On Thursday there was a track meet. On Thursday I threw a javelin. In Thursday I felt something snap in my right arm. I was prohibited from throwing on Thursday.
On Friday I received expert advice about the injury. On Friday I found out that, in fact, something in my arm may have actually snapped. On Friday I went home and snapped. I was born on a Friday.
These words don't necessarily mean much. Actually I am not completely sure what they mean. All I know that is that I have never injured myself. Never hurt anything as important as a limb, never even came close to breaking anything, never seriously had to see a doctor. But on Thursday I did, and on Friday I found out. On Friday I thought, and on Saturday I write.
It feels different. I have never before realized how dependent I am on a limb. It made me think of my left. Of my legs and of my neck. It made me think of my body, something I never thought much about before other than "Oh, look. I exist."
I thought of Beloved and of Baby Suggs. I thought of the tooth and of the sermon. I realized the tooth means nothing to me, but the sermon is important.
Sometimes your body is connected to you. Sometimes your body is not. A lot of the time it does not want to listen, but still gives support. A lot of the time it is ignored. It shouldn't be though.
I hurt my right arm, my dominant one. Something inside of it snapped, but not completely. I don't think it is that bad, but I will have to wait. It will heal, it's fine after all.
What's important is that you listen to your right arm, or left, or legs, feet, neck, hands, head, spine, or whatever. Don't ignore them. Don't ignore you.
These words don't necessarily mean much.