Go

The trick is not to take a cue from the weather. In San Francisco the latter begins with a gloomy countenance, a grayness that appears with the morning. Someone on the radio may insist that it’s all temporary. But this person is unreliable, I believe. In any case, I am not persuaded. Besides, my mood seems to reinforce the meteorology. I am usually convinced that my grim outlook reflects permanent reality. It’s hard to see beyond. Just as it is hard to see that the San Francisco fog is, as the weather guys say, a marine layer. An atmospheric film, more or less, that generally spreads only slightly inland. And the rest of California has barely heard of.

Yes, the mood is it’s own. True, it may sync up with the morning overcast in unfortunate ways, but its origins extend to the night, and the days, before. And the upshot? Well, the issue is what it generally is these days. Driving.

Having not been on the road for several days…and not been on any serious drive for several months…it is always a shock. I say ‘always’ because it’s hard to get out of a certain rut. The latter amounts to driving to the next neighborhood, Noe Valley, parking and having a coffee. Perhaps shopping at the local supermarket, then driving home.

On this particular morning, it develops that I really don’t want a coffee. Nor do I want to roll about Whole Foods. So I drive to the neighborhood, through it and, without stopping, return home. But not without catching myself, and interrupting the cycle of defeat, as it were. Why not get some fuel? I head for the nearest Shell station and have the usual delightful exchange with the the Palestinian proprietors. Then, and only then, do I drive home.

Note that within a few hundred meters of departing home, I pulled over to let cars pass. Remember, this is 8:30 AM on a Sunday and traffic is thin on the ground. As for the drivers, they are not so much hellbent as churchbent. The cars are not aggressive. Never mind, for it’s all feeling very difficult. Getting my foot off the accelerator takes effort. Not missing the brake takes a little more.

Thing about repetitive motions…is that they need to get repeated. And in a wheelchair, there’s no need to repeat much of anything neuromuscular. It’s interesting to note that the drive home was easier. And things will, I believe, get easier…if I keep driving more and more. After all, I have a recent stamp of physiotherapy approval. Tested neuromuscularly, perceptually and cognitively. And passed. Now, as in Monopoly, I just have to pass ‘Go’.

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