Sweepstakes, Lotteries and Fantasy Spending Sprees

While I "may already be a winner", I have NOT, in fact, actually received any loot.

I'd like some.

I know what I would do with it down to the last dime. And I promise that it would not be stupid.

After the tax man cometh to taketh away what they would take... and it would be a sizable bite because I lack both cronies and lobbyists, I would have to make shift with the leavings.

I can do that. I know how to use coupons and how to shop for bargains.

I'd donate to my church. They have been good to me as representatives of God and it is only right that I give back.

I'd pay of everything we owed and put money into savings for Jared's perpetual needs.

I'd buy a new van for him with every possible bell and whistle for his comfort and safety. And based on my recent accident experience, I think I'd jam it down inside a tank so we'd have some added protection against the careless, the drunk, the lunatics and the weirdos of the world. Plus, that gun turret would come in handy in heavy traffic.

Then, I would build us the house of our dreams on a little holding of land so we would have a permanent garden space, a small greenhouse and a place to plant fruit trees. With the kind of loot they are promising that I might have already won, we could provide jobs for others to help manage our little farm.

And, because I believe education is important, I'd pay for some scholarships and also some married student housing to be built at the schools of my choosing.

More later.... hold your breath... no, DON'T hold it. I might be a while...

Lunacy on parade

Being at home a majority of the time since the wreck has turned me into a nutjob. I'm reasonably sure I am now qualified for one of those redneck reality shows since my IQ has most certainly dropped several notches.

While I am thankful to be much more mobile and agile than I have been, my strength flags pretty quickly sometimes and catches me off guard and needing a nap.

Some days, even after an alleged good night's sleep, my reactions are not quite up to snuff.

Today is one of those days.

As a prime example, I offer the following:

You know you have lost your mind when you stretch your foot out, feel something fuzzy and warm on the floor, freak out and scream, then look down to realize it was one of your socks. That you just took off. Yeah. Lunatic alert.

I didn't intend for today to become an example of just how crazy my five senses have become or what kind of psychic overload that can occur. But there you have it.

Now I am compelled to find the psychological term for fear of warm fuzzy socks. Bambakophobia is apparently fear of cotton material, which is what my socks are knitted from... let's keep searching...

Haptodysphoria is described as a fear of fuzzy things like velvet, raw cotton, peaches, carpet... okay, still looking...

Thermophobia. Fear of warm things.

So, here we have it. A classifiable psychological issue ... (of course searching for it is also a classifiable psychological disorder)

Thermohaptodysphoribanbakophobia. Fear of warm, fuzzy socks.


So now you know.

Protect yourself from this disorder. And the lunacy that accompanies it.

Bambakophobia

Bambakophobia

Bambakophobia

Bambakophobia

1.8 and counting

Sweat fest of August 1st is in the books happy campers. I worked myself hard to eek out more on the road today. Completed 1.8 miles. I know to look at that number represents a LOT of hard work over a few weeks to get here.

I'm not done.

Not by a long shot.

It still hurts. Every single day.

But I have dealt with pain for almost 29 years. I laugh in the face of pain. Well, sometimes I cry in the face of pain, but I try my best to not let that be an excuse.

Diligently applying the philosophy of "some pain okay - lots of pain take a break". It  has been kind of interesting as I think of people who were in much worse circumstances that I am trudging across the plains in their old fashioned shoes or worse their bare feet over unbroken sod and sage grasses. They didn't even have an iPod of tunes to help them find a beat and march to its tempo. They didn't have New Balance shoes or Dr. Scholl's insoles. Fact is, most of them were really lucky to even have shoes at all by the time they reached their destination.

As I sweat the drops of water down my face, chest and back, I am often reminded of the promise I made myself lying in the  hospital with tubes and IV's jammed through me. I told myself that I could make it through this. That I had survived for a reason. And that it MATTERED that I was still here on this earth. So, like that 18 day old baby decades ago who threw her little fist up into the air as if to tell the doctor "I AM STILL HERE!", I resolved that though this may be a pretty big pill to swallow, I would hammer at it blow by blow and take it down in incremental doses until I manage with the help of Almighty God to endure it.

I don't just want to endure... that sounds a lot like eating rutabagas and pretending you like it. I'd rather come out of this all with some kind of physical and spiritual trophy. That's not a good word for it, but I hope you know what I mean. Come out of this circumstance not of my choosing with something to show for it, to share with others, something that maybe can help another person when they are facing a personal Goliath.

Well, I reckon I have polluted the air with my stench long enough. I'll drag myself to the shower and come out when I'm thoroughly pruney.

God bless and just keep walking.

Time passes

It's now July 20th, our ward pioneer day barbecue and softball game is in the books and I am still grappling with the attempt to balance the need for exercise with the pain I am still "enjoying".

Since I started walking again, I have done 28.95 miles. And yes, I am tracking it.

That is nothing to those lithe figures running up and down my street each day. It is mere pittance to those gazelle like creatures who bound about from place to place running marathons, half marathons and triathlons for fun and sometimes profit and glory.

But to me, it represents a great deal. It means I am still moving. I am still trying. I am still HERE.

Though I am not able to pull those miles in like ribbon on a spool, I am trying to at least begin tugging on that ribbon of highway that Woody Guthrie sang about so long ago. Is it better to start reeling it in fast and perhaps give up in the attempt, or to just keep trying?

I hope the second is the answer because I plan to keep trying.

Every day, I am trying to balance pain and activity. One without the other doesn't seem possible right now. I hope that will change over time.

For now, I am basking in the glory of possibility. Just a few months ago, the very idea of even trying to stand up seemed as remote as the moon. Now, I am able to walk over a mile and a half without stopping.

So I blog the progress and the process.

Hope. It's all I hang on to some days. But I am thankful for that tenuous grasp on the possible.