Today I feel achy, and wiped out, and generally just sad. I’d like to think it is my period, because beautiful moon flow womanhood time tends to wipe me out in a very similar way, but I know it’s because I am delicate and fragile like a snowdrop, and I hate it very, very much.
Getting mugged was scary, and it’s made me realize that I should be more alert and maybe carry a flamethrower, but it shouldn’t be something that derails my life entirely and makes me feel all shaky and sends me to quake under my bed, afraid to leave the house. If I’m not careful, I feel like I’m going to become a shut-in who orders all her groceries online and keeps her shades drawn and her curtains shut and collects piles of newspapers and cardboard boxes and all the cats in the neighborhood. I’m going to become Boo Radley.
I know, I should give myself a break, and be gentle with myself and
take care of me and being mugged is very terrible and if were anyone
else who had gotten knocked down on 14th Street, I’d say dude, stay
home for the rest of the week and eat chocolate and cry a lot and feel
sorry for yourself, because that sucks and is lame and you deserve to
wallow. But I’m just getting impatient with myself for wanting to stay
home, and cry, and feel sorry for myself because my back hurts and my
neck hurts and everything is sore. I keep thinking about it—I was dumb
to have been just bouncing down the street on the phone, blithely
unaware. I was so stupid to have fought the fucker—what if he had
hauled off and punched me? What if he had one hand on my bag and the
other on a knife? Or a grenade launcher or a broken bottle or brass
knuckles or a can of Raid or a ferret or tazer, or. These are the
ridiculous things I keep thinking about. I am already tired of it. I
really am fine. I’d like to go ahead and feel fine now, please.