The camel's back done broke

I am writing to you in a drug-induced stupor from a semi-prone position in my non-ergonomic chair. I thought I should tell you that in case I write anything that is beneath my usual standard of literary excellence or in case you notice the drool dripping from my chin.

At this point, you may ask, “Why is Persephone in a drug-induced stupor? Has she been mixing it up with ScarJo, LiLo, and JLo? Has she lapsed once again into a dissolute life of Class A drugs, EzyCheez, and Little People?”

Oh my friends, heavens no. I threw out my back out and have been forced to rely on a potent cocktail of painkillers to survive.

At this point, you may ask, “Why is Persephone’s back out? Has she been having exciting sex in exotic positions? Has she been digging latrines in Ecuador for the less privileged?”

Goodness no. These days, it seems that picking up two items of laundry from a chair is enough to send my back into spasm.

I've spent the better part of the week moaning and worrying and not writing in my blog.

I worry a lot in general, but the past few months have taken me to new levels of anxiety, in which I chew my fingers to bloody stumps and flap them about helplessly. The frustration, of course, is that I am not helpless, just useless. I bring all of this on myself - the resurgence of Dermonster, and the trans-Atlantic love triangle with Fauxhawk and Blue Eyes – and when my body and mind and spirit show signs of distress, I complain. I agonize. I watch as my body falls apart, my mind grows increasingly confused, my spirit sinks.

In between moans, I stared up at the ceiling and thought.

You have to make decisions. Just make one tiny decision and be done with it. Everyone is counting on you to decide.

But sometimes, there are no small decisions – each way seems to carve a radically different and irreversible path. And so I’ve been paralyzed, first figuratively - then literally - by the thought of a false step. When did I become so careful, so risk averse? At what point did I decide that indecision was better than action?

What would happen if I were fearless?

In the meantime, people I love grow restless. They cannot wait for decision. I watch as one retreats, helpless in the face of such monumental waffling. I suspect another will follow in time. I can’t blame them for throwing up their hands in defeat.

Perhaps one must sit patiently with ambiguity and indecision until an answer becomes clear. Perhaps no solution is the solution.

This is what I say, anyway, as I dig in my heels and wait.

Photograph by Shasvat