Life as an Extreme Sport

in the zone

I zombie-drove home from Lake George last night, a drive I remember in fits and spurts, which is always a terrifying thing in retrospect. Likewise, my memory of getting into my apartment and bed has a dreamlike quality to it, and I know it’s not entirely accurate, if only because some details I remember are actually, by physical evidence, not true.

One of the cats has made me very aware of how unhappy he was I had been gone – although it’s excessive, even for him, and I’m beginning to wonder if I need to take him to the vet. He meowed almost nonstop for some 12 hours – or at least, that’s what I remember. Did it actually happen?

I woke up at some point, got out of my clothes, and noticed that I am literally a giant bruise over my torso, thighs, up and down my calves, and spotted on my arms like a leopard. My foot was bloody, as was my right hip – I assume the foot is from a blister that I wasn’t aware I had popping, but I can’t figure out where, when, or how I managed to slice my hip open.

The last 24 hours have been surreal, in a literal sense – I fall asleep but am unaware I am asleep, I wake up and wonder if I am still asleep, or really awake. I fell asleep mid-conversation twice, and apparently had one conversation entirely asleep.

To say I am exhausted is, in short, an understatement.

But I am also satisfied. I pulled off a difficult task with minimum problems, and those that existed were resolved quickly – or at least I hope they were both resolved, and quickly resolved. The general consensus appears to be that the retreat was well organized and just good, and although I didn’t have a chance to do everything I wanted to, or talk to everyone I was hoping to talk with, the time wasn’t about me, and the people it was about seemed happy.

But, five days of being “on” has apparently worn me to the bone; it’s been a long time since I’ve done theatre, and I’m out of practice. My stamina was fading rapidly by Sunday morning, and I was grateful that by packing up Sunday afternoon, I could move to autopilot and not worry about anything other than not crashing my car on the way home.

…in fact, as I notice the hypersaturation of colours in the room, and the clear sounds of birds chirping, and the disembodiedness in my hands, I’m not entirely convinced I am awake as I type,…