Taking hold

Today was the last day of the first semester of my manual therapy course here in Seattle. The half-way mark. After moving hay with Cowboy last week, and having improper hay-hook technique, I had to spend the last class observing while my index fingers quietly ached in the metacarpophalangeal joints. After class, I sat the two written papers that transferred credit from my physiotherapy studies to this current course and school. By some miracle, I passed – although a good deal of the very basic biology that we covered and discarded very early on in London was completely erased from my memory with no hope of recall.

Now that the exams are done, and the first semester is done, I am conscious of the gradual slip that has happened since before Christmas. It’s the subtle accumulation of rubbish and wrappers in my car, and the way my sock drawer doesn’t have socks in it any longer. Socks live in the constant cycle of feet, laundry bin, washing machine and dryer. They bypass the sock drawer entirely. Maybe that doesn’t matter a whole heap, other than it makes me think about whether I have a good hold on things at the moment or not.

The other day, Cowboy berated me for dangling my reins from my fingertips rather than taking hold of them with my whole hand. It isn’t just my reins that I need to take hold of now that I am catching up with school. I have taken to eating convenient, processed food, and the result is that I’m more lethargic than ever, and craving sugary junk.

I’d better get a grip. There’s a wedding dress to fit into in the summer… And I’ll start getting a grip right after I spend the whole evening in my hotel room, eating cake and watching tv. Because I can.

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