I had a good day. Not a white knuckle day. A good day with therapy and errands and time spent with my friend, Shelley. Shelley is a 61 year old former crack addict who left her whole life behind so she could fully embrace recovery. Shes not just my friend. Shes my bastion of hope, my proof the journey doesnt stop at a certain age. Thats a helluva a tall order to fill for a petite senior citizen. Doesnt matter much to Shelley. Shes got chutzpah to spare. Earlier today, after I told my therapist that the house I grew up in was torn down last year, he was all, Oh, really. Whats the address? And suddenly, hes usin the interwebs to find that space way down in south Alabama that haunts me still. Hes punchin it in and hes all, Beth, your childhood home doesnt exist anymore. And Im all, I know. And hes all, How does that make you feel? And Im all, Like Rocky when he doesnt technically win the fight with Apollo Creed, but hes the real winner cause he kept comin at him and he treated it like a real fight, not a show and he wasnt supposed to be all badass, but he was and he completely showed everyone what he was made of and now, I got that theme playin in my head and Im bobbin around the ring with Shelley as my manager, yellin for me to watch his jabs and Im bloody and hurtin, but I dont let up until that bell rings!! And we just look at one another and I was all, Im totally going home and watchin Rocky. And my therapist was all, I just did.
Posted on: Tue, 04 Nov 2014 00:04:05 +0000
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