Bone-crushed tired. I went everywhere plus I took a walk today. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt- so what? Life. It's life. I used to pretend to be an actress, now I pretend to not hurt. I walk, head-up, I make my stride into something not hurtful-looking. But oh, that first getting-up, out of the car- that I cannot fake. I roll-walk until I can pull it all together, that old-woman hip roll walk, the bob, the weave, the sway.
Stop it, I tell myself. Don't give in.
I sat in the car in the parking lot of the mall for a good fifteen minutes listening to Billy Collins read his poetry on the radio. The sun baked me through the glass of the windows. It was good. Finally, during his rendition of The Lanyard, which I have heard so many times before, I deemed my loins sufficiently girded and and grabbed my purse and shut off the car and weave-rolled-swayed until I caught the rhythm of it again, the walking, and I strode into the mall like I belonged there and indeed I do as much as anyone with a few bucks and WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO THE GAP and honestly, everyone was as nice as they could be and compared to Bass Pro Hell World, it was a joy, as soothing as an interlude with Bach Quartets and creme brulee and a tiny glass of sherry.
I swear to you.
Okay, one woman did ask me if I was making faces at her but when I explained that no, I was not, I was just admiring the make-over she was getting she turned on a dime and told me that I had beautiful hair and that perhaps I should get a make-over too to go with it.
She has a point, at least about wearing some damn make-up once in awhile.
I did put on lipstick before I went to the library. If anyone noticed, they did not say a word.
Here's Billy Collins reading his poem, The Lanyard.
I'm sure you've heard it but if you haven't, it's sort of lovely and true and it's worth your time.