Cute but weird: injuring yourself while sleeping, grandchildren and grad school
Hello, I am getting old.
I somehow managed to injure my shoulder on Saturday night when I rolled over in bed. That's right, I injured my shoulder while sleeping. This is 41 years old.
I think the initial injury happened when we moved. I lifted too many boxes or something. I ignored the pain for a solid two months. As you do. The pain got worse. As it does. And then on Saturday night around 1am, I was awakened from a dead sleep by a piercing TWANG in my right shoulder. It was so painful I almost vomited.
And then I was like: OF COURSE this happens. Things were going too well. I had just begun loving my new neighborhood. I was getting excited about grad school. All the bills were (mostly) paid. Life was feeling good.
I needed a broken shoulder to remind me that LIFE IS PAIN, HIGHNESS. ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE IS SELLING SOMETHING. Thank you, Princess Bride.
That is still one of my favorite movies. Except: true confession. I can never watch The Pit of Despair scene because the torture machine always freaks me out. I can't bear watching people suffer--even in movies.
My other favorite movie: The Notebook. My favorite scene: when they are standing in the dock on the pouring rain and Ryan Gosling is all: "I wrote you every day for 365 days. It wasn't over. It still isn't over!" And then they crash into each other's arms and have the most romantical kiss in all the land. And the next morning she is painting while naked (as you do).
I also love Diane Lane movies. I could watch that woman all day everyday. Her facial expressions alone. She's my favorite female actor. Paul Giamatti is my favorite male actor. I won't tell you how many times I've watched Sideways. I am currently watching Billions and I just love him so much. If I met Paul Giamatti in real life, I think I would be all tongue tied and blushing and total fan-girling.
Back to pain and suffering.
So, I start physical therapy tomorrow and then have an MRI on Friday and in the meantime I'm popping ibuprofen like it's candy. My stomach lining is not happy. Up next: ulcers.
Other sources of suffering: my children—the loves of my life—are growing up. Here's the thing about being a Mom: you give them everything and then, they just walk away. THEY WALK AWAY.
It's unfair. It's life.
One of my kids is already gone. Jewel is gone. She's out on her own and living her full life all on her own and it's good and wonderful but also, I can't handle it. In one year my next child will be an adult and possibly moving out, too. I cannot handle the children getting older. And yet, somehow I must handle it. I really miss them being babies. I miss the cuteness and the cuddles and I even miss them waking up at night calling out for me.
I am complaining too much. Topic change.
I need grandchildren.
I'm going to grad school.
It starts in a few weeks. I am excited but also freaking out a little. Like: I will be the oldest person there. I take notes by hand. I use microfiche for research. I don't know what pedagogy means. I don't know what to wear.
I remember when the kids were all little and the days felt so long. So very long. I remember thinking I would give ANYTHING for a good night's sleep. I couldn't imagine things ever being different. But last night, I slept for 11 hours and nobody woke me up. And this morning the twins made their own breakfast and are happily playing with their American Girl dolls.
I think I'll go play with them.