bruised

I'm a bit beat up, or as my doctor said today, "damaged." I have bruises on every limb, two nasty scrapes on one leg, a cut and bruised foot-arch and scrapes on my toes from rocks and Tuck's claws. It's a gallery of adventure and the results of living with two large beasts. I even have a bruise on a boob.

I refueled on my tetanus today and stocked up on band-aids and triple antibiotic ointment since apparently I've reverted to my tomboy adolescence. The only difference is that mom's not around to assure me that I'm not bleeding too badly and that I will be OK. That was always my panicked line, "Am I going to be OK? Am I going to be OK?" As long as she said yes, I was good. The moment she hesitated, I was inconsolable. I'm sure she faked it plenty of times.

I called her today after I fired my dentist. They were trying to double-bill me for a bill my insurance had paid, and my dentist's office had sent it to collections.

"I don't even know why I'm crying," I blubbered. "I'm just so mad." She got mad for me and then said it would be OK. And she was right - they resolved the issue and it was OK.

Other things are going to take time.

My heart's pretty bruised right now, parts of it battered. I've done a lot of crying today. I've said things like, "I just never saw life going this way," and it's true. I never did. I've spent a lot of time making sure it wouldn't - mediating, tending, negotiating, running interference, reasoning, counseling - and now, it seems for nothing. For this. For this ache, for this sadness, for this loss. It's a deep sadness, this one, and sometimes, like today, I have to let my soul sit down and admit: this really hurts.

This really fucking hurts.