Just when you think life is really grand, someone kicks you in the balls...only I don't have those, so they just go straight for the heart instead.
It kind of makes me wish I had balls. I hear that although getting kicked there is painful and nauseating and you get this salt taste in your mouth, the pain eventually goes away. They even have this thing called a "cup" so that one may attempt to protect ones boys, but your heart, well, there's a ribcage and all, but some people are so adept at getting around that that before you even realize what's happening, your heart's been ripped out, thrown on the ground, been stomped on and is making squishy wet noises all over the sidewalk (it makes squishy wet noises because, unfortunately, it's still painfully pumping away).
A while ago, Dale made the comment that I seemed extremely "resilient". At the time, I wasn't sure how to take the comment...was I bouncy? Did my skin seem to be able to be stretched but then quickly spring back into place? I soon learned he truly meant it in a good way: that I seemed like I could handle difficulty well, that I had a good head on my shoulders, and that I was mind-shatteringly hot (okay, the last one was my addition.) It was eerie then, too, that he'd say that, because, unbeknownst to him, I was going through some pretty heavy stuff emotionally. (Of course, I still couldn't resist pretending like I was horribly offended by what he said, and it became a bit of a joke between us, except that he usually ended up crying. Lawyers are weird.)
Then yesterday, the heart ripping thing happened and I was all weirded out and confused (as one usually is when a major organ is violently removed without the involvement anesthesia or surgical tools) and not myself and sad and melancholy and mind-shatteringly hot (woops). So, coincidence or no, this morning I get this e-mail from Dale that says, "I got this today and thought of you for some reason." You see, Dale gets daily "learning" e-mails (nerd!) and they contain scholarly words and definitions (apparently, the blood-sucking business isn't too busy these days and lawyers have to fill their time with "education"). He forwarded the whole thing to me.
Today's word, oddly enough, was "resilient".
I chuckled to myself as I read it (but soon stopped when I noticed the dirty look from the lady next to me at the library), and shook my head at life's little ironies. Then, finally knowing that I could, I picked up my heart--I think by it's aortic valve--and inserted it back into it's chest cavity and pieced the bones and skin back together. I had to use a little tape to hold it all in place, (the library lady felt bad and lent it to me) but so far, it's staying intact, and it's glad to be back in its rightful place, with its owner feeling stronger (or at least more at peace, and thankful for good friends, and mind-shatteringly...well, you get the picture) for the experience.
There might be a scar, but it'll heal nicely, I think...