mathdreads – Page 75 – Where Vivid Narratives Live

Psychosomatic Illness?

I spent a blissful two weeks on vacation and got a half day reprieve from professional development in form of a dental appointment on Monday morning. A three year-old had allegedly died after a trip to the dentist recently, which rattled me a bit, going into my own dental appointment. Yet, I’m an avid flosser; so I passed my exam and treatment with flying colors.

As soon as I stepped into the building just in time to have lunch and get some work done in my classroom, I started to feel ill. As much as I enjoy being a full-time artist during vacation, a part of me feels a severe disconnect between my strong creative drive and teaching at my present school. I figured that was affecting my health.

Tuesday was the first day of school for students. At the end of that day, I felt even sicker. I’d learned since Monday that the cedar pollen count had been high and that H1N1 was sweeping the nation at near pandemic levels. I tend to dismiss the alarmist reports of the American media since I’m well aware that they sensationalize facts for ratings. At the same time, I could not deny my constant sneezing, coughing, gathering of clouds behind the eyes, and slight chills.

Whichever combination of pathogens had invaded my system, I was determined to be well by the weekend. I started taking nightly “garlic shots,” which is what my family calls swallowing crushed raw garlic with plenty of water. I also put drops of hydrogen peroxide in my ears and went to bed earlier–a couple of nights, I didn’t even read (gasp!) before turning off the lights.

One thing I would not sacrifice was my bikram yoga practice. I knew staying in the hot room for 90 minutes would help detox my system. Even though the room was at a balmy 105 degrees, I didn’t break out into a pouring sweat like I normally do since I didn’t have the energy to exert myself in two sets of each posture. Even if I did both sets, I didn’t have energy to go to my edge.

Or put another way, my edge was simply staying in the room and moving as much as I could. The real challenge was internal. For two evenings in a row, I went to yoga since I had to get groceries on Thursday and cook Friday. In retrospect, that back to back hot yoga practice, along with garlic shots and more sleep truly kicked those pathogens’ ass! I felt so good on Thursday until about 7:30 and went to bed an hour and a half later. By Friday, I almost felt 100%. Close enough.

I cooked for the potluck that I was going to and managed to have a fabulous time socializing. Just like last month, I brought tupperware to pack up lunch for the following week.

I got even more rest, sleeping in on Saturday morning. I went to capoeira and had to modify nearly everything since my teacher did a lot of jumping moves. At one point, I noticed that my left hip had finally unlocked. This came a week after having a deep tissue massage on my lower back and left leg. I was initially ecstatic until my spine started some uncomfortable popping and a catch settled between my shoulder blades. No amount of gentle spinal twists could alleviate it.

So today, much to my delight, I woke up without the catch and I discovered that my left ankle had recalibrated along with my spine. For the first time since the accident, I did postures my previously gimpy left hip had prevented. My left ankle had become more flexible and could bare more weight. Just the amount of energy gained from the postures truly fueled me on. I’m so happy that my body’s reached another stronger plateau.

What a terrific way to start off the week…I’ll just see what happens when I walk into school tomorrow.

NYE 2013

One of my friends, who is a professional event planner, planned our New Year’s Eve celebration. She used her hotel points to secure our double room downtown. Some of us came from out of town, but those of us who lived in Austin forgot to bring a cooler. Since we had two joining double rooms, we used one shower as a cooler and the other for showering.

I learned the “rule” about taking pictures: raise the camera above the subject so that she appears slimmer.

Even though the other women had referred to me as “skinny,” I appreciated the slimming effect of a higher angle after a week and a half of Dionysian celebration.

With 7 women staying together, we had a good time getting ready and taking pictures. At one point, I wondered if we would leave the hotel to celebrate with other people.

Once we got out of our room, we had to take group pictures. We all sported boot bling and asked a guy to take a picture of our boots. At first, the guy got real excited because he thought we’d asked him to take a picture of our “boobs.” Dream on! He hastily re-aimed the camera for this blurry shot.

We took two cabs to a honky tonk bar. We arrived around 9:30, which was far too early for a good crowd, but since we were a group of 7, we brought the noise. Plus, we got three excellent tables in the middle of two bar areas and the mechanical bull.

The last time I’d ridden a mechanical bull, I was 27 and teaching in South Korea, riding for free since the operator liked the way my flying dreadlocks drew in the crowd. I got another free “ride” this time around as well since the bull wasn’t moving for this action shot. Actually, it tilted down when I mounted it since I started the whole pose-on-the-bull event. As you can see from the background, we were the only people in the club.

Another photo op we took was at the arm wrestling table. Again, since we beat the crowd, we had to entertain ourselves as best we could.

I’m not a “shot” person, but I participated in the first round and took one sip of the subsequent ones, passing the rest off to a friend to finish.

I stuck mostly to mudslides. In this picture, I’m sipping a mudslide and sporting my earplugs since the live band started playing at 11 pm.

One of my friends showed up just before midnight. Thank goodness because with a posse of 7 women, we needed more men to dance with.

One of my goals during the two-week winter break was to complete my eighth “The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa” painting, which happened today. Just in time to face school tomorrow. I knew that my present abilities would not freehand a good outline of Utila Island. So I printed a map of the island, photocopied it on a transparency and projected it onto the canvas to trace.

The biggest challenge for completing this canvas was not my busy schedule, but the cold weather. If the temperature was in the mid 50s, I’d put on a jacket and go out to paint. Anything lower than that stopped me from painting on my balcony, my preferred environment.

At the risk of being my own worst critic, I think the Caribbean water is too green-looking, but I love how the ladies look. Practice does make a difference. I attended an art opening last night and I got some ideas about how to do the eyes and fingers differently.

Here are my 8 “babies.” I’m so proud of them all. I’m about a third of the way done with the series. The two tricks will be to complete the other two-thirds by the end of the year along with the manuscript. Wow, there it is, my year-end goals!

Laughing My Way Through Christmas

I must admit that now that one of my sisters is no longer a teetotaler, Christmas has become a more Bacchanalian celebration. I started with sampling my brother-in-law’s very expensive Scotch (yuck!) followed by a more palatable, but still nasty expensive cognac. After the ice melted more in the cognac, I reported that the secret to enjoying either one of those choice whiskeys was being drunk enough to drink them. In the long run, the premixed eggnog with a blend of Kentucky bourbon turned out to be my poison of choice since there was no Malbec in the house.

Mom, Dad, another sister and her son all arrived on Christmas Eve. For nearly a year, Mom has been raving the benefits of gin-soaked golden raisins as treatment for arthritis. She advocated nine in the morning and nine in the evening to ward off the effects of arthritis. She even boasted of taking twenty-seven raisins the night she went out dancing. I told her the reason her knee didn’t give her any problems that night was because it was drunk. Nonetheless, I ate nine of them and found it distasteful. I’ll stick to bikram yoga for my preventative arthritis treatment.

Yet, the true Christmas celebration was being around my family. We’re loving and close, but still manage to get on each other’s nerves. What a joy it is to be able to laugh at one another! I barely managed to whip out my camera fast enough to capture the moment of Dad trying to hold up the cell phone so Mom could talk while still fixing her delicious potato salad. I was too busy laughing at the running commentary between the two of them, which I should have recorded instead.

Mom even explained her gin-soaked raisin cure to a family friend after our Christmas Eve dinner. She let him get away with eating only two! He claimed that he had to drive and couldn’t imbibe a lot of alcohol. Wimp!

Once all the presents were wrapped and under the tree, the kids still stayed up late either watching TV or gaming. They were all old enough to no longer believe in Santa Claus. That didn’t stop me from telling them that he wouldn’t come if they didn’t go to bed.

I was partially right: Santa’s little helpers, in the form of my two older sisters, did emerge around one in the morning to stuff stockings that were hung by the chimney with care.

For the first time ever, I awoke on Christmas morning before my nieces and nephews. I guess since we’re all grown now, we can get up at a decent hour, do our morning ablutions and then open presents. When Christmas shopping, I’d stuck to a budget since most of my family didn’t truly need anything and for those who did, I couldn’t buy. After all, where does one purchase “motivation” and “sanity”? Instead, I bought gifts that were made by Austin artists.

To one nephew, I gave a mixed media painting of a DJ.

To my brother-in-law, I gave a designer nightlight. My sister, his wife, is a firm believer of nightlights. Plus, since that particular company customizes its products, I figured it would be a fun thing for them to do in the future if they ever wanted to make company nightlights for their business.

To one of my sisters, who dabbles in catering and teaching art classes, I gave an apron with pockets.

To my other nephew, I gave DIY set of cards that he can decorate since he is a hardcore Leggo fiend.

To Dad, I gave a shaving kit. He’s been sporting the cue ball look for a few years now; so I know he’ll make great use of it.

To one niece, I gave a designer cloth brooch and “math genius” bobby pins.

To the other niece, I gave a DIY stuffed animal kit.

My sister, who photobombed this picture, designed the plate that I’m holding. She’s the only one who made her Christmas gifts.

To Mom, I gave a necklace that was a repurposed antique plate chard.

To my other sister, I gave a fascinator since her hat collection is catching up to her shoe collection!

After the gift opening, my sister and brother-in-law put the final touches on breakfast, which featured scrambled eggs with cheese and hash browns, among other foods.

I wasn’t even all that hungry a few hours later when we ate Christmas dinner, but who am I to complain about more good food? Besides, I felt that I laughed most of those calories away after dinner when all the ladies in the house and the kids’ godmother played a riveting game of Taboo.

Visiting My Sister’s Family 2013

About a month before visiting my sister’s family in VA, I bought an expensive winter coat for $10 + taxes to prepare for the much colder weather than what I normally experience in Austin. Despite my early morning flight, I still didn’t need my winter coat en route to my final destination. Not only was I surprised by the warm weather once I landed, but I did not expect to be picked up in style–namely a ’74 Oldsmobile convertible. That was the best beginning to my weeklong visit home for Christmas.

After all, who knew how long the warm, sunny weather would last? As it turned out, the next day started off quite promising, but then the gray clouds formed and the rain began in earnest. We arrived at church late, we didn’t go to the Redskins v. Cowboys game, but we definitely got to dinner on time!

Normally, I would have appreciated walking around the mall afterwards since I always feel underexercised when I visit my sister’s family. Yet, my recovering ankle, even with an ankle brace didn’t fare too well halfway through their Christmas shopping frenzy. The mall wasn’t even crazy packed. I just got annoyed at all the walking around. Fortunately, I won’t have to do that tomorrow and I’m sleeping in. I can already tell that I’ll need to do yoga in the morning.

The next time we go shopping, my mother will be here. At least she walks my speed and will tire out around the same time I do. Boy, that’s going to be a trip if my 73-year-old mother out walks me on Box Day!

Revisible

On Labor Day 2013, I walked into a drop-in capoeira class, which is a Brazilian martial arts, and left limping. I’d fallen during a sparing exercise. Despite the pronounced popping sound, I thought I’d severely sprained my left ankle. After all, I could still walk.

The next morning, I slipped on an ankle brace, hobbled to work and realized I would not make it through the day. I called in sick, quickly got sub plans together, made a doctor’s appointment and had everything ready by the time school started.

Driving to my doctor’s appointment, I optimistically wished to have a boot. That way, I could still hobble around, but my foot would be more protected. The nurse practitioner ordered an X-ray. When he saw the X-ray, he prefaced his conclusion with “go big or go home.” He then explained that my left fibula had a spiral fracture. Since the fibula bears only 15% of the body’s weight, a person can walk on it even if it’s broken. Still in good spirits, I took a picture of the X-ray to show to loved ones and friends.

A few hours later, I received my boot. As the boot tech fitted me, I showed him the picture of the X-ray. He speculated that I might need surgery, but I was sure I didn’t. After all, I was in good health other than the broken ankle. Besides, I had full social calendar and travel plans, which didn’t include a trip to the OR. A few days later, I had a pair of crutches to go along with my boot and an appointment for surgery.

Within three days, I went from shock, denial and then anger. I displaced my anger as I furiously planned for two weeks’ worth of lesson plans for my science classes. I could have scheduled my surgery for an earlier date, but I couldn’t fathom undergoing surgery and taking a two-week sick leave without solid lessons for the long-term sub.

Another thing that curbed my anger was my lack of spare energy to be angry. Since I had to keep weight off my ankle, I used crutches and a rolling chair to get around. Using my upper body strength to move around felt like running a daily marathon. (I still don’t know how anyone can gain weight while being on crutches!)

Before surgery, the lesson plans had been written, one of my sisters had flown in to take care of me for two weeks, and gradually, I had undone all the immediate plans I had set for my life. I stopped capoeira, tango and bikram yoga classes. I cancelled my trip to Myrtle Beach for my 25^th high school reunion, complete with flight and hotel reservations. Instead, I made appointments with friends who helped me take out the trash and recycling, gas up my car and shop for groceries.

The novelty of riding around a motorized shopping cart in the grocery store was partially tainted with my first taste of invisibility. No one saw me at that height. I’d hobbled in with a friend and my crutches, placing the crutches in the basket once I got the cart. Although I joked about jousting, I was amazed to discover that people initially reacted to the crutches as if inanimate objects had suddenly come to life. Some people dashed in front of me in such a hurry since allowing me a few seconds to pass by them was too much of an inconvenience.

That first grocery shopping trip gave me an initial taste of the loss of independence and invisibility an injury can cause. I never realized that I existed in a fast-paced crowd and an injury such as this would cause me to be left behind even when I was among them in social settings. I repeatedly envisioned myself as one of the injured animals in the Serengeti that had been left behind for the predators to consume.

My invisibility also meant that men no longer flirted with me. I had a tremendous loss of sex appeal that had nothing to do with my age, hair, clothes, weight or any other physical attribute we women drive ourselves crazy about. Men acknowledged my physical disability and politely ignored me since we are raised not to stare at people who look different. The ironic thing was, before the accident, I didn’t care to attract too much male attention. After being injured, I thrilled to have anyone notice my existence.

A week after surgery, I gained a little more mobility and visibility once I got a knee walker, which most people referred to as a “scooter.” One coworker even took to calling me “scoot” during the three weeks I rode it at work.

Apparently, I made that knee walker look attractive. Students wanted to ride on it, which I wouldn’t allow. Friends gleefully suggested I decorate it with a motor, a horn, some flags. I smiled as if I appreciated the suggestions, yet I quietly simmered, mentally telling them to go fuck themselves, counting down the days until I no longer needed it.

Five weeks after surgery where I had six screws and a metal plate put into my fibula to help it mend straight, my doctor pronounced that my recovery had progressed so well that she was clearing me a week early to start physical therapy. I waived that in lieu of returning to yoga. After all, the whole reason I’d recovered so quickly was due to visualizing myself doing the things I’d done before the accident. The promise of returning to my former routine motivated me to heal.

Doing bikram yoga three times a week proved to be medicinal. With every class, the edge of possibility moved farther than where it had been the time before. After three classes, I’d kicked the boot to the curb—just in time to attend one of my friend’s wedding reception.

I dressed up scrumptiously well, arrived nearly an hour late, but parked very close to the venue, thanks to my handicap placard. Now that I’m “permanently handicapped,” a label that I vehemently deny, I have a lifetime of convenient parking at my disposal.

As soon as I entered, the bride gushed at how beautiful I looked. She went on about my hair, the dress and others commented about how slender I was, but in my mind, the beauty lay in my upright mobility. Even though I hobbled at half the speed of the average abled-bodied person’s gait, I was within the realm of ambulatory. Later on, I pressed my luck gingerly dancing with male friends who were all younger, gorgeous and in shape. Not only did I celebrate my friend’s nuptials that night, I celebrated being revisible.

The celebration continues with the things that I’m grateful for because of this experience.

1.I have a loving family who called me every day to check in with me when I was on sick leave along with a sister who came to take care of me during that time.

2.My drive to make the most of my life, coupled with my refusal to accept the “permanent handicapped” or “disabled” labels helped me heal faster from this injury than my doctor had expected after the surgery.

3.I now know that a physical injury may slow me down or disfigure me, but will not disable me unless I allow it.

4.Life is far too short and precious to tolerate bullshit.

Return to Capoeira

I have hit another milestone on my road to recovery after fracturing my ankle on Labor Day 2013: I returned to capoeira class. The significance of that action lies in the fact that a freak accident during a capoeira exercise caused my ankle injury. Several people, all non-capoeiristas, concluded that I would never train capoeira again. My usual retort was, “If I’d broken my ankle taking a shower, would you assume that I’d never take another shower?”

I’d warned two of my capoeira teachers via text the Saturday before that I intended to return to class on Monday, but I would not be running, jumping or sparing. They welcomed me back, assuring me that they would modify my training to get me back into shape.

Thanks to traffic, I arrived about 15 minutes late, which would technically be on time by Brazilian standards. Yet, I only did half of the exercises before going to the side and stretching on my own. My capoeira teacher, who had an achilles injury himself, suggested a stretch with a weight to help open my left hip. At the end of class, we played drums and practiced singing capoeira songs.

The next time I attended capoeira class was Saturday. Fortunately, two other capoeiristas were relatively new and we worked a lot on the ginga, the basic move that looks like a dance step. As a matter of fact, ginga sets up all the kicks and evasive maneuvers to make one’s game more fluid.

Throughout both classes, I could feel the limits of my left ankle being tested and the boundaries of movement expanding further. When I attended a tango presentation later Saturday night, I politely refused to dance since I still could not balance well with all my weight on the left ankle.

The next day, I went to yoga class where I experienced more balance on my left ankle than I ever had since the accident. Although practicing bikram yoga three times a week has contributed to the gains I’ve made in my recovery, I credit capoeira for expanding that recovery. The beauty of cross-training, even when not injured, is that one learns different skills and works different muscles.

As soon as I can consistently maintain good balance with all my weight on the left ankle, then I’m going to return to tango class. Not merely to exercise different muscles, but also to regain cultural practice and sensuality.

Two Thanksgivings

Thanksgiving comes as a wonderful break from work to sleep in and then work on various, small, creative projects. In other words, I truly rejuvenate myself. One thing that I put together was my famous cornbread for the Orphans’ Thanksgiving, hosted by a meetup couple. Not only is one of them a chef, but they live about 15 minutes from me; so it was very convenient to join them. For a potluck dinner, the food was delicious and the conversation very entertaining. We played Scattergories afterwards. I’d never played before, but I was the overall winner since I can hardly go wrong with word-based games.

I came home and watched two movies while addressing 18 “season’s greetings” cards. None of them had anything to do with Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas or Kwanzaa. Instead, they were very artistically stylized cards that I like to write out. Five of them had Day of the Dead themes. Nonetheless, I spent a considerable time addressing them and inputting those addresses into my phone for future reference.

After enjoying a Friday morning yoga class, I put together the sauce for my infamous spicy lasagna, starting with the sauce. I had a minor mishap when I shook the top right off the sea salt container. I think that threw off my cooking mojo, but I recalibrated as best I could. As the sauce cooled, I ate lunch and wrote. Then I put together the ricotta, parmesan and kale mixture. The traditional recipe calls for spinach, but I don’t usually waste my time with anything less nutritious than kale, which was a good thing since my friend who brought the salad had a spinach base. I loved the flavors she’d blended together. I layered the lasagna and put it in the refrigerator. I’m not sure if that’s the best technique for marinating, but since I’d planned to make dessert the next day, I needed the lasagna to be oven-ready.

Coupled with my infamous lasagna was my scandalously named “Screaming Orgasm Chocolate Cheesecake.” I’d never made it in the circular dessert pan before. Not only that, in my haste, I put the chocolate pieces on too soon and they melted and ran together. I took my chef’s brush and swirled the pieces together. I learned my lesson about patience since that chocolate layer defied being broken neatly.

Originally, I’d invited two girlfriends over for this special dinner, but when one canceled due to work, I scrambled to find her replacement. In the end, two guys were invited because I’d spent two days preparing food and they were available on short notice. My friend and I managed to have about an hour of female bonding before the guys showed up and it was an invaluable time to reaffirm that we were both sane in our pursuits of life, love and happiness.

The unlikely dinner party was a huge success mainly due to the fact that we all loved dancing, spicy food and were lively characters in our own way. In the end, one of the guys made quick and thorough work of the dishes as we talked throughout the night. I’m glad that I’ve started this New Year’s resolution early. It’ll get me in good practice for 2014.

Singles Who Don’t Want Kids

As a Meetup organizer, I’ve joined other meetup groups that have interested me, both for the activities and the networking potential. This past Saturday, I met up with other single people who don’t want kids, but one of the tricky twists that made last night wonderful was the presence of two among us who actually had kids! We dubbed them “The Infiltrators.”

Allow me to set the scene: during a recent cold front, seven of us braved the weather to meet at an upscale burger and beer joint. I was fashionably late or on time, depending on your culture, arriving about 20 minutes after the predetermined dinner time. Yet as soon as I walked into the restaurant, I immediately spotted the hulking 6’5″ organizer, who was waiting with our party.

He had not called ahead of time to make reservations, betting on a gamble that he could get a table for ten by showing up early. Sure, why not? It had worked for him in the past. Except that this was a popular restaurant on a popular night that obviously overwhelmed the staff to the point of basic duties being neglected. Case in point: after waiting for 30 minutes, I went to the bathroom, which was miraculously empty given the crowd, and found no toilet paper except in the handicap stall that did not lock–I of course found a temporary solution to lock the door since I am a Physics teacher for crying out loud!

One member of our party abandoned ship after an hour of waiting while the rest of us diligently continued to wait. After all, we had managed to sit down. Not at a table, but still in the waiting area. It was an improvement. After 30 more minutes had passed, another member of our party, who had been drinking (and, gasp eating!) at the bar, rejoined us in the waiting area to socialize. Apparently, the one table where the hostess wanted to seat us had a party who had already completed their meal and paid, but were still socializing (damn them!). After a few smart phone searches and bombarding the hostess station, none of which I participated in, we went to a nearby French restaurant.

Our second restaurant was wonderfully underpopulated and quiet–until we brought the noise! Ironically, the hostess asked us if we had kids with us. Ha! We gleefully told her no and she sat us in a vortex of families with children. No problem. Our raucous party of six cleared out that section in no time. The last stragglers made haste toward the end of dinner when our entertaining waiter serenaded us in two different languages, first Spanish followed by German.

Among the many interesting conversations that ping-ponged around the table, the meaning of “singles who don’t want kids” volleyed. One parent stated that she had not planned on having kids and had even requested to be sterilized, but the doctor would not do it since she was under 32 and her husband did not want her to be sterilized. Her argument to the group was that she was now divorced and didn’t want children in the first place; so she should be allowed in the group. The other parent stated that he had not planned on being a parent either, but his interpretation of the group was “singles who didn’t want any MORE kids.”

My vote was to allow them to be in the group since a) they were fun, interesting people; b) were single; c) were done with procreation.

At the end of the chilly night, we had had a good night, ate a delicious dinner, made new friends and no one went home pregnant.

Seven “Sisters”

Thanks to the recent warm up yesterday, I finished the seventh painting in “The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa” series. The most challenging part of creating this painting was detailing the numbers. Although their bodies have slight errors in anatomical proportions, Infinity and Negativa have a variety of facial expressions and body positions. I didn’t even bother to consult the Word doc of the pictures that I assembled to sketch the body positions once I started painting.

As much as possible, I’m trying to simplify my routine and focus more on putting paint to canvas. With at least thirteen more canvases to go, I still optimistically believe that my painting skills will improve by virtue of practice. Moreover, since the paintings represent the works of the main character, Nuru, I don’t need to focus so much on the formality of improving my painting skills. In that respect, the paintings need to be incorporated into the narrative more.

Each painting represents the opening of a chapter, but I need to write the non-fantasy characters talking about Nuru’s paintings more. There are a few references, but as much work as I’m putting into this aspect of the book, I’ve got to make more of them–other than expanding my home gallery collection.

Brazilian Style Wedding Reception

As I approached the beautiful park where my friends’ wedding reception was held, I briefly worried about finding a close parking space since I was nearly two hours late. Yet, the one silver lining to fracturing my ankle is that I have a handicap placard and there was a handicap place available.

I placed my famous cornbread on the savory table and joined some capoeira friends in the food line. About the only things I was looking forward to in the food line were the brisket, my cornbread, wedding cake and a glass of red wine.

The fun thing about this reception, other than the fact that it was a pot luck, was there was no formal “head table;” so I joined the blushing bride and other capoeiristas when I finally made it through the food and drink lines.

I felt as if I was at a capoeira family reunion. I got to see people I had not seen since I temporarily stopped training.

Funny thing is, I cannot remember having any deep conversations with anyone, but we were all in a jovial mood, which was appropriate, given why we were all there.

The happy couple hired different musicians, most of whom played a genre of Brazilian music, to perform for an hour.

The bride and some of her musician friends surprised the groom by playing a selection of songs. My favorite song kept making double entendre math/science comments.

I took a chance to dance forro on the smoothest surface I could find. My gamble paid off and I didn’t hurt myself, but of course my ankle became swollen. As hardheaded as dancing was, I couldn’t attend yet another music-filled evening as a mere spectator.

As invisible as I’d felt the past couple of weeks, I felt exhilarated to be seen once again.

Not only that, but some other women even commented on how beautiful I looked in terms of both my attire and the fact that I’d lost weight.

Honestly, I don’t know how anyone could possibly gain weight while being on crutches, but I do know how one can lose sexuality while being injured.

I realize that my entire since of self is not tied solely into my ability to walk, but my recent resurge of happiness is definitely due to gaining visibility and independence.