10.15am. I went to see my doctor. I need to withdraw from a unit, because this semester has been too hard and I haven't been able to do my work. I want to tell him about how I've struggled with my diagnosis, but it's too difficult. Obama is ahead in the electoral college, just.
11.00am. I am sitting in Nageena's car, out the front of her house, while she gets a few things. Mitt Romney is ahead in the electoral college. I involuntarily yell 'fuck' to no one except the mudlark sitting in my friend's front garden.
1pm. I'm waiting to go into my physio appointment. I can't walk up stairs properly because my hip is still sore from its injuries of last week. My shoulder muscles are so tight that I am having trouble holding my head where it's meant to be. I look at a photo of my cello, and wonder if I will play it again. Obama has won.
6.30pm. I finish work. I talk with some old Italian men outside an ice cream shop and they tell me about their world. About animal cruelty on big ships; about farmers and citizens being ripped off by the middle man. About how the boy who works at the shop is orright.
They sound happy that I study Italian and politics at uni. They tell me, loudly, that they're sick of innocent people being killed. One curses, the other tries to make him be quiet. They watch the train timetable for me to make sure I don't miss my train again. Despite it all, they seem hopeful.
7.30pm. I begin the 200m walk home from my bus stop. I like this walk. I breathe in the night air as I determine to finish my final essay, tonight. I know I can do this.
7.31pm. I've walked 50m and my hip dislocates. It won't go back in. My brain descends into chaos and I lose any coherent thoughts as I try to hold my body together and get home.
|All images taken from my Pinterest.|
Except for this one. A friend found this on this flickr.
7.45pm. I have a shower. I eat dinner. I want to cry.
9.00pm. I sit on my bed with my laptop and realise I can't write this essay right now. My brain and my body won't cooperate. I have learnt that pain will do this to a person. I look at my cello and think I won't play again. I look at my running shoes and the voices of doctors' fill my head and tell me I won't be using those either.
I upload Obama's Presidential acceptance speech because I am a politics nerd and I feel like this is at least, in some way, productive.
9.10pm. I am listening to arguably the most powerful man in the world speak. Even though he isn't perfect, even though he's done some things I don't like, I respect him. He understands these things about himself. He understands he's going to let people down at some stage, and he is trying to forewarn them, all while telling them he'll still do his best.
9.20pm. I am listening to arguably the most powerful man in the world and he says, "I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that exists despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting."
I look at my cello and am reminded of my determination to keep going, my determination to fight for this instrument that I love. I smile at the party hat that adorns it. I feel hope. One day, I will pull my bow across it's fat strings and deep sounds will reverberate from within its body. As my fingers place pressure on those strings, beautiful sounds will linger in my ear. One day, this will be more than just a dream.
I look at my running shoes, touch my tender hip and flex my toes. One day, I will pull those shoes on and go for a jog. One foot will take off, the other will land. One foot will take off, the other will land. I won't look graceful or elegant. I won't be able to keep up this movement for more than a few moments, but it will still be something.
I have stubbornness, and I have hope. I know inside of myself that something better awaits me, so long as I have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting.