Lawyering Through Life

Weights

Some wounds take a long time to heal. and some wounds leave scars that never fade. I recently noticed some bruises that I fear will take an awfully long time to heal. The bruises are not deep and result simply from the consumption of too much alcohol. But I have been looking at them for the past few days and they stand for so much anger and sadness. Not entirely my anger but definitely my sadness at the intense anger of another.

This post is cryptic, I know. But the perils of not entire anonymity is that I have to consider the effect of my words on others. I am not mad, I am just a little sad. Life is bearing down upon my shoulders right now like a ton of bricks and standing up tall, under this enormous weight, is proving difficult.

My neighbor from home, Nabo, is going through an extraordinarly difficult time. Nabo is from Norway and since Nabo means neighbor in Norweigan, her alias was rather easy. Nabo is in her seventies and has been sick lately. She recently found out that her son in law has fallen for a new woman and is leaving her daughter and three grandsons. Right in the middle of renovating their home. I think the only reason he decided to finally leave is because he got caught. By his own sister, actually. And now his sons are so angry. The oldest is in 8th grade and told his father that he never wants to see him again.

Then, there is Nabo's son. He married a demanding and selfish woman. She has to borrow money from Nabo for food for her twin daugthers and then she spends it on pedicures. Nabo just learned that one of the twins is autistic. The doctors diagnosed the little girl early and are hopeful about the future. But it is difficult news and Nabo has been crying for days, for all her grandchildren, for her children, for herself. They are the tears of someone asking why, a question that cannot be answered right now. I worry about Nabo, she worries about her family, and we are all weighed down with worry.

The metaphorical weight upon my shoulders is balanced out by the weights I have started lifting at the gym. Yep, I belong to a gym. Something I NEVER thought I would do. But, this gym is by my office, the clientele is significantly older than me, and devoid of any dating prospects...oh, and the best part? My trainer. Shirley. Shirley is a 62 year old former flight attendant who recently switched careers. Now, instead of pointing out the nearest exits, she points people along the path of fitness. Ok, maybe she didn't say that exactly, but I really think she would if she had come up with it rather than me. I was nervous that my trainer would judge me, ridicule me to her trainer friends, and mock my inability to touch my toes. But not Shirley. Shirley pumps me up. Shirley makes getting up at 5:30 more bearable. To be fair, so does the Gingerbread latte I treat myself to after working out with her.

posted by jersey @ 6:04 PM