I missed my ride today--my paratransit ride. I couldn't get out of my house. I mean, I got out my house, I just couldn't close the side door that leads to my fabulous ramp which brings me to the street where the damn bus was waiting. I could n't close the side door because I had the legs rests on the chair and I couldn't lean forward far enough to reach the door knob. I bent down to move the leg rests, but they jammed so I lunged for the door knob, finally reached it and closed the door. Slowly. Slowly enough to give the cat time enough to escape if he'd had his wits about him but luckily cats are nocturnal and for once he was more interested in napping in the basement than in dashing out to the backyard chewing grass and then gamely puking it up.
By the time the door was actually shut and my wheels slid down the ramp the bus was pulling away and I heard myself yelling, "Wait! Wait!" and then Motherf***er! repeatedly to a silent, mostly empty neighbourhood. I heard some construction work going on nearby and I hoped that I 'd yelled loud enough for someone to hear me. There's something oddly satisfying about swearing loudly and with feeling into the suburban miasma.
The paratransit office was hardly interested in my hard luck story and asked if I still wanted my ride back home.
"Yes!" I yelped. Off the phone, I packed my computer and called a cab. I could still get a coupla good hours of writing in before E's return from preschool.
These near misses have been happening a lot lately. I'm moving, but not quite fast enough, my leg is healing but very slowly, I'm writing but it's more of a chore than a joy these days. I have a physical therapist who's telling me to stay off my right leg(the uninjured onme) because of a recent stupid tendon injury, and an orthopedist who's telling me to walk more.
I am whatdoyacallit? Stuck. In "Wait" mode, waiting to get on with things. The mature adult me knows that everything is fine, that I'm lucky for so many reasons, that time will pass quickly whether I want it to or not. Today I'm tired of being in this "In between" stage of my life. Today, I'm impatient, pissed off, restless, would love to get up and get lost in the city, find a lover, a skilled one at that, eat good indian food, surround myself with art and artists and take in the energy of the 8 million heartbeats. That sounds like a good plan for the next several years.
Of course I'd have to come back for Ethan. I can't living without hugging and kissing my boy. I'd take him to the city for his first subway ride. He's been wanting to do that--go on the number 6 train just like the little one he carries in his hand. I'd take him to a museum, stare at some paintings and then we'd go the museum cafe for a snack. My mother and I used to go regularly to museums, stare at some paintings and then take a pastry break. In Ethan's case it would be a chocolate chip cookie break. With cold milk.
If nothing else this "in between" time in my life has givin me time to reflect on where I am in my life and where I want to be. It's no wonder I'm restless With so many people talking at me these days, issuing orders, offering advice I might simply choose to stay perfectly still, not move at all and take the time to read a book today--at least until paratransit comes to bring me home again.
I gotta get out more.
