Motion Sickness

Yesterday was my first full day after my accident when I was back home. Yesterday, after my move, I was sullen and didn't care too much what happened to me, ever.

Today, so far, not that bad. I'm not excited or hopeful, I'm going through the motions of being alive, of getting things done, but I miss everything except some sort of intellectual involvement with my life. There's hardly any spark, I don't care much if my ribs hurt or not, am not fired up about anything.

Not bad, but not good, either.

I'm waiting to see how all the money stuff works out, how much I owe everyone, how much I have. I hate having my life defined by money, but there are times when that's how everyone sees me. I guess it's not so much what I am, but what I can furnish that determines my worth.

The harsh realities of my fucking up are voerwhelming the tenderness I remember and seek. I'm unsure if it's better to have no hopes or to learn to understand and accept that they often won't be met. My guess is I would do well in the final third of my life to accept rejection graciously, to not be bowed by things not going my way, but to act as normal people do, shrug it off, dust myself off, and smile into the future.

I just can't see me doing that.