Habitual patterns and adventure

The doctor said that my progress continues to be excellent. I still can't drive, lift heavy weights (which rules out gigs) lie on my back (which rules out comfort) or wash my hair in the shower (which rules out that clean-hair feeling--yesterday I tried a no-rinse shampoo said to be used by NASA on the space shuttle, but it left a greasy residue.) I can, however, be up and around all day with no head positioning (hallelujah!)
I do have to sleep prone for 8 hours.

Being up and around has been a strange experience. Having a bandage over your eye prompts sympathetic passers-by to say things like "Oh, that must really hurt!" and offer to do things for you. I have the staggering walk of an alcoholic because I am not yet accustomed to my lack of depth perception. I have defied medical advice and carried home 10 lbs. of groceries from the supermarket because if I didn't, no one else would.
And, not to sound trite but walking around in the July sunshine feels fantastic after weeks of lying prone indoors. Yesterday late afternoon was perfect weather--not hot, but warm and dry with a light breeze. I soaked it up, knowing that the unbearably humid July New England weather would be here all too soon. And sure enough, today was sullenly humid with clouds that refused to produce the predicted thunderstorms. I stayed indoors in my air-conditioned bedroom all day because I didn't want my bangs to frizz. Yes, that's the truth, ladies and gentlemen, and I am not proud of it. It occurred to me today that my hair was a frizzy nightmare the entire 4 days I spent in the rain forest. Yet I still long to return. Once I got there, though, I would be trying in vain to make myself look presentable as I did every morning. Habitual patterns have a way of asserting themselves even in the jungle. I ended up slicking my bangs down with straightening gel which was of no use whatsoever in straightening. Then I pinned it all to the side of my head and braided my hair into pigtails. With my glasses and safari hat on, I looked like an extra on Freaks and Geeks. But it was worth it. I'd gladly go through hair hell again to be back there with the squirrel monkeys, the parrots, and the orapendulas. Even the tarantulas, boas, and piranhas. In The Catcher in the Rye Holden Caulfield says near the end that sooner or later you end up missing everybody. And it's true. I even miss my compulsions when I can't give full vent to them.

My eyes welled up with tears a week or so ago when I was about to board the T and overheard two women speaking French. I still have a terrible, lonely nostalgia for France, especially Paris. France and Ecuador. If only I had serious money I could divide my time between them. But I can only dream about it.

I can't say that I miss driving, although I have the constant nagging feeling that I need to run errands in places only accessible by car. I also don't miss teaching, which is so often an exercise in frustration and even futility. I do miss gardening and yard work, even mowing the lawn. I miss my yoga class a lot and long to ride my bike again. I really miss my Weight Watchers meetings: without them I am floundering in a sea of mental cravings for hot fudge sundaes and guilt from overeating. The predictable but comforting routine of my pre-retinal detachment life is something I yearn for even though I detested its predictability and lack of adventure. France and Ecuador have been my only forays into adventure in the past two years. I need more adventure in my life. I realize this even more now that I have been sidelined. I wish Curtiss could be my companion in future adventures--we had many in New York City and in Paris together. But I am afraid that he will never be strong enough again for the kinds of adventures I crave.

Who will accompany me? Adventures are lonely when you are alone: I am convinced that being with my son in the jungle added a richness to the experience which it would otherwise have lacked. And in writing these lines I have suddenly realized that my son was born with a sense of adventure and he communicated it to me on this recent trip. He urged me to jump into the murky river and follow the jungle trail without fear. And I felt that I was truly living for the first time in a long time. Since my last trip to France, in fact, which, although it did not require risking physical danger, did require traveling through a big foreign city alone much of the time, armed with only minimal French.

Here's to more adventures and laughing at habitual patterns.