Hello. My name is Nimbus. My mother was a hippie, a flower child, and a wannabe meteorologist, so she named all her kids after weather phenomena. Supposedly when I was born, I was very dark with almost black hair, and put up a stormy protest against being born, so she named me after the ominous clouds you see before a big summer thunderstorm. It's not a very girlie name, but I have very large boobs, so there is no question that I am a girl. I think my mother almost secretly wished one of us would be gay or lesbian, so she named us names that were not gender-specific on purpose.
You can call me Nimbus, or Nim, but certainly not Nimble. I was upset a few days ago and tripped, landing on my flank and breaking three ribs. Have you ever cracked or broken any ribs? The event itself is not especially painful, just a sudden, hard shock that knocks the breath out of you. The aftermath, however, is pretty uncomfortable. You will never be the same afterwards because you will always appreciate how glorious it feels to inhale without pain, exhale without pain, sniff without pain, laugh without pain, cough without pain, lean to the left without pain, lean to the right without pain, get up without pain, sit down without pain, fart without pain, move in any way at all without pain.
I was going to write this great blog called TALES FROM THE QUIP, filled with observations from my life, guaranteed to be good because first of all, I'm a nurse and nursing is never dull, and second of all, I work with some pretty wild and crazy people, and third of all, some exciting things in history are going on right now. My first entry starts with me stumbling over my own feet, though, hence the title, TALES FROM THE TRIP. Although I had two weeks of vacation time scheduled, I've ended up taking some extra time due to the rib thing, so that means a lot of time to write, since it's one of the few things that doesn't hurt.
Supposedly Aeschylus said that the reward of suffering is experience, so I'm crouched in misery here, trying to thinking of ways to make the pain into something useful. I know! I'll look up some more quotes:
Do not be sad that you have suffered; be glad that you have lived. (Joan Walsh Anglund)
When the Japanese mend broken objects they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold, because they believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful. (Barbara Bloom)
Suffering is the sandpaper of our incarnation. It does its work of shaping us. (Ram Dass)
It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life. (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Pain nourishes courage. You can't be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you. (Mary Tyler Moore)
What distinguishes the artist from the dilettante? Only the pain the artist feels. The dilettante looks only for pleasure in art. (Odilon Redon)
Words of wisdom such as these don't take the pain away, but they do make it seem as though it counts for something, that I'll somehow be a better person when this is over. Have you heard that idea before, that pain is supposed to somehow purify you? I keep telling myself that, anyway, as if repeating it like a promise will make it be so. Remember the Cowardly Lion in THE WIZARD OF OZ?
That's all for now, Dear Reader, I need to change positions, and that means wrestling yet again with the Gods of Pain.
