Why Am I Here?

Idle time is the worst time of all. It gives me time to think, to worry, to become anxious. It leads me down the path to depression and sadness, wondering about the changes which have happened, the changes to come. It takes me into the land of shadows, laying me down into a deep pool of the darkest of waters from which there is no escape, no up, no down, not even a ripple to remind me of life and living.

My body has defeated me. My legs are dead. My hip and trunk muscles have retreated to near uselessness. My arms and shoulders are in rapid decline. I am unable to complete even the simplest of tasks, accomplish the smallest of things. I can't pick up. I can\t put down. All I can do is sit, in my wheelchair, and wait upon the ministrations of others.

I was sitting at my window today, looking out at the traffic rolling by on the messy street below. As is usual here in Calgary, temperatures have gone from the - 20's to 10C near overnight. The thin sheet of snow and ice on the heavily travelled portions of roadway have melted into dirty pools of water, unable to escape thanks to sewer drains still covered by the deep snow on the verges of the roadway. There remains a substantial berm of dirty snow, surrounded by slush, in the middle of the road, along the edges of the road, courtesy of the snow plow efforts in recent days intended to clear the road for cars, while ignoring the challenges of those of us bound to sidewalks and crosswalks.

Should I attempt to go out today? This reprieve from winter will last for today only. Tomorrow all this melt water will once again be ice, making the driveway from my building's garage once again impassable. By tomorrow evening the warmth of today will become -20's once again. The daytime highs will be well below freezing, with snow predicted as early as tomorrow, for the balance of the week. I will once again be snowbound, trapped by winter.

Perhaps it will help with the purposelessness I feel. Perhaps it will invigorate me. Perhaps it will leave me tired, uninterested in making, or eating, my dinner. Perhaps I need to do it just so I can feel less trapped for the balance of the week or however long it takes for the snow to recede to a point where I can once again venture forth. I don't know. I really have no ambition either way. I have nothing to do, nothing I need, nobody who needs me. These days are filled with pointless ruminations, meaningless activity. I merely exist, taking up space on the planet. I depend on the care and attentions of others. Why am I here?