A Tale Of Two Sides Of The Same Night
Yesterday was a quiet victory: chores, stairs, a walker I wasn’t technically cleared to use, and a night out with people who didn’t owe me a damn thing but cared anyway. Today? A dream of autonomy, an ache that means living, and the sharp irritation of a doctor who dismissed what’s still swelling and hurting. Two sides of the same night. Both true. And I’m not stopping.
Where To Begin?
After losing a week of memory to the accident and waking up in the ICU with pain in every inch of my body, I’ve spent these past days learning how to be myself again — slowly, deliberately, stubbornly. Now I wait for the moment I can go home, rebuild my strength, and eventually throw a leg over Aurora once more. The road back is uncertain, but marching into the unknown is what I do.
The Toll For The Road Less Travelled
As I sit in my wheelchair, caught between boredom and a one-sided texting war with someone I thought was a friend, I find myself still looking forward to tomorrow. The world is testing me in every direction right now, but I’m stubbornly optimistic that the day after tomorrow will be amazing. Maybe this accident was a cosmic cleansing — a toll paid to take the road less traveled.
It Goes Where I Go
People love to ask questions. Some are born of curiosity, some from awe — and some from pure, unfiltered stupidity. Like asking if I “rode in today” when I’m standing there in chaps, leather, and helmet hair. For me, riding isn’t a hobby; it’s oxygen. It’s the pulse under my skin. It’s what makes the world go silent and my soul come alive.