From what I have seen on the internet lately, this 2010 thing is starting off by kicking the stuffing out of nearly everyone I know. According to the astrologers, this is par for the course for 2010, a year forecasted to be one of great revolution. We’re all supposed to shed negativity and unnecessary baggage and move fresh (which means, apparently: peeled raw, rubbed with alcohol and rock salt) and confidently into a new phase. Even though the idea sounds lovely and I am trying to keep an open mind, from where I lay, this is some crap.
I was supposed to be go-go-going right now. Doing, making, experiencing, and experimenting from the moment the calendar hit 10.01.01.12.01. The first forty-eight hours were fine, stellar even. I planned, I wrote and I got things underway. Then: The Incident. I bent at the waist and threw my back all the way out. I’m convinced that there is nothing more humbling than having your best-laid plans and your intentions to “follow through no matter what” torched right out of the gate, regardless of the reason. Still, as means of explanation, some backstory:
I have been in about a dozen car accidents in my life. The first were when I was much younger and may have had no bearing on my spine. In middle school something terrible happened involving my knees and the dashboard of a peach Capri which would later be referred to as “The Death Trap 3000” and in high school came what I blame for most of my damage, chiropractically, at least. We were turning out of a Dairy Queen drive-thru when another car made an illegal left turn into the rear passenger side of our car, where, until moments before impact, I had been safely seatbelted. I ended up molded to the rear driver’s side door, armrest digging into my back, head bouncing off the window. Ten years and several accidents later—a totaled van, a few concussions, some bruisy road rash—and we’re back in the present. Me immobilized for the last few days after bending over in an unguarded moment to pick up a notebook that had slithered under my bed. This near-crippling happens a few times a year. Each time I wonder which of the accidents was “the one” and each time I come no closer to figuring it out. I’ll never know of course but when you can’t move, there’s you and an ocean of time to think.
I have learned a few things from all of this. Things I already knew but need reinforced every now and then, painfully, it seems.
Be flexible.
Slow down.
Let go.
Relax.
Change the pillowcases as often as possible.
Embrace bedhead.
Sometimes it is okay to eat lying down even though your mother would be appalled.
Though time moves quickly, and we cannot control its path through our lives (and that can be terrifying), there is always time to change perspectives and breathe deep. Always.
So we’ll call this project, Prep-1: Severe Spinal Damage and its psychological side effects. Otherwise known as, "What exactly is my pain threshold?"
Lessons were learned, even though I was whimpering and fighting unconsciousness much of the time … I also cried a little. Regardless, the experiment is underway. As soon as I can unbend again, I’ll tell a little more about it. Providing I don’t have a major relapse, which at this point would mean my spine had actually fallen completely apart and caught fire, we’ll keep this party rolling.
I just hope nothing falls under my bed—ever again.
