Flesh and wings ....

Mes amies, I was supposed to be here first thing Monday morning to set things up for your votes on the Kissed Again! contest. I do apologize but I've just been out of sorts. Ditzier than normal -- like showing up yesterday for physical therapy when my appointment was for today!
I am quickly learning that having a broken arm is a piece of cake. The hard part is getting atrophied muscles that haven't moved for 2 months to work again.
There are about 7 layers of muscles around the shoulder blade and shoulder joints and mine are covered with "fascial restrictions." My chiropractor is tearing those down with a "graston" so new muscle tissue can grow. A graston is a metal tool that resembles a mini-crow bar without the hook. It is jabbed into the skin and muscle to break it down. If you have ever used a metal mallet to tenderize a steak, then you have a grasp of  what she's trying to do to me -- and I'm the cow:) The only thing missing is the paprika.
After a session, I look like a victim of domestic violence, as you can see above.

As if this isn't enough (and it's not!) then my physical therapist does everything short of sitting on top of my shoulder to get it to unlock, release and move away from my ear -- including burying her fingers in my armpit. Actually, the fingers digging in the old arm pit feels good -- or what I have come to appreciate and call a "good hurt" versus the kind of pain that just hurts and makes me wanna scream "uncle."
Along with the hands-on stuff, my therapist has given me a list of exercises with stretchy strips and tubes that would delight any practitioner of S&M. Unfortunately (or fortunately:), that's never been in my practice ...

Coping with this regular routine of pain has weakened my body's immune system. Hence, I'm now dealing with more inconveniences. An ugly cold sore on my lip looks like I tried to kiss a crocodile. Lysine tablets are helping that to clear up but now my eyelids are enflamed, particularly the right one is very swollen.
So Monday when I should have been blogging and wrapping up the contest, I was waiting, waiting and waiting some more in the doctor's office for them to squeeze me in between regular appointments. Finally, I got ushered into a room to give my litany of ills to a medical assistant, only to resume waiting. Several magazine articles later, I repeated aforementioned litany to student doctor. After waiting yet once again, I was graced with the presence of a bonafide doctor. A total of four hours later, I was able to leave with a prescription for some anti-biotic goop and instructions on washing my eyes with baby soap.
So, along with my shoulder "road rash" and the scabby cold sore, I now have goopy stuff around my eyes, making my vision blurry even with glasses. This whole experience makes me rethink the expression "a sight for sore eyes." Such a good thing I work at home!

HOWEVER, one good thing that has come of this: while killing time at the doctor's office, I rediscovered my love of Oprah columnist and life coach Martha Beck. And I just have to share something she wrote in a column about "How to Find Lasting Joy":

"...One day, while reading up on the latest research in positive psychology, I discovered a two-word instruction that reliably ushered me onto the plains of peace when I couldn't force my brain to just "be still." Here it is: Make something.
You see, creative work causes us to secrete dopamine, a hormone that can make us feel absorbed and fulfilled without feeling manic. This is in sharp contrast to the fight-or-flight mechanism, which is associated with hysteria hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. Research indicates that we're most creative when we're happy and relaxed, and conversely, that we can steer our brains into this state by undertaking a creative task.
To get a dopamine "hit," make something that pushes you to the furthest edge of your ability, where you're not only focused but learning and perfecting skills...... Keep creating." 

For me, my dopamine hit comes from working in Photoshop with my French ephemera and postcards. So instead of blogging and doing things I should do, I've been trippin' out:)

As I worked on this ballerina photo ....

I imagined her with wings, to illustrate the way ballet dancers seem to fly through the air. The best set of wings I have are wings of stone which I realize are not conducive to flying....

So I tried butterfly wings and fairy wings, but I kept coming back to Victory's wings.... 

Never graceful like a ballerina, I relate more to Victory -- especially now -- with her stiff, rock hard shoulders. I think I could have made a good advertisement for an arthritis company on relieving joint pain and living a full life....

Anyway, the more I worked on this image, the more I got lost in it and discovered something. She wasn't a ballerina. She was an angel who wanted to dance.

And I'm just a human who wants to be able to raise her right arm all way up to her head to put a clippie in her hair....

Contest wrap-up coming soon, I promise!