It’s Day One of my tolerance break, and I’ve emptied my brain of all deadlines to avoid any unnecessary pressure, to stay relaxed. I never smoke in the mornings anyway, so it’s just a normal morning. I work on a piece of writing and then go to the park to workout. Normally, I would race down there, get a workout in, and race home. Today, I take my time. Day One is the hardest. I’m going slow.
During my workout, a small gecko emerges from the grass and edges onto my workout matt. Geckos are known to be nocturnal creatures, like me, but this one is out and about, active and alert. He’s a little fatty with a thick body and four webbed feet, front legs smaller than the back. He’s the colour of burnt grass, green body with yellowed edges.
He tilts his head, straight up side-eyeing me, as if he wants to get a better look at me, as if he sees something invisible. We stare at each other for a long time. I don’t want to move because it will scare him away. Then I move my foot, just a smidge, and he zooms away, disappearing back into the cool darkness of the grass.
After my workout, I sit on my matt, drink water, eat my homemade protein bread. I added sugar and cocoa powder to make it a treat. I’m looking for simple ways to treat myself. I feel like a patient. But I am both nurse and patient. Can I take care of myself?
Today is also the anniversary of the passing of my dog and I want to do something to remember her, but don’t know what. This tolerance break is for her. It’s all I have to give.
TELLING LIES
On the way back from the park I bump into Bo sitting outside his favourite bar, holding court. In his 80s now, he looks worn down. His feet are purple, his toes twisted, claw-like. His skin is mottled. When he lifts the glass of beer to his mouth, his hand shakes. He fell this morning, and Al is wrapping a bandage around his bloodied finger. There’s a bruise growing on Bo’s forehead.
Bo and Al want to buy me a beer. I laugh because it’s a stupid idea and they both know it. Bo, Al and I were old drinking buddies back in the day. Back in the day, I had a roster of drunks I could drink with when the mood struck me. That was a long time ago. We can’t remember how long ago it was exactly but Bo says it feels like yesterday. I mention to Al about my dog’s anniversary because he knew my dog, too. He says I should get a cat.
The Healthy Hashhead 