I woke up this morning unable to feel my legs.
I knew they were there, that they were still attached to my body. But I could not feel them. It felt as if I were having phantom pains, of legs that had been but had ceased to be.
I flexed my toes, felt them move; my legs felt like unexplored space between my waist and my feet, a deep canyond that I could not walk across.
I knew it was going to be one of those days.
I waited until the muscles unknotted themselves and I had regained some feeling. I swung them out of bed, tested my feet on the floor. I could stand, but my legs felt unreal, as if they weren’t there.
It was like wading through water, a soft coolness as they reaserted themselves, made themselves known.
I touched them to make sure they were still there, even though I could see them. I was walking that tightrope again, balancing between walking and not walking.
Sometimes I just want to fall off the tightrope and let my legs give out from underneath me. But Pride won’t let me do that.
Pride won’t let me do a lot of things.