I’m back in Brooklyn, working from home today. I am, however, still mentally back in Canada, and being extra Victorian by drinking Royal Wedding Tea out of my Hudson’s Bay Company mug:
I’ll have a cup of colonial inferiority complex served in some commercialized imperialism, please.
HBC related apologies aside (including apologies for Frontier), it always makes me both sad to leave my family and my homeland, and happy and excited to be back in Brooklyn. I love Brooklyn so much, and I’m always so glad to get back to it, but I also regret that I’m not able to more spontaneously and regularly spend time with my people.
Also, this weekend’s travel did set me back more than I expected. I was doctor cleared to travel, so I assume I just need a day at home with my foot up and a bag of TJ’s Frozen Spinach over the injury zone. Still, this morning, I got up and realized it hurt more to walk than it has since last Wednesday…and my foot has bloated like it went on a salt binge when I wasn’t looking:
That’s yesterday on the left, today on the right. The angles are different but my foot definitely looks puffier. The bruising is down a bit though and it’s more…foot colored overall, but I keep underestimating how difficult this injury is going to be, and overestimating my general indestructiveness. I am generally sturdy as hell, having inherited my father’s rugby player frame, and I’m tough to physically break as a result. Having an injury that is taking more than a week to heal is killing me psychologically because I keep assuming I’m going to be better each day when I wake up, and then putting my foot on the floor, yowling in pain, crying in frustration, and generally refusing to accept reality.
I was totally despairing earlier today and then I put on a Spotify mix and perked up. It’s actually incredible the psychological benefits that a good playlist has:
An hour of music and bullet journal work later and I was actually reasonably cheerful and ready to take on my to-do list. These are the kind of psychological tools I find useful. And with my mind in a better state, and my task list in order, I was able to find some additional perspective. It’s going to require patience to get past this injury. I know, this shouldn’t be a revelation, but I always feel like I just don’t have time, a constant refrain in my head, my own Jesse-Spano-on-caffeine-pills mentality I have to breathe and fight back with actual logic.
The whole situation sucks. I can be grateful that it’s only a sprain and not a fracture; I can be grateful that this isn’t a torn ligament or worse. I can be grateful that I don’t have it nearly as bad as, say, my mother, who literally shattered the bones in her lower leg and still can’t put weight on it after almost three months. Compared to that, complaining about my moderate to severely sprained ankle is kind of being a whiny bitch. Even with context though, it’s difficult to have this injury right now, when I want to be outside, when I was making progress with fitness, when I was looking forward so much to spring.