Hubris

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I thought of calling this  post "Vulnerable, Preceded by Stupid" but hubris covers it nicely too. It's about me being a little too cavalier, about  that moment when twist and pivot yield wrenching pain, when the lifting of the vacuum cleaner, a bucket of water, or a large clay pot of soil abruptly culminates in a muscle spasm that really means business. It's about brisk hikes with lopsided backpacks, and clumsily carrying a bicycle, and suspending tote bags of groceries on my poor twiggy fingers because I'm too lazy to make an extra trip  up and down the stairs.

It's about trying too hard and then not at all, and  failing to stretch or do sit-ups, and shlepping and trudging and always assuming I'm as good as I was a decade ago. It's about my resistance to resting and taking it easy until I have no other choice but to do so. It's about lack of forethought, misplaced competitiveness, and relearning humility the hard way.

"Atlas always had a sore back," said Jeanne yesterday. (As, I assume, did Sisyphus.) Anyway, I over-estimated my durability once again, pulled a muscle in my back, and it's surprisingly debilitating. So I am typing this in bed, a pile of pillows to support me, trying to wait it out, feeling vulnerable and stupid, in need of a good glass of whine. Thanks for listening.