when i awoke i could hear some crazy trumpet music filtering through the walls. someone was up, the smell of toast wafted into my room. i noticed a half smoked joint and reached for it, putting on a gown i checked the pocket for a lighter and walked out onto the balcony where i sat and watched the rain.
emma, my house mate brought me a mug of tea,'i'm sorry mate, she left early, didn't want to wake you. she loves you, you must know that?' 
she sat down with me and i passed her the spliff, 'thank you emma, i appreciate it.'
'if you love something...'
i finished for her... 'set them free, right?'
'right.'
'yeah well whoever said that never had a girl like marnee.'
'you need to get back into work, you're all healed up now, it would be healthy for you to have some kind of structure and purpose, all this sitting around smoking weed and feeling melancholy is not going to get you anywhere.'
'are you my therapist now?'
'just your friend, you can't retire from the world completely, you're not the first to have their heart broken.'
i sighed, 'i know emma but not work, anything but work.'
'you're a social worker for god's sake, go and do some social work.'
'yeah, social work.'
truth was i was feeling flat, the rain didn't help, i knew emma was right and i knew that the last thing i wanted to be was a broken hearted clique. 
we smoked in silence, her words spun around in my head like a circus act, work, responsibility, routine.
the last year had been based around rehabilitation, getting my bones healed and being mobile again, becoming independent. the accident had destroyed my body, almost every bone smashed and the simple acts we take for granted had required assistance. emma had been my nurse, she had fed me, bathed me and seen to my most personal ablutions. it had been confronting to have to ask for help for almost every area down from brushing my teeth to feeding me. i had some hand made tools the physiotherapist had made for me but these were impractical and in the end i just accepted my limitations, focusing on healing instead of dignity. it had taken almost a year for me to become independent again and emma was quite right, i did need to get back to work, for was it not work that defines who you are. i think voltaire said this. i felt as though it was true of me and after such a long absence i had slipped into being the walking wounded at the expense of my own identity.
i had been a social worker for most of my career, i had a strange sense of pride when it came to my work, a quiet pride as i had achieved a remarkable collection of goals and even earned myself a very good reputation amongst my peers. i'd always chosen a diverse range of clients to work with, becoming more extreme and challenging. orphans, foster and adoption agencies, children in care, psychiatric units, mental health facilities, intellectual handicapped, autistic, challenging behaviour, drug and alcohol, homeless men, homeless children, crisis accommodation units and then management. 
then in one violent moment i smashed into concrete at 70ks breaking my bones and spiralling into chronic rehabilitation. 
when i left hospital i moved in with emma and while she helped the body heal i worked on the rest of me. because when your crippled like that you find yourself making a few re evaluations.
lets face it, as marvellous as the design is, it could be better. an exoskeleton, a tail, night vision, gills, maybe some chameleon type abilities, i began to develop a strange relationship with my body, feeling disgusted at the fact it was confined to a wheelchair for so long, then crutches and finally a walking stick. feeling ashamed that emma had to cut my food and feed me as well as all the other embarrassing and humiliating things a loss of independence brings.
eventually i was functional but it had taken it's toll and i was less confident, more cautious and somewhat frightened over the limitations my body came with. i knew i was lucky, all my life i had served people who had been less fortunate and now i had been delivered the great equaliser, i was never really sure how i would mend, only that it was a slow process and i would never be the same again.
i had finished my tea, i had been staring into the bottom of the cup, fixating. i became aware emma was still sitting with me.
'how does it feel to always be right?'
'oh captain, you get used to it eventually.'