Adventure in Workman’s Comp

I love my job.

Well, let’s try again.

I love the work that I do. I love the people I work with. I love that at the end of the day I can crash (probably shouldn’t say crash when one works with aircrafts) in my bed and say, “I turned at least 3 planes today, and I loaded and sent out 4 others.”  That’s a pretty grand sense of accomplishment. At a desk I would be able to say, “I sat here for 8 hours, and I think I organized some files. I remember the phone ringing. I know I talked to someone.” I don’t think I know what people in offices even do.

But right now, I do a lot of nothing. I did something to my shoulder. And while I’ve been to a doctor’s office at least 3 times and a physical therapist 5 times so far, I am yet to see an actual doctor. I hear things like, “Looks like you strained it.” “I bet you tore something.” “Those ligaments are feelin’ bad.” “I once elevated my first rib. I bet you did. Let me push down hard on this for a while. It’s gonna hurt.” (and then I cry for a few days after that last one).  It makes me nervous. How do I know something worse isn’t happening there inside my relatively…super important major joint?

I admit I miss having something to constantly do, but I also love suddenly having a seemingly normal social life again. Or at least a social life again. That I can answer my phone after 5 pm. I can drink coffee after 7 am and still be able to sleep. I can go to the weddings I need to be at. I can meet lovely boys that I instantly adore, but know I’ll never see again. I cannot painlessly dance the night away. Especially, two nights in a row.

I can with confidence say, “Yes, I’ll be at your show.” “Thank you, I’d love to see your new house.” “Yes, please I’d love to watch your baby.”  “I don’t know when that is or if I”ll have to work for sure or how football works, but I love this new thing where I get to see humans, so yes! Let’s get people together to watch the next Colts game.”

Admittedly, I’ve watched a bounty of TV. Knitted 4 hats and 1 scarf. Made about 5 dozen cookies. Gone to at least 4 parties that weren’t weddings. Given many gifts. Seen many friends. Applied for many jobs. And all that any of it has made me realize is that I don’t live life enough. I know more than ever that my job holds me back from that, which I hate, because my job also opens doors. Or worlds. I can see the world through my job, but I never get the chance because I’m always at work.

I don’t wake up in the morning feelin’ like P. Diddy. At best I wake up in the morning feelin’ like Busy Phillips. Oh you don’t know who that is because you didn’t watch “Freaks and Geeks” or “Dawson’s Creek” (seasons 5 and 6) and you never saw “White Chicks”? Well, see that’s the point. She’s awesome! And some days I wake up feeling awesome, but mostly underrated. Blows. And not being able to live my life and learn from it is the biggest problem my job offers me. With a new job I could wake up feelin’ like Alyson Hannigan. At least! I don’t think I’ll ever feel like Diddy.

I do know that I want to start being out there. I want to start knowing people. Really knowing them. Their stories. Their hurts. Their successes. Their proudest moments. And I know that to do that I need to start seeing them more and more.

Reset?

Adventure in driving to work every day at 3 am

and writing poetry in the notepad of my phone. NOT SAFE. But the man in the moon looked like he was falling out of the sky and I couldn’t help myself. My Cara got married. I was sad so I wrote this horrible poem. Mostly I want to be able to delete it from my phone and know somewhere this bad poem exists for the world to suffer through. I’m infecting the world. It was good to see her though. To get to be a part of such an important and beautiful moment in her life. A change. Tell you what though, Karson’s one lucky SOB that I like him.

The moon man falling out of space.
His eyes to his home as he falls
Down
Down
Down
Until he lands splashing
Deep into the Pacific.
Eaten by cold water and whales
Or sharks
Or rescued by the Coast Guard
Claimed by Russian spies.
The moon man fell.
And the sun is chasing after him.
His bright arms reaching
And grasping to save his fallen comrade.
His comrade that’s gone
To the sea
And the Russians.
Cold and alone
Without the warmth of his friend.