The Downside of Being Mobile
You would think that I would be thrilled to be vehicularized once more [Wheels]. I am. However, it is dawning on me that life is not all beer and skittles.
Honey, would you get hay tomorrow morning? Oh, wait. That’s right. I can get hay. Any time. And unload it. All by myself. I can’t be an empowered 21st century woman and expect my husband to do all the heavy lifting, can I? No really, I’m asking, can I? I’m madly trying to think of a logic that works here. No such luck.
I am back in the pool. After this long, the best I can manage is 10 minutes, maybe 15 with lots of breaks. Locate non-barn, muggle clothes. Dress. Drive. Change. Swim. Reverse process. Seems like an awful lot of work for not much return.
For seven months, I’ve had an automatic excuse. I can’t socialize, volunteer, otherwise participate in the outside world because I can’t get there. So I fell into a rut. Now, the excuse is gone. The rut lingers on. It reminds me of the time I broke my ankle. I was delighted to get off the crutches and into a walking cast. No one warned me that being allowed to walk on it was different than wanting to walk on it. Ow. Ow. Ow. So, my isolation crutch is gone. Now I have to start walking again. Metaphorically. Psychological-ow. Psychological-ow. Psychological-ow.
The fourth E would be Exposure [Dunno, scroll to end].
Thank you for reading,