I have at least a dozen thoughts moving through my consciousness right now. I am overwhelmed. My body is mending; my emotions are bruised. My head hurts. Everything hurts. Every once in a while, I’ll flash on some image or feeling from the accident and I’ll cry hot tears for about two minutes, and then it’s done. Until it happens again.
I’ve spent the week in bed, watching marathon episodes of Mad Men and Orange is The New Black. I found a PBS produced documentary on Wonder Woman that was fantastic. I watched the clock, waiting for the next pain pill. I forced myself up and down the stairs, twice on the second day after the accident, and three times on day three. Today I didn’t count, the stairs just came, gently. I stared at the screen of my laptop, wanting to write, but felt scattered, unfocused. I managed the necessary phone calls, to my work, to the insurance company, to my doctor. I slept, and cried, and waited for the time to pass.
This week was the second anniversary of my first date with Special Man Friend, and it’s the sole relationship milestone that we celebrate. It was important to me. It came and it went in the middle of this haze, and now it is over. Gone.
I’m hypersensitive and crabby, teary and stir crazy.