CLXXX. Rocking Around The Christmas Tree - 

  I’m off kilter, rocking back and forth during the days leading up to Christmas. My routine is thrown off on occasion and my days seem to be filled with the unfamiliar, something that was once familiar, to the old Reshmi. I am talking about spontaneity; Spontaneity you that is brought on either by conscious choice, or, and more times than not, by the company I keep. 

 Washing my hair according to my scheduled holiday functions means transitioning from a weekend wash to the in-between, sometime midweek, and eating my 9 pounds of watermelon at 9 p.m.,  an hour later than usual. All of this has made me uneasy.  

 The longer weekends - I will no longer have the house to myself every Friday until 2017 - have made my incessant social media checking sparse.  
Yet the break away from a pixelated screen is welcome in spite of the anxiety that rushes in later when I realize how many posts I missed and feel as though I have to catch up on it all. 

 I have to admit that sitting down in an enclosed heated car with the late fall sun reflecting through the glass and bouncing off the metal, does well to lull me into a lovely slumber. My head falls, my eyelids close in tandem, and I am rocked to sleep with the faint sounds of radio-play in the background. 

 I have to admit that the incessant quietude I am otherwise used to, punctuated by bouts of road rage and the latest songs, phone taps, and commercial jingles during car rides that are part and parcel of my long weekends, is a Godsend. I feel connected to a larger world and my legs can rest instead of moving without support on the hardwood floors at home. I am still so unused to uncarpeted floors. 

 I had an emergency run to the podiatrist after my  large toe nail broke in half after getting snagged onto my comforter in the dead of night. The resulting cliff hanger nail caused a dreadful pain that made walking nearly impossible.  

 Prior to the nail fiasco, for three whole weeks, I felt discomfort on the bed of my foot. Upon turning my foot it over, I saw a small white dot surrounded by, not surprisingly, dry skin. The skin was hard though and my mother swore something had gotten stuck. She tried to convince me into thinking a foreign object had gotten stuck and would become infected. 

 The podiatrist clipped off the rest of the nail and said that I had developed a callous under my foot. Apparently, when there is little fat or cushion to protect the  bone and keep it from hitting the floor, the skin around it begins to form thick layers as a makeshift guard for the bone.  

 It was clear - my anorexia had made my body run into overdrive again. To keep me upright and functioning, thick layers of skin began to form.  

 The podiatrist shaved it off, leaving a small indentation where the callous was. 
I think I have another one now, this time on my left foot. 

 It’s odd. Throughout all my years of dancing, pounding on dirty floors, showering in dormitories, swimming for years and traipsing around the locker room, I never developed any foot problems that would send me to a podiatrist. Even after my senior year dance show in college, all my toenails that had loosened and were bloody, had quickly healed. 

 So my feet literally leave me off balance and I’m rocking. 

 I’m off balance.  

 Sometimes my body becomes a furnace, especially during the night while I’m in bed. Other times, most of the time, my body is ice cold. In fact, I relish burning heat in order to feel any warmth, making the living room’s fireplace my favorite part of the house. I sit close to the glass for long periods of time until I’m satisfied with my warmed up body temperature. 

 Afterwards my body aches. I look in the mirror and see my arm hair singed. I see red blotchy patches of skin. I’ve been slightly burned but my reflexes deceive me. My body is off balance and I’m rocking. 

 I open up the oven, struggling to turn over my roasting squash when my wrist hits the metal interior. I’m able to withstand the struggle more than anyone else in the house because I don’t get hot easily and just then, my reflexes deceive me once again. I jump in pain- my wrist has been burned. That was almost a month ago, and yet it’s still not healed.  

 I’m rocking. 

 This weekend we’re picking out the Christmas tree. 
Remember- not a Friday to myself until the new year, so my weekend begins tomorrow.  

 After a morning appointment, I’ll have breakfast and then spend a good chunk of the day with the mother Christmas shopping.  
Saturday we’ll be on the move - Long Island, Queens to Manhattan and back east. 
Sunday is the day we’ll pick up our temporary in-house resident - the tree. Bits and baubles will be strewn until the branches have settled. The vacuum will whizz incessantly to pick up the pine needles.  

 I bet at least one stray needle will come into contact with my foot. 

 I don’t know what to expect from this weekend or the upcoming ones until 2017. All I know is that I’m rocking around the Christmas tree.  
I’m rocking.

CLXXX. Rocking Around The Christmas Tree -

I’m off kilter, rocking back and forth during the days leading up to Christmas. My routine is thrown off on occasion and my days seem to be filled with the unfamiliar, something that was once familiar, to the old Reshmi. I am talking about spontaneity; Spontaneity you that is brought on either by conscious choice, or, and more times than not, by the company I keep.

Washing my hair according to my scheduled holiday functions means transitioning from a weekend wash to the in-between, sometime midweek, and eating my 9 pounds of watermelon at 9 p.m., an hour later than usual. All of this has made me uneasy.

The longer weekends - I will no longer have the house to myself every Friday until 2017 - have made my incessant social media checking sparse.
Yet the break away from a pixelated screen is welcome in spite of the anxiety that rushes in later when I realize how many posts I missed and feel as though I have to catch up on it all.

I have to admit that sitting down in an enclosed heated car with the late fall sun reflecting through the glass and bouncing off the metal, does well to lull me into a lovely slumber. My head falls, my eyelids close in tandem, and I am rocked to sleep with the faint sounds of radio-play in the background.

I have to admit that the incessant quietude I am otherwise used to, punctuated by bouts of road rage and the latest songs, phone taps, and commercial jingles during car rides that are part and parcel of my long weekends, is a Godsend. I feel connected to a larger world and my legs can rest instead of moving without support on the hardwood floors at home. I am still so unused to uncarpeted floors.

I had an emergency run to the podiatrist after my large toe nail broke in half after getting snagged onto my comforter in the dead of night. The resulting cliff hanger nail caused a dreadful pain that made walking nearly impossible.

Prior to the nail fiasco, for three whole weeks, I felt discomfort on the bed of my foot. Upon turning my foot it over, I saw a small white dot surrounded by, not surprisingly, dry skin. The skin was hard though and my mother swore something had gotten stuck. She tried to convince me into thinking a foreign object had gotten stuck and would become infected.

The podiatrist clipped off the rest of the nail and said that I had developed a callous under my foot. Apparently, when there is little fat or cushion to protect the bone and keep it from hitting the floor, the skin around it begins to form thick layers as a makeshift guard for the bone.

It was clear - my anorexia had made my body run into overdrive again. To keep me upright and functioning, thick layers of skin began to form.

The podiatrist shaved it off, leaving a small indentation where the callous was.
I think I have another one now, this time on my left foot.

It’s odd. Throughout all my years of dancing, pounding on dirty floors, showering in dormitories, swimming for years and traipsing around the locker room, I never developed any foot problems that would send me to a podiatrist. Even after my senior year dance show in college, all my toenails that had loosened and were bloody, had quickly healed.

So my feet literally leave me off balance and I’m rocking.

I’m off balance.

Sometimes my body becomes a furnace, especially during the night while I’m in bed. Other times, most of the time, my body is ice cold. In fact, I relish burning heat in order to feel any warmth, making the living room’s fireplace my favorite part of the house. I sit close to the glass for long periods of time until I’m satisfied with my warmed up body temperature.

Afterwards my body aches. I look in the mirror and see my arm hair singed. I see red blotchy patches of skin. I’ve been slightly burned but my reflexes deceive me. My body is off balance and I’m rocking.

I open up the oven, struggling to turn over my roasting squash when my wrist hits the metal interior. I’m able to withstand the struggle more than anyone else in the house because I don’t get hot easily and just then, my reflexes deceive me once again. I jump in pain- my wrist has been burned. That was almost a month ago, and yet it’s still not healed.

I’m rocking.

This weekend we’re picking out the Christmas tree.
Remember- not a Friday to myself until the new year, so my weekend begins tomorrow.

After a morning appointment, I’ll have breakfast and then spend a good chunk of the day with the mother Christmas shopping.
Saturday we’ll be on the move - Long Island, Queens to Manhattan and back east.
Sunday is the day we’ll pick up our temporary in-house resident - the tree. Bits and baubles will be strewn until the branches have settled. The vacuum will whizz incessantly to pick up the pine needles.

I bet at least one stray needle will come into contact with my foot.

I don’t know what to expect from this weekend or the upcoming ones until 2017. All I know is that I’m rocking around the Christmas tree.
I’m rocking.