It is not easy.
Here is a snapshot of my life:
My apartment is cold. I have been back and forth with the landlord, but it is still cold.
Yet I have been barefoot for the past 5-6 hours.
Why? Because I took a shower, got out some clean socks, and am still trying to put them on.
A midlife woman, relatively normal to all appearances, can not put on her socks? Why, pray tell?
Because I am fused nearly to my tailbone and have no flexibility in my spine. And I can not reach the little toenail on my right foot to trim a ragged nail. So I go through the contortions of trying to reach my right foot to put on my right sock, and every time I try (stretching parts of me that can not or should not be stretched -- EVER), the blasted sock gets snagged on the infernal toenail.
Our bodies hurt and our lives are hard. Still, we must bless our bodies and our lives.
We will get our socks on. And then our shoes. And carry our laundry to the basement. And wash and dry it all, including that one pair of funky longjohns, which will be clean and warm. And thank Someone or Something for the blessing of a clanking radiator (it just came on, at last) and a comfy, cherished quilt, and an email from a friend out west, and a phone call from a friend near Haifa -- for each small, perfect pleasure; for the humor, the inherent ridiculousness, of our plight with our socks -- for having socks . . . for this precious, difficult moment.
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