It is times like this: this moment as fingers poised above alphabetic keyboard hesitate...
It is times like this that I know life carries on, regardless of time to write and sort events into categories delineated by chronology, emotion, relationship, place and structure.
In 15 minutes a woman will arrive at my house and follow me up to the spare room where a massage table awaits. The flannel sheets are warmed by a full-length heating pad; a room-heater is taking off the overnight chill while morning sun shines in brightly, angled through a south window.
That's all I have time to tell you right now. I must change into my massage student outfit: casual scrubs top and loose pants, flat roomy shoes with good grippy soles. Hair up and out of my face and special glasses with temples bent to stay on while my face is turned to look down. It is a miracle.
It is a miracle because I have wanted to learn professional massage, to DO massage, ever I can remember anything. And I'm doing it. And the Lyme is getting tired of hanging around. More about that later. A lot more. For now, I congratulate myself for moving on, for enduring, for being my best friend.
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