Sharp pains are climbing up my legs like vines.
I can’t lift my feet properly today, it seems. Every time I go to take a step, I trip over my own feet. I try to remember what the therapist used to tell me (picture it, Jamie: Heel, toe, heel, toe) and feel like a drag queen contestant learning to walk in high heeled shoes.
It does no good. I keep tripping. I can feel the eyes of a co-worker looking at me as she walks behind me. I pay her no mind and keep walking, my right foot twisting on me. I stumble forward a bit and ignore it, I keep walking.
I feel like everyone is looking at my feet today, but I know that’s mostly my imagination. Walking back to my desk, I trip again, dress shoes scuffing against the thin gray carpet.
I can’t lift my feet properly, no matter how much I try today. If I force my feet to cooporate, my legs up the discomfort up a notch. The vines are knotting the muscles together, tightening them and even sitting, I know the Elephant Man is back, his Elephant Legs straining against the skin that holds them.
I let a song run through my head (today it is “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way, gone are the dark clouds that had me down…it’s going to be a bright, bright, bright sun shiny day…”) to take my focus away from the jabs that feel like hot kisses on my legs.
I get so tired of counting sometimes.