No_more_pain;222652 said:
I went to the local market today with my mother. Whoopy, big deal, right?
Well... for some, that's literally nothing. For others, it is a big deal.
I won't get into the emasculating feeling of being driven around by your mother when you're pushing 40. I won't get into the resistance my brain has to learning how to get around this area that I've lived in for five years now--all I tend to remember is (a) home (b) {a big blur happens here} then (c) destination.
I will however say that it was a nice experience to see this place (for the first time I might add) that I'd been hearing about since before we moved in, in person. A quaint mixture of commercial foods and things prepared fresh there.
Here's how it went:
Drive (technically "be driven") to market, park. Get out of the car, walk in. Grab a basket, carry basket. Look at various foods and goodies, making my Pekingese face as I go (see previous post/blog entry about glasses). Fifteen minutes later, check out, leave with bags. Load car, get in car, drive home.
Here's how it felt:
"Combat diary, day 3... I have no idea where I am. My arm is burning from carrying the supplies, but I dare not drop them - it's the reason we came so far into enemy territory...
The locals stare at me.... I look like one of them, but they can tell there's something different about me. It's only a matter of time before one of them figures it out...
Day 6... I'd almost given up hope when I heard the rescue chopper finally coming. It was all I could do to get the supplies and myself onboard before it took off.
Day 14... I'm told my injuries will take a while to heal. I don't remember the flight home. I know we'll have to go back out there soon. Maybe too soon.... we better have backup next time."
Okay, so maybe that's overstating things a bit.
... but only just a little.
Well... for some, that's literally nothing. For others, it is a big deal.
I won't get into the emasculating feeling of being driven around by your mother when you're pushing 40. I won't get into the resistance my brain has to learning how to get around this area that I've lived in for five years now--all I tend to remember is (a) home (b) {a big blur happens here} then (c) destination.
I will however say that it was a nice experience to see this place (for the first time I might add) that I'd been hearing about since before we moved in, in person. A quaint mixture of commercial foods and things prepared fresh there.
Here's how it went:
Drive (technically "be driven") to market, park. Get out of the car, walk in. Grab a basket, carry basket. Look at various foods and goodies, making my Pekingese face as I go (see previous post/blog entry about glasses). Fifteen minutes later, check out, leave with bags. Load car, get in car, drive home.
Here's how it felt:
"Combat diary, day 3... I have no idea where I am. My arm is burning from carrying the supplies, but I dare not drop them - it's the reason we came so far into enemy territory...
The locals stare at me.... I look like one of them, but they can tell there's something different about me. It's only a matter of time before one of them figures it out...
Day 6... I'd almost given up hope when I heard the rescue chopper finally coming. It was all I could do to get the supplies and myself onboard before it took off.
Day 14... I'm told my injuries will take a while to heal. I don't remember the flight home. I know we'll have to go back out there soon. Maybe too soon.... we better have backup next time."
Okay, so maybe that's overstating things a bit.
... but only just a little.
