[Please note that it’s now the day of the snowstorm, and conditions have very much changed since I finished—and neglected to publish—this entry. Expect a full-on storm post soon; I’m considering trying for a daily entry until I’m able to resume some semblance of normal life, but no promises.]
I write this in the short gap between my previous imprisonment and my next, which, if the forecast is to be trusted, will begin early tomorrow morning. I’ve used this precious time to soak up the outside world and gather supplies like a squirrel preparing for winter (but think thread, buttons, and chocolate in place of acorns). Yesterday, I attended a fantastic workshop at the Textile Museum of Canada; today, I got a manicure and had my ears (re)pierced because a) it feels good to look good even when no one will see me, and b) my current bid to foster a personal sense of style extends beyond the wardrobe I sew. God knows I’ll have plenty of time in the coming weeks to work on the latter.
This blog won’t always be a chronicle of the weather, but I can’t help its temporary shift in that direction given how much the extremity of it has shaped my days in recent months. This winter has been a doozy—the worst I remember in all the many years I’ve lived in Toronto—and the impending storm is meant to be the biggest yet. I thus anticipate a long stretch of “sabbatical.” I’m not dreading it, though. Indeed, having learned a bit more about what works and what doesn’t each snowy confinement, I’m feeling relatively positive about my ability to cope with a protracted break from the outside world. Excited, even? Projects are lined up, goals are set, library holds are picked up, fridge and cupboards are full of provisions. I’m determined to be productive while maintaining balance. Wish me luck.
I’m aware that I’m not the only one affected by the snow. As a wheelchair user, however, I, like everyone with mobility issues or a stroller to push, etc., am disproportionally impacted by its icy, perilous, sidewalk-blocking ways. On days most people would prefer to stay indoors, I have no choice. This of course makes me desperate to go outside and suffer, but I won’t until I’m sure it’s safe to do so. I had a brutal reminder of how dangerous it is to be a vulnerable pedestrian in inclement climes a few nights ago; I’m not yet ready to write about it—it’s fresh, and I’m processing it, and I’m still, to be frank, a little numb. For now, suffice it to say that it involved a wheelchair user and an icy road and a car. She’s OK, thank God, but there was contact. It was a close call. As stubborn as I can be, as stir-crazy as I get after more than twenty-four hours without fresh air, I’m not willing to risk a life I’ve worked so hard to rebuild for the sake of asserting my independence.
So yeah. Back to the positivity. I’m fortunate to have a warm place to sleep, an able-bodied partner, access to home care for a minor-ish health issue that recently arose, and the financial ability to order groceries when I can’t get to the store. I have plenty to keep me occupied, such as sewing, reading, writing, maintaining relationships via the phone and the internet, staring at the ceiling, and continuing to clean and organize (my apartment has never been in such good shape, and I have this merciless winter to thank for that). I have good friends who live in the building, an enormous stash of fabric, and those picked-up library holds. I also have three new-to-me books from the Cherry Ames series—think Nancy Drew but nurse; I was absolutely obsessed with her as a kid. I scored them at the thrift store yesterday and am very glad to have an excuse to read them. (Should I start with Cherry Ames, Department Store Nurse or Cherry Ames, Camp Nurse? Decisions, decisions!) In a weird way, then, I’m looking forward to staying in, hunkering down, and getting things done in this alternate reality forced on me by the snow. My morale will inevitably slump by the end of the week. In the meantime, though, I’ll sit tight, sew up a metaphorical storm, and wait out this one.
De Morbo Sacro: Life and/with Epilepsy 