A Cavalier (in my mind)

I sit at my table listening to Max Richter’s From Sleep spilling out of the kids’ room. I’ve just sweated out a brutal fever. I went to bed with a sore throat last night, woke up with its big brother, and went to class feeling like a zombie. After two doses of DayQuil, a short nap with one eye open and hours shivering beneath a furry blanket too short for my legs, I’m feeling like Frankenstein instead of Dracula at high noon. It’s a start. In this delirium, I bring to you a valiant attempt to convey what’s on my mind and in my heart. I’ve just finished The Count of Monte Cristo, and man was it good. I highly recommend it.

This week has been a rough blur to be quite honest. After a winter break of lazing around mostly nursing a loud knee, I had a couple two-a-days last week that shot me into a world of soreness I had forgotten existed. But, I felt good. I felt strong. Then, Saturday night during a frenzy-filled bartending shift, I planted my right knee and bent slightly to grab a bottle of water out of an ice bath. In that moment, I faced a terror I’d only imagined before: I felt as though there was a rubberband about to snap in my right knee. It sent a shock of pain in all directions and felt weak. Then, it  caught fire. I staggered to a wall, regained my sanity, and took 30 seconds to meditate myself back into my body. I took note of everything else going on, felt the discomfort dissipating, and carried on with work. For the next half hour, I moved around as cautiously as an injured cavalier – the ballet had to go on. The pain did not return, and I went home a million times more conscious of a hinge-type friend.

The following morning, I began a flexibility program and began the process of getting it checked out. It may sound risky to begin a program instead of nursing it, but I honestly feel as though it is begging me to strengthen it. I don’t consider myself a risk-taker in the conventional sense. I’m not reckless (anymore). However, I attack unconventionally, and sometimes that means appearing foolhardy to those around me. I think I’m okay with that. The knee is feeling as good as it did before that moment, and I am constantly checking myself to make sure I don’t mistreat it. Of course, getting advice from a professional (which I will certainly take) is the next step. It was in this process of problem solving that the fever hit. I sit here at my table trying to write through it instead of bailing out and lying down. I think I see a pattern here…