Things unseen

My feet as such sluts!

This statement followed an unusual conversation on why I like Oz’s feet so much. Mine are always out and about. His are always serenely encased in socks and shoes. So when the rare opportunity to see them comes up I get a little excited. They are freckled! It doesn’t get much cuter than that. I’m certain if I saw them all the time, they wouldn’t be that entertaining-Oz’s feet that is. But there is something to be said about things unseen.

Pain is an example of that. Last night I stayed up with my pain. Sometimes I like to see who can outlast whom, like fremenies at a slumber party. Just the dark, myself, and the pain. It had been nearly a month since I had taken Vicoden. I’m prescribed pretty significant amounts for my pain and Oz gets worried about the long term damage it will do to my body. I have been trying not to use any, but last night couldn’t be helped.

That is one of the horrible parts about things that can’t be seen: sometimes they can’t be helped. Like this cold front. This rather aggressive cold front.
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I can’t see “cold” but I certainly can see the by-product of it. I can certainly feel the cold. I used to not be able to handle anything under 18 degrees. My fibro would just shut down my body. I’m better now, but going outside when it is zero degrees will only make me worse.

I have been struggling with feeling significant, coupled with how things that can’t been seen seem to garner more significance than I do. I know that if I become an unseen thing today and don’t go to class (on account of the cold. See picture above.) that my absence will be more significant than myself, the person behind the absence. I need to know it is okay to take care of the things that can’t be seen or prevented. Or at least heed them. I know, “You only live once,” but I’d like to give myself the chance to live better tomorrow.

On our way to Virginia Beach this past summer, I played the license plate game with Oz. We had twelve hours in the car, and I figured it would be a great way to pass the time. However, Oz’s vision didn’t match his enthusiasm for the game. And my competitive streak coupled with my superior eye sight made it very clear that it wasn’t a game, but a beating.

We were walking along the beach one evening, watching the tides roll in and kiss the sand.  Ahead of me, I saw a toy alligator a child had left behind. It was facing the tide in an almost nostalgic fashion, waiting to get swept out to sea. Moments later, Oz grabbed my arm. “Is it real?” he asked urgently.
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He had seen life where I saw a toy. But he couldn’t see license plates. Maybe unseen things are a matter of vision and perspective. And maybe that vision and perspective, whether it is about toys, cold weather, or feet, gives significance to our unseen things. Maybe it is up to us to make meaning out of that significance. And maybe we can’t do it alone.

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