It’s been a long and difficult journey from diagnosis, treatment and post-cancer recovery, a road trip laden with bad things-a sudden life-threatening sickness, strange foreign places and people, unfamiliar beds and that painful longing for home.
Blog-wise, it’s been a period of total absence of creativity and passion. My torn hamstring had me hamstrung (ha!) as did the subsequent tear to the front leg muscle. Walking, bending, stretching, sitting – all of it, for the past 2 months, has been painful, difficult or impossible, and frustrating.
So, imagine my wonder this week at the inexplicable return of my Mojo. It’s just...back. I feel strong, capable, mentally with it for the first time in, well...years. It’s hard to describe it really.
That bitch has been gone a long time and as bitches are wont to do, quit that shit when I needed her most. Left me alone in that ruin of poison, scars and burning, financial chaos, uncertainty and complete destruction of life as I knew it. She’s spirit mostly, but her powers are tangible and legendary. She’s all white light and pure, healing protection. We’ve been through so much together. Always, she saves me. Her absence leaves an oily, seductive void which never stops pulling. In my damaged shell-shocked state, I rage. Where did she go?
My mother used to have one of those dime-store pictures on the kitchen wall. It hung beside the 70’s green behemoth of a fridge, on the wall beside the jalousie windows. You know the one – it’s still popular and sold at any Dollar Tree. Footprints.
In 1977, though too young to know what a platitude is, I still resent that picture. It seemed silly that some poor soul survived whatever horrors only because a divine power was really there, carrying them through the very worst parts.
Now, and maybe for the first time, I understand that stupid picture.