the wrong car

feeling out of sorts these post-surgical days. my voice is stronger than ever, even boomy… it’s kind of miraculous. but as with the previous 11 surgeries since my mishap of 2008, it’s always the rebound from the anesthetics that feels more challenging and unpredictable than the healing of the body from the injuries themselves.

there’s a longing to connect with people, but i’m in a bit of a bubble… i wake up feeling “normal” and then suddenly, in the middle of the day, out of nowhere, the rug is pulled out from under me, stamina-wise.

and it’s difficult for people to get it who haven’t been through something like this. not that i would expect them to get it. i have no idea what i will feel like the moment i finish this sentence.

i’ve been feeling particularly bad since the night after surgery when i spoke on the phone with a dear friend who i always connect with very strongly. i was trying to describe to her what it felt like to live through the terror of having my neck sliced open and partially conscious through much of it. and she was in a state of anguish over a guy she had found on OkCupid who had not responded to her heartfelt, authentic message… not even the courtesy of a response. i tried to tell her, it’s ok… it’s only a dating site, and rarely does anything meaningful happen on a dating site.

but my expression of this only created this friction we have rarely experienced. i had to recall that her suffering was as genuine as mine. because we are both trying to live in the world as fully as we can, and connect with the world as fully as we can. it doesn’t matter if the vehicle to connect is a dating site, or a laryngeal implant. they’re both meant to achieve the same purpose. But I felt that my attempts to console may have sounded belittling… and i have regretted this for 2 days now. i know we will overcome this.

i was a bit unsettled this afternoon while returning to my car, which was parked on Broadway. someone had fastened a kayak to my roof rack, once used for bicycles i no longer ride. i’m not sure how it got there, but it could only have been an omen. a representation of whatever kind of passage i may be going through. could this have something to do with the shamanic death my oracle had foreseen?

And why would it happen on Broadway, next to my gym, parked in front of the dry cleaners? who ARE these dry cleaners anyway? perhaps it was really their kayak that they were passing on to me, just as a loaner. what could have been their intentions?

but then I realized, this was not even my car, nor my roof rack.  but i still sensed this as an omen that was meant for me… and me alone… it was the right kayak, misplaced on the wrong car.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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