know when to run
You never count your money
When you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin'
When the dealin's done"
You've got to know when to run. Or when to ride. Or when to climb. Somedays you can hardly walk let alone walk away.
I'll not deny this weekend is hard. My shed was broken into on Friday afternoon. Nothing was taken, but they mangled the bolt. I spent a not very happy at all hour or two just moving all the contents of the shed which were either worth something or could be used to break into a house indoors. Chaos reigned, and knee pain properly engaged. But I felt I had no choices here.
The shed was full of things belonging to a previous life, a life that wasn't mine really, mostly belonging to my husband, he who originally secured the shed door and was paranoid about security. He would have been mortified by the break in. He might even have been angry, an unfamiliar emotion saved for occasions when it was properly merited. He was never angry with me though. He wouldn't have blamed me for this. But I still feel I let him down by other people having access to his precious tools. It was big demolition style tools that were in there. I'm now trying to rehome them with friends. I feel bad about that too but the shed isn't a shrine or museum. Why couldn't they just have sat there quietly festering for another decade. I hate being forced to face them. It feels overwhelming and just too difficult.
Leaving the house feels uncomfortable, and staying in it alone feels uncomfortable for the self same reason. I'm afraid whoever broke into the shed and took nothing will come back for what they really wanted and break into my house, my home, my sanctuary. I'm grounded here, it needs to feel safe, secure.
But it's OK, I am leaving the house. I went for a flat flat flat walk yesterday for an hour. I have physio orders on activity and it's somewhat limiting but all in aid of full and fast recovery. Today I did cake delivery. Parked the van down the road from a crag some friends were climbing at and rode gently to see them, a gentle although knobbly surface, and a bit of carrying the bike down some of the escape routes to get to the bottom of the crag and then to the top of it. Oh. So, instead of resting up, I have actually been scrambling while carrying the bike and riding it along some particularly interesting singletrack otherwise known as footpath to access the crag. Maybe I don't know when not to run ...