Hippy holidays…

I considered using the word “allegedly” throughout the post but in the end decided that this was one of those rants that should be considered therapy… then deleted.  Believe me I didn’t come to that decision lightly.  Gib pulled the plug on my fantastic piece of literary genius and I’ve been on writer’s strike ever since!

Suffice it to say I saved myself a few hundred dollars in therapy bills, a few thousand in legal bills and I feel better to have written and deleted than never to have written at all!  But mark my words, if I hear one more depressing Christmas song I might just stab myself with a snowman shaped pate knife!

My body is a mess.  Broken and scattered like a child’s toy tossed aside.  (Crap! I think that was one of the lines from a depressing Christmas song.) I was twelve the first time I felt the jolt of pain rush down my leg.  I’d grown 6 inches that summer and what was first thought to be growing pains would eventually have me wheeled into an operating room with two of the top ortho surgeons reconstructing the innards around my hip joint.

My tendons and ligaments don’t work the way they’re supposed to.  When you stretch an elastic, it should fling itself naturally back in place… mine stay stretched out and surgery was needed to shorten the mess to keep the ball and socket joint from coming apart with every few dozen steps I’d take.  Surgery was successful for a great number of years but the last few I’ve noticed a big difference and the fall I took a few weeks ago has done me in.  I can fight through a fair amount of discomfort from my hips but this time things are different.  I’m limping my way through Christmas shopping and kid’s activities… holding my breath as I climb the bleachers at the hockey rink… and physically having to lift my leg into the car each and every time I get into it.  There’s much to do… parties to attend… not not exactly a good time to be broke.

I’m like one of those vintage wooden push puppets, strung together with elastic and string… a press of the button making it collapse into a foolish heap.  And unfortunately… my button is pressed.

I’m desperately trying to work through the discomfort and get the holidays in swing.  I started my outisde decorating and my non-LED lights are greatly lifting my spirits.  The delight on my children’s faces when they arrived home the other night made it all worthwhile even if I did have to watch my brother climb up and down the ladder repeatedly for over an hour!

Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year and if you can push yourself through some of the hurt you might be able to see the twinkling lights… even if you have to squint really hard.  I’m all jittery and wiggly and feeling like someone’s toying with that button… sending me into a spastic dance and about to collapse in a big ol’ heap.  I need my elastics to snap back in place so I can fling myself straight and enjoy the weeks ahead with a little less of the “I’ll be Home for Christmas” and a little more “Joy to the World”.

Allegedly.