When a disability keeps your body from moving properly, it would be nice if you could dial back on the energy your mind thinks it still has. I'm still a spazz, I just can't act on my spazmoid impulses like I used to. Two years ago I was doing bizarre and tacky things to my garden and had an absolute blast doing it. There's a non-mathematical, non-verbal thing that lives in me. It loves textures and colors and smells, and letting this thing off its leash for a while is pure bliss. It thrives on movement and sweat, it loves releasing heat energy via muscle work. It seems to really like the Dead Kennedy's and Ojos de Brujo. Don't ask. I don't know.

This morning, having hit precisely the right balance between vicodin and caffeine, I was finally able to do a little bit of pruning and weeding. It was wonderful, and that is what I'm trying to focus on. My spring-frenzied mind kept making plans that I can no longer put into action, though, and I had to slap down that non-speaking thing. Again. Worse than having to slap that thing down, I worry about the day when it stops trying to come out.

So, in two weeks I'm going to learn to ride a motorcycle. I think that might feed my inner non-verbal thing. It's certainly been excited about the idea - we've been compulsively researching motorcycles for over two weeks now. I don't think I'll end up with the '40's Indian Scout I've been lusting for - maybe just a small scooter to begin with. Something broken in and kind of ugly, something I can relate to.

Maybe the Universe will crash me, saying "Thou shalt not ride", just like it told me "Thou shalt not make tacky garden art" before.

I don't think it will say anything. I don't believe the Universe has any mystical will. I do believe in physics and the infinite stupidity of Napa drivers. If I get a good handle on both, my inner beast and I might just be okay.