Well, good morning (or whenever you happen to read this.) I’m actually starting to feel a little bad for my friends up North. I spoke with my good buddy Rich a couple of days ago and he was feeling great because apparently the mid-Atlantic states were experiencing a nice spring-like warming trend. He was convinced I suppose, thinking that spring is on its way. I guess that’s not the case. From the weather reports this morning, it looks as though the North is going to have to endure a little more winter. Bummer.
Some of you know that I have actively begun my big book project. Boy, I sound pretentious talking about writing a book like this. Especially coming from a slacker who hasn’t written a lick in a decade. Well, there was the blogging contest I was in for the Stuart newspaper. That was only for about a month and a half, the entries were relatively short but it was tough coming up with clever, pithy little nuggets of observation in a rapidfire fashion. I certainly wasn’t going to write about the great rewards of being a quadriplegic for the local community and the elder snowbirds had not yet arrived to provide any good old-fashioned slapstick stuff that seems to amuse everyone who is a full-time resident here.
No, the book thing has a much greater scope than I initially imagined it would. In fact, I’m at a point where I need to remember some of the details that happened 20 years ago. Although my memories of the incident appear only in patches, these things I do remember are accompanied by some very nightmare-like visuals and feelings. Usually, when someone asks me about my accident or what happened to me, it’s very easy to give the short version. It’s even easier to give the shorter, sweeter version of it. Avoiding the question altogether is the easiest way to address it. However, there’s no way of avoiding something that’s right there in front of your face everyday, all day. I knew right from the beginning that the more people knew about it, the more comfortable they became. As a result of this, things are (appear to be) easier for me. As I write about this I discover the scarier, true tale is seldom discussed. Nor do I think it’s ever been discussed. Living with what happened to me freaked me out enough. Dealing with other freaked out people, which is more or less everyone around me who knows, turned out to be more than I can handle.
Putting other people’s apprehension and fears to rest was the formula I used so I could begin to feel like myself again. For a long, long time it worked. Until now.
