Imprisoned

Quicker than the last time I had the cortisone shot in my knee, the pain has climbed to higher levels again. Its inevitable. I live in a constant state of excruciating pain.

The snow has melted in the yard, and the urge to get ready for summer has plagued me.  Some mornings, I stand at the bedroom window and imagine how I could change things to be better.  I wonder if an apple tree in that spot, or maybe placing a chicken coop over there and fencing in a garden of raised beds near it would be a better use of our land. I imagine how peaceful the backyard could be once spring and summer come around. 

Most mornings, I stand and see the off-white wall of vinyl fencing and the brown, dormant grass.  The gray, February sky and brown lawn remind me that there is no garden of Eden waiting to be discovered in the yards of people who can't do the work. There is only the obligation that I leave my family.  Unable to do the things I once enjoyed, I'm left to rely on a spouse and children who never liked and never wanted the same things as me. 

So I stare out the window knowing this year will be like the last and I'll be nothing more than a prisoner -- stuck behind the walls of the empty yard, only leaving for work-release. "We have to keep you in good enough shape to work," is the reminder I hear when I start to break apart. There is nothing more to it.