At Least They're Committed

Maybe it was because the brace was on tight. Or perhaps it was the shot to make my leg right. But I think that the most likely reason of all is that . . . I broke down and prayed to be healed. Typically, I prefer not to bother God or the heavenly hosts with my trivial and not-so-trivial aches and pains and prefer to focus on more important issues — like my children, His children and the plight of the Earth. But my injured right leg was breaking me (note, former posts) mentally and physically and I wasn’t much good to anyone . . and THAT is a fate worse than death.

“Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the Word, and I shall be healed,” I broke down and prayed a couple of times, and asked Raphael, the archangel of health and healing, to step in if he wouldn’t mind. BAM! The next morning I woke up and, having put the brace on, found myself moving in ways I hadn’t in weeks.

When this bad-leg-o’-the-journey started, Bug said, “Amazing, isn’t it, how you take things for granted until you can’t do them anymore.” How true that is. It’s almost as if you need to worry that when you say things such as, “As long as I’m mobile, I’ll be OK,” it draws the attention of nefarious energies, which then target you for attack.

I was giddy Thursday and Friday — definitely not taking my mobility for granted. I did a deep cleaning of the entire house, washing rugs and all that — even cleaning the laundry room — before remembering to put the brace on. I was only reminded to don it after I was done cleaning, when I felt a small twinge in my hip. So, I braced up here and it fixed it down there.

Huh, why did that happen to me anyway? Does there need to be a why? Probably not. But, what if someone wished that infirmness on me? What if I was cursed? Gasp! I have kept to myself this past year, but if I’ve inadvertently wronged someone, I hope the past three weeks covered my penance. And if I didn’t wrong anyone, you know, if like someone wished bad things on me because they did bad things to me and they’re trying to justify it in their minds, well, right back at ya threefold folks!

It’s interesting how some people, when they feel like they’ve done someone wrong, try to justify it by nit-picking the little irritating things about the person they wronged.

“I broke up with her because I hate the way she eats potato chips.”

“He coughs like he’s dying, as if he needs scores of sympathy for post-nasal drip.”

“I’m afraid she’s going to tell my secrets, so I’m shutting her out of my life so nobody finds out about me.”

*Shrug*

I took some ‘me’ time Saturday. While D was getting a haircut I finally got a chance to get my face waxed. It’s not as if I’m fuzzy or anything, it’s just a great way to super-exfoliate and get my brows shaped all at once. The young woman who administered the waxing was lovely and very kind.

“That hurt?” No, I’m fine.

“You OK?” Yes, feels good.

“You sure?” Yes!

“You have beautiful skin; but very thin skin!”

Oh, now that did pique my interest. Hmmm, I said aloud. I realize as you get older your skin gets thinner. I chuckled. 

The irony is not lost on me. I have never been more thick-skinned yet my skin has never before been thin. I know from my mothers’ experiences that it is just gonna get worse. Then I can fuss and whimper about every little bruise and minute scrape I get ‘just by brushing against the door jamb.’ (Note, my mother doesn’t do that.) I just don’t care that much. Perhaps my body is now hyper-absorbing nutrients that would naturally go toward my epidermis, channeling it instead to protect my psyche. Works for me.

Thing is, I might not look as youthful as I’d like, but I’m doing OK. Although I ask my hair stylist of 20 years whether I have more gray, he always laughs and says, “Nope.”

I would love to have elegant silver or white hair and by golly, I’ve been thrown enough hard knocks in life to deserve it! Yet alas, with skin so thin it’s nearly a sin, and knees that fold like floorboards of old, all I can do is say is damn, Sam, thin-skinned I am.