Wednesday, June 8, 2011


I limp when I walk

Or is it walk while I limp. Same diff Gimp.

I tell myself that I enjoy going slower, for I notice things others don’t.
Things like my frost bitten thumb, numb against the frozen metal of the cane. Awareness?

Or the sound my full Coke makes as it slides off the McDonald’s tray in slow motion and spills all over the floor because I could not perform the balancing act required,  but thought I could.  Not the first time I have misjudged my abilities, and won’t be the last. Not the first time I have gone thirsty either.

And because I cannot escape the absurd scene quick enough because someone has just washed the slippery tile floor, I get to hear the half-wit who works there berating me, as though I have made a mess and a fool of myself on purpose. Now I am limping and embarrassed.

My hands are shaking and I might puke.

I won’t share this part of my day with the family at the supper table.

Jan.30, 2011

1 comment:

  1. Very moving Wanda. Thanks for sharing with us. I have found that writing prose sometimes helps loosen parts of me that feel knotted up, tense, contracted. I wonder what you experience while writing, and afterwards?

    Irini, Feb.01, 2011