I hadn't felt well all day, and after work I'd come home to the same chaos of house and garden that has been plaguing me - and getting steadily worse - for months. The two week heat wave had finally broken; the evening was deliciously cool and misty - paradise for someone with more than 600 plants yet to plant. But I was worn out and in pain, so instead of planting I sat down with my journal - and an ice pack on my back - and began to write...
6/15/05
Wednesday
5:45 pm
I feel desperate. I want someone to see that my world is imploding and to take charge and Fix It, and no one will because no one can, even if anyone did. Notice.
Today would have been THE perfect planting day weather-wise, but I couldn't get any time off. But then, I doubt I could have done much anyway, because my back is such a mess. Not only that but ...
This morning I had my coffee-and-cigarette ritual outside and came straight back in, forgetting to get the newspapers for Mom. So out I went again, trudged to the end of the driveway, got halfway back and said out loud, "Why do I only have a paper in one hand?" Starting back down I realized I'd looked toward where the Trib always gets thrown - and right past it at the weeds growing through the hostas under the redbud, then back over to where the foot-tall chickweed is pretending to be ground cover. Thinking about the weeds engulfing the gardens had entirely distracted me from picking up the second newspaper.
By the time I was nearing the house with both papers - and our driveway is maybe 50 feet long at most - I had broken out into a soaking sweat. For the next 50 minutes or so I continued to pour down sweat as if breaking from a fever. There were flowerpots in the bathtub and I felt too fried to move them to take a shower, so I sat in front of the computer with a fan blowing on me. I didn't even try to get ready for work until it was almost time to leave, and was 40 minutes late.
Driving to work, I felt like a pretzel. Dr. Shannon, my adored chiropractor, confirmed that my pelvis was tilted one way and the ribcage twisted the other way. She said the position could upset my stomach; that explained the heartburn I've been having. When I described the sweating episode to her, she said if it wasn't hormones (it isn't) it's a sign that my sympathetic nervous system is on stress overload. Yeah. Tell me something I don't know. Take it easy away from work, she said. Let go, she said. But letting go is what makes everything worse. I've let everything go - straight to hell.
Or maybe I'm not "letting go" when I read all evening and do nothing that needs to be done. Maybe I'm staying physically tense while my mind is otherwise occupied. I know I'm grinding my teeth every waking moment. Maybe - oh, look! a little possum out eating the peanuts - a baby! TWO! One on the step above the other. Where's momma? Now they're gone.
I swear, I think Nature is the only thing that gives me real joy any more. Dr. Shannon had the most wonderful picture for June on her calendar, so dear it made me want to laugh and cry at once: of all things, a pair of blue-footed boobies from the Galapagos Islands, side by side, the male taking a studiously nonchalant, Chaplinesque step in his courtship dance. Shannon promised I could have it when June is over, and I mean to frame it.
God damn - when I think of that picture, I feel uplifted, and then angry and impatient with my feebleness, and I want to try just exclaiming, "I HAVE energy! I CAN do it!" and get up and plow into the disaster around me head on. But I'm afraid to do that - afraid to awaken the burning in my chest, afraid something will go sproing in my back - afraid to fail.
But you know - on the strength of two baby possums and a blue-footed booby's courting dance, I will do something tonight. Open a box, top off the cutting vases, maybe even do a container. Put away all these books I've finished reading.
7:10 pm
I moved all but one tray, one pot and one flat of plants out from under the overhang to the uncovered deck and into the falling mist. I also took four of the new plants outside. And my chest is on fire.
7:15 pm
Okay, my chest has already eased but it's not entirely right yet. Too bad there is so much damn bending involved. I can't sit or kneel because (a) there is no room, and (b) I'm too fat to bend forward from - raccoon! - a ground sitting position, and I haven't been able to kneel for years - my knees can't take the weight.
8:05 pm
For about half an hour I watched the raccoon eat the nut pieces I'd thrown outside for the birds and critters, holding so still that I got really stiff. When she left, I put the last 5 plants outside, moved the last few things out from under the overhang, then stepped and staggered like Gulliver between the houses of Lilliput around the deck righting pots that had tipped over.
It didn't take any time at all for my chest to start hurting again. Costochondritis sucks. But at least I did get something done tonight.
