second fig

by Charlotte

And so I have this doctor.  He’s not really great outside of the room.  He’ll let my emails sit for weeks and weeks, miss refilling a prescription when I’m out of town, and is basically unreachable via telephone.  Indeed, I’ve been fighting off the sneaking suspicion that he’s some sort of hologram or perhaps is trapped in said room, bound and gagged when I’m not there.

I go in all wound up and tell him a story from the tragic, tragic time between our two visits and he’ll say, “It’s like in the Garden of Eden, isn’t it?”  Then I realize that this cardboard cut-out and his Welcome Back, Kotter ringtone and the Old Testament references and me and him and he and I are probably not going to change anytime soon, and maybe that’s not the worst thing.

I suppose what I’m saying is that we’re in the room now, reader.

I’ve been cheating on sewing with ready-to-wear and cheating on ready-to-wear with entertaining made-to-measure and then I left made-to-measure at the altar for the future promise of bespoke.  Really, it’s been a tumultuous year and change.

It’s funny.  Tomorrow, I’m on skis for the first time since my accident almost two (two!) years ago.  I am going to be bringing the skis that were getting waxed while I was having my accident, the ones I picked up while wearing an ankle-to-thigh immobilizer.  I’m nervous about falling, yes.  Surgery, kind of (I feel like I’m really good at having surgery).  I suppose the thing that’s really getting to me is the fear that I just won’t like it anymore.  It’s no coincidence, I suppose, that I’ve all but abandoned this space over the past 18-ish months, either.

I’m not saying I’m back, but shall we say I’m dipping a toe?  Let’s see how tomorrow goes and decide from there.