A note on resilience

I would have given you all of my heart
But there's someone who's torn it apart
And he's taken just all that I have
But if you want I'll try to love again
Baby, I'll try to love again, but I know...
The first cut is the deepest
Baby I know
The first cut is the deepest
But when it comes to bein' lucky, he's cursed
When it comes to lovin' me, he's worst...
-Sheryl Crow via Cat Stevens

This song has been popping up a lot in my iPod shuffle. And as to why I have the Sheryl Crow version instead of Cat Stevens, when I clearly prefer Cat Stevens, I can only guess.

But the thing is, it's got me to thinking. Oh, no.

The lyrics say specifically "the first cut". This is not my first cut. By far - and I'll have no comments from the peanut gallery on that one.

Yet it is the deepest and there is no quick bouncing back. My relationship with my husband was not even my longest lasting relationship either. But clearly the most important.

I have unfortunately received some romantic attention at times. The last time was last week on the bus. I smiled my fakest smile and said, "It was nice talking to you" and pointedly put back on my headphones. Even if we were to overlook the universal policy of not attempting to meet someone on a public bus, I have no interest.

And I think that makes sense given my physical state of being, oh yeah, and the whole mental state of being. I don't question that. What I question is my resilience in general.

Obviously I haven't just bounced back from that car crash. Currently, I can't seem to shake some weird sickness that makes me soooooo sleepy. (That part is actually really great - I mean the sleeping again part - but it seems to be only for about three hours a time, so kind of a mixed blessing... eh, I'll take it.)

And what I can't shake are the ongoing fantasies about winning the lottery, setting myself up in my dream house in Boise that has everything my dogs and I could ever want (including a pool for the dogs and a bookshelf full of TV on DVD for me including Dexter and Weeds and Fringe and Lost and... I'll stop here), and then I will only have to leave my santuary to buy clothes in New York from the spring and fall collections. I would write and study medicine and see my friends and family on select occasions that I organize, making me a lousy friend but a happy person.

I'm new to aging and I wonder if as more of our cells die, as more of our neuro-connections are lost, are we more like statues than like Play-doh?