She starts her day later than she meant to. She's flustered and frustrated with herself. It just makes for one of those mornings where she can't find her keys or matching socks or get anything to get out the damn door.
She looks at the clock and realizes she'll never make it to meet Janet. She's always missing her connections with Janet. She's so pissed at herself for getting up late. She loses another ten minutes debating whether it's better to cancel now or to call and tell Janet she'll be an hour late. She wants to see her friend, it's just that Janet gets so bristly when you're late. She just can't handle bristly when she's already kicked herself this many times before noon.
"I'll cancel," she thinks.
Then goes back to debating. She doesn't want to flake. She doesn't know when she'll get the chance to see Janet again. But she's seriously considering crawling back into bed at this point and just downing a couple of valium and melting into a sleepy, masturbatory, self-pity party.
"No, I'll go."
She searches for her keys, skips the shower, skips breakfast, skips coffee. Shit, she shouldn't need coffee when she's gotten this much sleep. She wears mismatched socks but doesn't care, she's out the door.
As she's locking up, her cell phone rings. She digs, drops things, digs some more, then locates it just as it goes to voicemail. It's Janet, probably calling to make sure she's still coming, given their recent track record. She calls back and gets Janet's voicemail. She gets in the car and starts heading toward the trailhead where they're to meet. Her voicemail tinkles and she checks it. Janet's dog's sick. God DAMNIT! She regrets not showering, her mismatched socks, getting out of bed at all. But she's got it minimally together and has gone this far. She snaps the decision to continue to the trail. It's a nice morning after all.
The sun is fully up when she arrives and there are early morning people (like she should've been,) who are on their way back down. She puts her sunglasses on and starts off.
She's working out all her frustrations and feels it in her pace. She's brisk today. Anger scraps her calves as she pounds her way up the inclines.
She gets into a grove, stops seeing things. Just smells the pine needles in her long inhales. The water and her movement rush out all the other sounds. It is meditative at this point and she doesn't experience anything but the long strides and the breath and the water.
She goes on like this for long enough to lose herself in it and have no concept of time when she realizes she's thinking again. She's resenting her friend and feeling lonely. She's doing that self defeating thing where she builds a case on how she doesn't have friends and is a lonely, undeserving person. If you're annoyed by her, trust me, you feel exactly like she does about herself.
Her pace slows and she considers indulging her self-defeat further, pushing herself down so that she can have a good fullout cry and move on. She knows she can search long enough through memory to find the times when she's been humiliated, think of how pathetic she is, and really tear herself a new one. But she realizes she doesn't want to pass people on the trail with her eyes all puffy and have to pretend it's allergies. She thinks of her bed and promises herself a xanex and a good cry when she gets home, when she trips.
She tries to catch herself, but instead, twists sideways and hears a pop. She's dazed and her ankle stings. "Idiot," she thinks! "Wimp," She thinks. And she pushes herself up to stand. Immediately she grows lightheaded, her field of vision goes black as she crashes right back down. She tells herself to keep it together and avoids fully losing consciousness. She breathes and sees the light come back into her sight. She looks down.
Her foot can't be her foot. It simply doesn't go that way. It is turned and twisted and no longer hers. It will certainly not do anything useful for her. She is fine hip to foot on her right side, which is stronger anyway, right? She lies down and gives in for a few minutes. Rests. Then she considers moving off the trail and just dying, she considers waiting until someone comes upon her and asking for help, she considers hopping all the way back to the car. None of the options sounds good.
She settles on dragging herself off the trail and indulging in the good cry now. She starts, grows dizzy, and stops, then starts again. It takes time, but she finds herself next to the stream. It is recently melted so just above freezing in temperature. She attempts to take her shoe off, which makes her woozy and she stops. She considers plunging her ankle in shoes, socks, and all, but thinks this might be worse than not icing her ankle. Then she's doing it and it feels better even though she's probably making it worse. She pulls it out and just lies there and thinks about god.
What the fuck? I got up late, overcame my self-pity to come on this hike and now I'm lying off the trail like a fucking idiot with a soggy fucked up foot. Why? Why? Why? If you could please get me out of this, I would certainly reconsider my position on your existence.
The tears don't come. She's not going to have her good cry now. She realizes this idea of hers won't due. She has enough adrenaline now or sense or whatever that she comes up with a more practical plan. She gets up and hops back toward the trail. Slips and falls again. And the pain! Dear GOD the pain!
THE PAIN! Seriously, is this because I said "fuck" when we last talked? Or is it that I'm not convinced of you? Either way, not cool, God. Not cool.
She's at least closer to the trail now and it's early enough in the day that someone will come along eventually. She might have to lie here swelling and sogging for a while but there'll be someone. Eventually.
She thinks she'll hear the person even if she sleeps. She knows she shouldn't need to sleep after oversleeping this morning, but fuckit, she can't cry. And a good rest sounds good. Her mind meanders off on the slope of disturbed sleep as part of her mind stays here and part of it goes there.