who can respect that I need a slow speed for a little while.
(P.S. I was serious about those letters/emails/texts of encouragement. While remarks upon my radiance alone are fine, you may also comment on my never-ending wit and my impressive pop-culture knowledge. If I like it enough, I might buy you a pizza.*)