Bottling it …
I am not in my happy place today.
We had tickets for Lear at The National on Saturday and missed it because I … nope, no other word for it … bottled it. And, I am now really very cross with myself … though three and half hours of what seems, per the reviews, to be a very mediocre performance of Lear was not a huge incentive to go out on a cold, windy, winter night.
I have done mediocre Lear …and, very good Lear. At it’s best – a wonderful play. Less than it’s best? Umm, needs to be a compelling reason to go and, for me, Simon Russell Beale doesn’t do it. And, before you squeal, I have seen him in loads! He just does not float my boat in any way. Don’t know why. It is what it is.
Anyway, I digress. I didn’t go because I couldn’t face another psychological battle with getting out of my car, via the ramp, onto our drive. And, man, I am so sick of this!
More sick, because this big ‘fail by bottling’ was yet another indicator that I am losing the battle. Fear is trumping ‘will’ and it has to stop.
I really thought I was improving but took a big step backwards on Christmas Day when, having negotiated slopes successfully, I had a panic attack getting out of the car at home.
I was cold, tired. Outside, it was dark and raining.
I just went for it … and swerved wildly off the end of the ramp. Stayed upright but scary moment.
From then on, every time I come home, I keep coming off the ramp too soon or go down too fast. Every time worse than the one before.
Two weeks ago, my nadir – to date – came. I’d been out for eight hours (too long); it was midnight; no light and pitch black on our drive; raining and windy; my hand was shaking; I needed to pee. So not ideal. I knew it but what to do? I had to get out so, again, I went for it. Eek.
My back wheels swerved violently, one, kind of, came off the ramp, and I slid down, sort of, sideways, inelegantly, grappling for control … and not achieving it.
Miraculously, the chair stayed upright – it clearly is as stable as Etac/Balder claim … that’s the only glimmer of good news. Each time I don’t tip over, I feel better about the chair!
D, getting his freak on, immediately started shouting, ‘what the hell are you doing…’, at me until I burst into tears.
Like I didn’t know I’d screwed up?
Seeing me lose it, oddly, calmed him down but it didn’t do much for me, sadly.
Haven’t been out since.
We did talk it through. Made a plan on how to approach the shaking, tired, cold, wet scenario for the future.
And, I bottled it.
Crap. Life is just so difficult and I am SICK of it. I just wanna have fun.
Still, tomorrow is another day.
Time to try again.
Stiletto Wheels 
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