The 3 balls

I've been away sick.

More than sick: broken.

Physically, and probably mentally, I've touched the lowest point of my life.

I'm not going to write down details, but my rehabilitation goes through 3 little plastic balls inside 3 plastic cylinders, connected. Like a baby toy. I still fear them. Not fun at all.

Now I dare to think that I can see the end of the tunnel. I dare to think that by the end of the month I'll be able to start doing some physical activity. I dare to think that I need to plan how to get back on track. I dare to think that maybe for Christmas I'll be surfing again. It's not that far.

Today, Sunday, I took the car. It was a beautiful warm day. I passed by the garage and thought about my surfboard in there, in the dark, since late July. I thought about putting it on the roof and driving up to the coast. In those few seconds I dreamt about me walking at National Park, and hitting the water at Tea Tree in a beautiful day like this one.

I realised that that day, I will probably cry a bit.