Bumps and Bruises

So I have 4 days left in the "Windy City" to train like Rocky and lick the wounds I've acquired from all of my self-injurious behavior over the past few weeks.  I know that when you have a lot on your mind, too much to do, and/or act in a hurry you are more likely to make silly mistakes but apparently I am seriously injury prone.  After my first three warnings (including a near fall down the stairs resulting in a puncture centimeters from my eyeball) I thought I was being more aware of concentrating on my physical actions.  That is, until August 1st's innocent attempt to blend my own homemade pesto sauce.  Unlike all the blenders I have used, my mother's immersion blender has no safety feature.  Needless to say I learned a valuable lesson during my emergency room ordeal: "always remove sharp appliances from their electrical source before touching them."  Thankfully, this happened while my mom (a registered nurse) was home and my Blue Cross card was still active.  15 stitches and almost a month later I am able to look at my sliced finger and talk about it.  The nerves seem to be repairing themselves and the jury is still out on the future of my fingernail.  My obsessive wound care with essential oils and mederma seems to be helping the scar heal and I have now become a walking public service announcement for blade safety.

While my blended up finger was the most painful of the injuries, I still have a frightening record that I've accumulated while packing and moving around like a nomad during the last few weeks: a blood blister from squeezing my finger in clippers, slamming a door on my finger, dropping a box on my toe, banging and bruising my leg in some mystery injury, and the slip down the stairs with accompanying eye puncture.  Dare I drive across the country and fly across the world with my dog next week?   

The answer:  The King Spa, Chiropractor, Massage Therapist, and Mediterranean Sea 

 



  

If you were stranded on a island what is the one thing you would take with you?

So I have royally failed at my attempt to add weekly entries to this blog.  However I will waive the self-inflicted punishment because in lieu of blogging, I have been writing my final paper for my animal assisted therapy program which I will present in Denver on the 25th.  Additionally, I have been facing the most daunting task of fitting my material life into 2 suitcases.  This task has forced me to question my attachments to the physical world.  You know the age-old question, "If you were stranded on a island what is the one thing you would take with you?"  I feel like I have been answering this question in my quest to pack for a year.  The only difference is that it is 2 suitcases not "one thing" that I am taking with me and I will not be "stranded" by any stretch of the imagination.  Nonetheless, I laugh as I pack things like laundry detergent.  Yes, I know they sell laundry detergent in Tel Aviv.  They sell everything in Tel Aviv.  Yet someone in someway my laundry detergent is some silly familiar attachment that I have.  With three weeks before my departure I am stockpiling physical items that I've told myself I'll appreciate when I am "stranded" in Israel: Pure Minerals makeup, Ricola cough drops, Essential Oils.  While I gain some entertainment from this exercise I'm in shock at the amount of material possessions I've accumulated over my lifetime.  Despite the purging of miscellaneous and random items from my basement, garage, and cabinets I still own a shocking amount of clothing.  And since I am going to the middle east where I will be rejoicing at what they call winter, I do not even need the heavy reminders of hibernation season in Chicago.  Still, I pack up shirt after shirt and listen to my internal voice struggle in dialogue.  "Oh, this is cute.  You haven't worn it in a while.  You'll totally wear this in Israel" (enter random article of clothing into suitcase) "Sheree, if you dare buy another article of clothing in Israel your closet will explode.  This better be worth the shlep."  This conversation continues until I weigh my first piece of luggage and laugh at the prospect that the entire content will account for my 100 allotted pounds.  "Ha" "yeah right" "better downsize, girl."  The truth is that I have no idea what I will or will not want other than my dog, Indi.  She is a given and completely worth the $225 fee each way.  And since I have also convinced myself that I will be living like I am poor next year, I really do not want to pay to replace anything that I already own and have spent money on (I am certain that further elaboration on living in poverty will follow as I receive my Israeli salary).  This random stream of consciousness has boomeranged me right back to the concept of Attachments.  I've already detached from my townhouse, my job, and most of my large physical belongings and soon it will be time to part with my car ("oh how I will miss your convenience").  Somehow I am reassured that once I step foot into my September apartment in the heart of Tel Aviv and drop my bags, I will know that all the preparation was worth it.  I plan to have an amazing year.