I woke up at 4.30 am very ill. A mild migraine, sick to my stomach, my joints, from my spine through my hips and shoulders felt like they belonged to a 90 yr old. I hurt as bad as if the synovial fluid had been drained from my joints and replaced with grits.
At 5 am it was 29 degree's, higher than we have had mid-day for the past week. But another storm is bearing down on us and there is no telling what it will bring, though more snow is forecast today. I put on a down jacket trying to keep warm, but my feet, despite my scattering dirty clothes all over the concrete floor of this shed, seem not to want to "thaw out."
I spent yesterday shoveling snow for my boss, putting down salt to prevent ice build up making it unsafe for him, and trying to knock down a massive icicle that was threatening to bring down the roof of the pool room.
With Copper outside the door of this shed even praying for a thaw is beyond me, but, well...
What I want to do is put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and walk out of my own home into summer sunlight to see Oscar and Copper playing. I want my dear stallion Kontiki stood in his paddock nickering for me. I want to see his one and only son, a stallion that took me 24 years to produce, stood in his paddock waiting his turn to continue the *Bask line of sport horses. I want to return to my home and make breakfast in my own kitchen with my mother and grand-children present.
Since when did "normal" become the unobtainable "American Dream" even when you have paid for it?
At 11 pm last night the name of the woman in Wal-Mart came on like a deranged light bulb, a remnant of what used to be a memory before I went through the past 3 years. I was speaking to Jan from San Patricio, John Boyd's friend. Nothing I said would have made an ounce of sense to her, but I had no idea who she was. I'm confident that she walked away thinking I'd lost my ever loving mind. She wouldn't have been far wrong.
Our Age of Anxiety is, in great part, the result of trying to do today's jobs with yesterday's tools. ~ Marshall McLuhan