Jesus, is this depression, by any chance? Not having the will to do anything, no matter how fun it used to be? Well, it’s probably not that, because if it were, I would probably still be in my bed or crying in the toilet – the only to places you eventually have to go. Maybe the kitchen as well but definitely more optional that the later two. Also, I’m writing this with an increasing sense of joy, so that couldn’t be it. It’s the twisted ankle thing.
It’s the closest thing to vices on Earth as I can imagine. Not that I entirely understand the concept or believe in it. I’m not, however, burning in hell and definitely not leaping with joy in heaven. Nor am I dead, for that matter, but I firmly believe there is no way hell could exist and that heaven is a much, much, much different place than we can ever image or books describe. I do believe we can experience it here on this beloved planet if we so choose. And since I’m not in any of the two right now, I must be in vices, repenting (or thinking about trying to) for some sins only me and maybe some other people remember. Because God knows, he makes no log files.
I hate being sick. Not so much because of the bodily weakness, headaches or other pains. It’s the simple reason of lying down to rest. I mean, there’s only so much rest I need, right? After I’m done I get up and go (more or less) happily about my day. For that reason being sick is not the worst because I’m probably wrecked anyway so sleeping and resting come naturally anyway. It’s the fuckin injures that get me. Quite specifically, twisted ankles, God fuck’em.
I’m sure there would be a bunch of people, including the random woman who drove me the doctor, who who would be high and mighty on their throne of: “Well, you should have thought about that before you went over limits!” Oh, go fuck yourselves! Really! First of all, I haven’t done anything that would be over my limits! You’ve never skated a day in your life so please, let’s not go there, ok? Furthermore, I doubt you’ve ever done any sports in your life and quite frankly, have you ever actually lived? Lately, at least. Point being, you don’t now this sport, you weren’t actually there, on the board when it happened so buzz off!
What it was, was a simple matter of pushing the limits. Going 60 or 70 km/h down a hill would most certainly be going over my limits because there is no way I would survive. It’s just not the level I’m at. But trying to slide just a centimeter more than the last try is not. It’s tentatively feeling the edges of what I believe is still possible for me to do in this moment and time with the skills I believe I have. It’s not crazy, it’s not ludicrous and definitely not irresponsible.
And yes, it just so happens that when you push your limits you sometimes get injured. And what you don’t do is think about how you’re gonna quit, but you learn a valuable lesson that’s most likely gonna reduce the chance of injuries in the future.
And don’t even try to tell me how dangerous this sport is and shouldn’t I stick to something more safer? Like what?! Chess, maybe?! No. I wanna ride my board and I wanna ride it as fast as I possibly can and if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine with me and you probably shouldn’t but I will because it’s the only thing keeping me from thinking about yet another loving relationship that could have been wonderful but I messed it up. It’s like a grieving process, ok?! And that’s why being inside on these super sunny August days sucks not only because I can feel the life force in me being denied because of an injury it sucks twice as much because now I have to think about it. Which I would’t mind so much if I’d actually know how to forget or what to do about it. Ok?!