Thursday, June 18, 2015

The Dance of Dissolution

I must take a basic knife safety course, a kitchen primer. I sliced my finger again. Same one. The thumb. Again, while slicing onions. At this rate I will have no remaining opposable digit on my left extremity by the end of the year. I am reverting to a flipper-like beastiness. I imagine it gets more difficult to accidentally slice through once you're down to the bone. Or, that is what the many Civil War reenactments that I have attended would have me believe. 

I bought a new set of knives, and they are sharp. I barely touched the blade. In fact, didn't even know I had cut my finger until I had ruined my sandwich. I have lost enough flesh on my left side now that it is affecting my swimming. I can not maintain ballast, even when floating belly down, arms outstretched. 

The boy is showing more signs of stress. It is heartbreaking, his frustrations. As if a divorce isn't difficult enough, to see it acted out upon the heart of your child is an additional layer of anguish that I am still not prepared for. Though, with no path backwards it makes any path forward seem far more preferable than it previously had. Remorse is fading into resolve. 

As long as the ex and I can keep working together well as co-parents then it will eventually smooth itself out, or so I'm told. The poor kid gets bounced back and forth between us almost every other day. It is no wonder that he wants some more stability. Since there are some questions that we can not answer for him we may as well try to create a sense of consistency and seamlessness in his day to day life.

Out of chaos, order.

I try to console myself with the knowledge that it could be much worse, and it is for many, though that offers little succor. Things could also be better, I am obligated to remind myself. No cynic should think otherwise.

Tomorrow, the doctor will take the pain away. I am going to press heavily for liquid morphine, to solve all of my immediate problems. That should give us the time we need to deal with any lingering maladies.

It is the only advantage to getting older that I can conjure, that doctors don't argue with me any more concerning my pain. They now know it's real. They trust the look in my eyes in ways that they have not always.