There are moments during “the days of my nights and the nights of my days” where I find myself “stuck” -- lost in thought, lost in the vastness of being, as I go from one place to another. While it is for “neuro-typicals” to laugh off their lapses as “senior moments”, for me they take on another meaning altogether. I usually catch myself and resume my progress to wherever it is I was going. But the Sunday I was supposed to meet with Nebraska was not one of those moments.
Before I get to that, let me share with you the life that I have managed to construct for myself since I have been blogging. If I am not mistaken, I begin keeping a blog not too long after my diagnosis was confirmed by the Social Security Administration and the battery of expert medical personnel that I was sent to that verified the initial diagnosis of brain injury. From sleepless nights spent in a musty townhome where people existed but were not living, to my simple, yet appropriately (if cluttered) furnished apartment in government housing (for which, btw, I pay MARKET RATES FOR and not some adjusted for income rent), engaged in the matriculation process, I have to feel a wee bit proud of myself. I have a job where I am respected and appreciate by nearly everyone that I know, to have the occasional surprise from out of the blue, and this is achieved nearly each and every day (after all, I only need to find a penny or a bottle cap to achieve that! :0)) That I have done so without Nebraska playing a major role in my progress since I have been in Omaha is indicative of what I have said all along … this was NOT about my following desire to be in a relationship (which, btw, would contradict much of what I have said about my character), but the romanticism of my journey has been contained with following the inspiration put into me by Johnny Rodgers, Marlon Perkins, and unfrosted strawberry pop-tarts, to its logical conclusion.
Most people with my condition live under “controlled circumstances”, where even the most independently capable of them still live with certain accommodations, to say nothing of completely living on their own, without a family member or someone with a vested interest in their well being anywhere in sight. But I determined that I would rather take my chances on my own than risk living under anyone’s guardianship. Simply put … F*CK THAT...
Now the details of the how the relationship with Nebraska and myself came to the standstill it has reached are still proprietary. But ultimately, for me at least, not having made the same kinds of mistakes that I have before already is itself a bonus! I cannot stress enough how it was opportunity and not a relationship, that drew me to Omaha.
As I returned home from the Terrence “Bud” Crawford title fight Saturday night, I was caught in a sudden downpour and had to wait it out at the Greyhound Station. My rear tire caught a flat and I had been walking from the Qwest Center towards home. As the showers slowed to a fine drizzle, I left overhang of the bus station and made my way home. It is only in reflection that I realize there was no one for me to call, no one I could have reasonably have reached out to and expect them to do anything to alleviate my situation…
...and honestly, I could not have felt any better about my life!
When it came down to doing what I needed to do in order to make the meet with Nebraska, I had to wonder if this was worth it for me. I mean, I am a single cat, with no family nearby (if I were to even speak of them) and locally, all of my friends are more like “associates with privileges” than real friends, and I would not dare to call on them for such a “reasonable calamity” as a flat bike .tire in the rain, two miles from home. But maybe if I had such a friend, or were in a relationship with someone who “cared” about me… and that is what made me decided to give up pushing myself to find the brewery where I was supposed to meet Nebraska and instead go home. Rather than being taken rudely, I would think that it would be understood how I came to my decision… all, Mike Singletary would have gotten it!
I have never asked to be graded on a sliding scale because of my injury. At no time have I asked for anyone to grant me an adjustment “because of” anything, and likewise, I DO NOT GIVE OUT ANY. Whether or not I reach my goals or not means less to me than does the ethos of Roosevelt’s fabled “Man In The Arena” speech. I will strive and fight the good fight to the best of my ability. After all, that is an universal expectation, that someone will give you their best… up to and including when they don’t. Which brings to mind another quote, this one by Marilyn Monroe, which I think empowers the selfish and thoughtless who cling to this as a gospel. “I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.” Man, I cannot properly express the amount of f*cks I don’t give for a selfish woman who clings to this dogma as sound advice!