O Sole Mio

The second time I hobbled uphill to school today, I thought, one part my father's daughter, two parts being raised by him, and four parts sheer bull-headedness (which, by the way, comes partnered with that cow-sense of mine my dad has always remarked on).

Being my father's daughter means I'm built like a fucking brick shit-house and have the constitution of a garbage compactor. I get defeated by ailments maybe less than three times a year. When I do get ill, I can self-medicate and - this is the part Jen can't get over - I will get well (Jen never does); if I do see a doc for my pains, and take my prescribed medication, I get well within 24 hours.

Being raised by my dad means that when I get sick, I'm encouraged to go to school and continue life as per normal. Once, when I was seven, I had a headache and was running a slight fever, and generally felt crummy, but my dad, wise as he was (and he still is), insisted that I go to school - M.C. or no - and promised I would feel the better for it. Surprisingly, at the end of that school-day, I did feel better and my headache had vanished. This led to my belief of it will go away if you ignore it.

Being a bull-headed girl with cow-sense means I treat every physical discomfort and ailment as a personal affront - my body is trying to pick a fight with me and damn if I'm going to let it win and gloat - I'd sooner die.

For instance, when I was thirteen or fourteen, I had my fingers hit by a basketball the day before my music examination (I played the electone) - three of them on one hand, two on the other. They became all swollen up around the knuckles and I couldn't bend them to play a single chord.

So on the morning of my music exam, I sat myself down at my sister's piano and proceeded to bang out chord after chord on it. For at least half an hour. The more it hurt, the harder I brought them down on the keys. After that, I went off to my exam, knuckles still swollen, but flexible; and I played my pieces without a hitch.

After that, my it will go away if you ignore it belief became supplemented by fight it and beat the shit outta it if it won't go away.

Which was why, for the second time today, I was hobbling uphill to school. Sure, I could be too cheap to pay $1 to take a bus for the three stops it takes to reach the campus; and sure, I could be pretending walking uphill could constitute as my weekly exercise and help me tone my ass and thighs; but at the end of the day, I walked hobbled - and twice, too.

I was hobbling because my left sole hurt. I've checked thoroughly - no cuts, no bruises, no blisters: no nothing - but it hurts like a mother. Tip-toeing doesn't hurt at all, but walking is hell. Fuck it, I'm not going to wander around town like a little kid harboring dreams of being a ballerina.

And I'm very pissed off that it fucking hurts to walk.



Sometimes, I really don't know if this is what some people would call "character building", or what yet other people would call "masochistic"; but for a hypochondriac with a low threshold of pain, I sure am ... something.