We're back in Anchorage, but still not home.
My apprehensiveness about being home remains beyond tangible to salient. All the way back to Odysseus, arrivals home and settlings in are even less smooth than the sailing that preceded. I know there awaits a veritable Odyssey--unpacking and dealing with reams of paperwork from two treatment centers and a writing program, taking care of the garden where slugs will be going gangbusters, getting my linguistics course into shape for the start of term, preparing for my mum's visit, writing and reading lots like I can't wait to do... Oh, and taking seriously my appointments and therapy sessions and meds; preparing meals, and otherwise maintaining my physical/mental/emotional health. Meds notwithstanding, low blood sugar and/or sleep deprivation in the evenings do seem to see me reliably monsterfied, and despite all my work and effort on communication these past few months, there are certain conversational ruts Phil and I get into that lead nowhere good. Awareness is the key, may it be so.
Right now, we're distracted by Phil's patienthood. His elbow was first cracked on ice then bashed on an outboard motor then slammed on an alder limb as another alder he was ripping out kicked back (doing his version of resting the arm)...and the kibosh delivered with a massive crushing bodyslam by his largest younger brother playing kickball at the farm a couple days ago. Torn tendon and who knows what else; surgery required. Depending on what we learn an hour from now, we may head home this afternoon or might stay in Anchorage a day or two more.
I have driven a car again--very briefly. I have touched a stove--just barely. I have done a few things for other people and, best of all, started to see our friends again. I still haven't taken a photograph or done any of normal-life things, but I'll be at one or other writers group within two weeks tops. I'll hope to post something about gardens and fresh produce next time.
