My horizon, these days, is the keyboard. I don’t know, I’ve been sort of heads down.
Been feeling out my own memory (the whole process is very different for me–I’ll try to remember someone’s name and I can’t but then a name will pop into my mind and it doesn’t seem right and I’m so not sure of myself and I wonder if that is indeed the right name, there doesn’t seem to be any aha! connection moment–but indeed, it turns out that is the person’s name indeed–this is so strange for me, someone who has always been so sure of her memory).
Been taking naps (everyday, sometime in the afternoon, regardless of what I’m doing, I will feel incredibly sleepy and tired, as if I’m living in another time zone entirely and it’s bedtime–and if I am living in another time zone, in some weird jet lag, then I think I’m living in Europe somewhere–and I wonder if there is some split existence in my life where I’m being transported back and forth in parallel dimensions, perhaps in my sleep because I always wake up tired).
Maybe it’s the weddings and all the socializing these past couple of weeks–I said hello to friends, I went to lunches and did beach walks. But now I’m just sitting on this couch, in my den.
I know that in my recovery, which has always courted exhaustion, I fantasized about somehow modeling myself after Lance Armstrong. Lance Armstrong, in case you don’t know, is an awesome bicyclist, someone who won the Tour de France a record breaking seven consecutive times. Also part of his fame is the fact that he did this after surviving a debilitating bout of cancer, building himself back up specifically with bicycling in mind. When I read his autobiography years ago, I learned that his doctors even used specific chemotherapy drugs that would hopefully sidestep maximum damage to his lungs…and he got back on his bike as soon as he could. He recovered with a return to bicycling in mind.
So I’m trying to recover the same way. And sometimes I’m really bored of my own recovery, and it sounds really monotonous and I keep thinking, why can’t this be over, and sometimes weirdly prematurely celebrating. But it’s not a premature celebration, because recovery is just so boring and…gradual. It’s like you just look up and go “Oh, I’ve come so far!” But if you look up all the time, the progress is hardly noticeable.
So I’ve got my head down. My eyes are on the keyboard. I’m writing again. It’s weird. I like that I see things that I didn’t see before. I am uncomfortable with how different the process is now. But I think it’s because I see more than I did before, so that just inherently changes my writing process.
I’m recovering with my writing in mind. I am proud of the fact that I never stopped writing through all of this. I kept going, even when I had aphasia, and even when it took me hours to compose one blog post.
And it’s interesting feeling out the parts of myself that are still there, and finding the parts of me that are entirely new. I feel more detached, a lot more shy, and yet more confident and focused. There is a new human here. And I’m keeping my head down when I can.