Author: Martha Thomases

 

Last week, I pulled a muscle in my back.  This event, though rare, is not unknown; my back will hurt me every other year or so.  I should know the steps by now – hideous, agonizing pain, worse than any other person ever born has ever endured (because it’s happening to me), rest and recuperations, which includes excruciating guilt about suspending my workouts while the muscle recovers.  In a week or so, the pain will be gone and I’ll forget about it until the next time.

 

For now, though, I can’t sit down or stand up without an up-close-and-personal insight into how the muscles along the spine interact.  And every twinge reminds me that I’m no longer eleven years old.

 

For many people, an adult child, monthly condo payments, and the occasional hot flash might be enough to convince them that they were mature adults.  To me, these are just distractions from my real life.

 

In many ways, being an adult today is like the fantasyland I imagined as a child.  There are comic book stores, full of current comics, amazing toys and books about my favorite old television shows.  A few blocks from the comic book store, there’s a costume shop that’s open all year round, not just at Halloween.  There are candy stores, bookstores, bagel shops and playgrounds all over the place.  In a few weeks, it will be spring and I can roller-blade again.