Friday, the weekend is here. Remember when the weekend used to mean so much? Promises of a wild Friday night, time with friends on Saturday recovering then doing it all again on Saturday night. Memories from 20 years or more for me.
These days Friday means Target, the pet store and the ever titillating grocery store. If I'm lucky I'll get wild and buy something not on my Target list ... so middle America. Saturday is spent at home avoiding the crowds and all the cars. Sunday is pretty much more of the same.
I guess this sounds ungrateful for the life that my partner and I have made together. But I'm not ungrateful I'm just bored. So very bored. I fully realize that my life is my choices. Change is scary ... difficult to say the least. Why is it so easier to believe that forward movement is next to impossible? Why do I allow myself to believe that my pool of energy is far to shallow to dip into for more than the mundane moments of life, i.e., getting out of bed, eating and going through the motions of a housebound individual.
In my minds eye I see through a gauzy curtain -- a life that I once participated in. My life was holding down a job, contributing to society, relationships with family and friends. The gauze of that curtain gets a little thicker as time marches on. As the days turns into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years the ability to see any other version of the disabled Ben becomes less believable.
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