Mixed Metaphors Inside the Asteroid Belt


I vaguely remember the moon landing – at least I think I do. My first memories are from when I am a little younger than two; so, it’s possible that I actually do remember it. But, whether it’s the first moon landing that I remember or another moon mission, the result was that my childhood heroes were astronauts. And Little Joe Cartwright. And John Wayne. But mostly astronauts. That never really changed, either. Those early explorers and daredevils are still heroes to me – even to the extent that my son is named in honor of Gen. Chuck Yeager. I was awed at their bravery to fly into the perils and into the unknown of space. After all, there are dangerous things there – black holes, Marvin the Martian, comets, meteors, and (of course) asteroids.

That’s kind of where I feel like I am right now – in the midst of the asteroid belt. For the past few weeks, it has felt like I have been hit from all sides, and I’m reeling. Now, please understand that I still know that I am very fortunate and that things could be worse than they are….MUCH worse. However, the fact that things are not as bad as they could possibly be does not preclude me from mourning my losses or from feeling overwhelmed. As a counselor once told me – whether you step on a land mine or get shot in the leg, you are still wounded. You are allowed to feel the pain of a leg wound even though you didn’t step on a land mine. So, here I am, unexpectedly dealing with a metaphorical leg wound.

I’ll be honest, my wound treatment today consisted of staying in my pajamas all day. They are the new pink cat pajamas that I got for Christmas; so, they are cute, but they are still pajamas. I have unabashedly worn them all. day. long. I set one goal for myself today and it was not to change clothes. It was to wash, dry, fold and put away all of the laundry. I got that done. I also baked a batch of cherry, macadamia, white chocolate cookies, and cleaned up the kitchen. So what if I stayed in my pajamas?!

I set the goal of completing all the laundry to begin the process of steadying my world. I am trying to control the controllables. I can’t control Ellie dying, the roof leaking or losing my job; but, I can control whether the clothes are clean, folded and put away. Tomorrow, I will take all my trash and recyclables to the collection center. One small step at a time, right?

Those small steps may not seem like much; but, to me, they are life. They are a signal to myself and to the universe that I am still alive and that I am still fighting. These recent hits have left me bruised, sore, and limping; but, I’m still here and I’m still walking.

I’m sure there are people who can have months like the one I just had and come out of them just fine. They take the hits like Deion Sanders – spinning out of them and continuing to run. Good for them! I’m more than a little jealous, but that’s not how I’m made. I don’t spin out of a hard hit sporting a million-watt smile. I go down like a bag of rocks then I bitch and moan the whole time I struggle back to my feet. But, guess what. I do get back to my feet.

The process seems slower and more difficult every time, but I still get up – whether I call it an asteroid hit, a leg wound, or an NFL tackle. I got up today and I will get up tomorrow.

And, who knows? Tomorrow, I may even change out of my pajamas.

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