Lucky

I saw a physiotherapist yesterday who told me the pain in my shoulder is bursitis. I need to not overdo it and I need to ice it. Most of the time it is a niggling pain. Last time I overdid it, it was three sleepless nights of pain.

Tonight I went swing dancing. You’ll be happy to know I’ve finally mastered tandem kicks. Well, mastered is a bit strong. But I understand the pattern. It’s a Charleston step that works very well in 8-count swing. I’ve traditionally done 6-count--I’m trying to up my game.

So why am I lucky? Well, for one thing, the only thing wrong with me is some minor shoulder pain. That’s lucky, given all I try to do. I write in an online file every day, each entry listing something I’m grateful for. I never run out of material. This week one of my entries was about all of the bad things that don’t happen. The near-miss car accidents. The near-miss tumble down the stairs (our stairs seem too small for my big feet and I occasionally have almost-face plants. The near miss accidents in the kitchen. The oven rack has a notch in it. When you pull out a casserole dish (not something I do often, mind), the rack tips forward and the dish very nearly cascades toward my ankles. Whenever something doesn’t go my way, even stupid little things, I try to remind myself how much shit I get away with. Which is a lot. I read an essay in The Sun magazine once by a man who elevated this whole concept to poetry. He walked the reader through his entire day and listed everything that broke his way that didn’t need to. I always thought that was a very valuable exercise.
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