Distance Makes the heart grow...eh. whatever.

Yeah. I don't write blogs anymore. At least not personal blogs. I have a paid blogging gig now that takes up my blogging time. So have I been neglecting my own mind? Not really. Just haven't felt like putting it all out there in public. I've felt a little more reclusive - the girl hiding in the corner of a party hoping no one says hello.

Non fiction is one scary sucker. So, how have things been going? (it's like I'm interviewing myself - how neat) It's been going pretty well. I got an agent for my novel and am working on revisions. I'm getting my first piece of short fiction published in a respected lit mag. I'll be graduating in May. I'm teaching a bunch. Ploski still rocks. So life should be gleeful, right? It is. And it really isn't. See, my feet are still really bad. I had Shock Wave Therapy on my plantar fasciitis two months ago and I'm not feeling the benefits yet. And that really scares me. And when I say scares me, I don't mean, it freaks me out a little. I mean I'm terrified and try not to think about it. And when, every couple weeks, I do think about it I end up depressed/sulky/introverted. Like I'll never travel, never be able to have a kid, never be able to walk around a park without thinking about my physical affliction. I am handicapped. I can walk, but after a block or two, I need to sit down. When cooking or washing the dishes I have to kneel on a cushioned chair. I can't get out of bed in the morning without going through a heating and stretching regiment that takes about twenty minutes. I haven't walked barefoot in 1.5 years and frankly, I'm pretty effing fed up. All this amazing stuff has happened for me in the past few years, and all I really want is to be able to walk again. Okay, all I really want is for my novel to get published. Well, perhaps those two desires are equal.

Anyway, I hope that was a sufficient whine. It certainly didn't make me feel better, but it's out there now. And if/when I get better, I'll look back on this and be incredibly thankful to have fully functioning feet. And if not. Well. I don't know. I do know that I married an awesome, patient, wonderful guy who has been amazing through this entire thing. Cancer. Handicapped. And he hasn't run away. Hasn't even blinked. He vacuums and does the laundry - because I can't - it requires too much standing. So he does it. And I sit there like a lump. Well, I cook. But lets face it, he does more than I do around the house. Cleaning requires a lot of foot work. And my feet are broken.

I don't really have any words to sum up this post. So I'm not going to try. If this felt like reading a whole lot of self pity - then good for you - you're able to recognize self pity when it smacks you in the face. Now for me, I'm going to go heat my feet and stretch. Then maybe I'll give Plosk a hug. He deserves it.