Grey, grey go away
Another grey day. We may have one sunny day
a week here. It's getting very depressing. It
was cloudy yesterday morning, but by 3 or so, the
sun had come out, the sky was a piercing blue, and
a male cardinal had graced me with his presence
and his song from a branch in the holly tree. I could
see him perfectly. Could see his chest move as he
sang. He noticed me, but didn't fly away. He just
changed his song. And then, the wind picked up,
the sky grew very dark, he vanished, and the tornado
sirens went off. I had time to get the cats and Molly
to the basement before the hail and heavy rain started.
No damage--just more water in that frigging basement.
It would not be a day in my life if I didn't mention the
my various physical complaints. Woke with my left eye,
left ear, behind my left ear, and the left side of my head
hurting. Not to mention the pain I've had at the nape
of neck (left side) for weeks now. I have also been either
burning up or freezing all morning. My left eye is better,
but full of gunk. Lots of palpitations and tachycardia
in the night. Nothing new about that either. Also heart-
burn (nothing new about that either). I guess that sums
today's aches, pains, & worries up for now.
My mother-in-law called earlier to tell me my father-in-law
is in the hospital--pneumonia. Seems it came on very
suddenly. I just talked with her last night, and spoke to
him yesterday, and he didn't say anything about feeling
bad or coughing and neither did she. She's supposed
to call me back if she needs me to take her to the hospital.
If so, I'll have to call hubby. Wes took my vehicle to Nashville
this weekend to go visit Lauren. All I have is his 81 Z28
Camaro. There was a day I would have enjoyed that car,
but not now. Not an easy one to get in and out of, and would
not be an easy one to get mother-in-law in and out of.
I came here with the intention of writing a poem. I think
I have forgotten how. Not that I ever knew how to very
well anyhoo. I just got lucky a few times when my eyes
and senses were completely aware. That so rarely happens
these days.
I have to lose this weight. I don't like exercise. But, I do
like to dance, so I am going to try to make myself take
at least a 30 minute walk 4-5 times a week and dance
4-5 days a week. I was dancing to Jump In The Line
earlier (finally figured out how to get YouTube videos
back on my blog--just had to post under HTML, but I
am not all that computer savvy, so it took me a while
to figure it out--so, Harry Belafonte made his way here!).
No walk today though. I could barely stand getting in
and out of the car. The wind is biting and it's spitting
snow(or it was earlier). I hope tomorrow afternoon
will be nicer.
************************************
Should I mark more than shining hours?
from For The Time Being by Annie Dillard
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Twitchy Eye
Ok, here we go again. A new problem. My left
eyelid is inflamed and itchy. I washed my make up
off last night and placed a warm compress on it
for about 15 minutes. It is not as swollen this morning,
but it is itchy & twitchy & my eye feels like it has sand in it.
The redness does not appear to be a sty(e). I'll just have
to keep an eye on it.
At the doc last week, I mentioned my bleeding problem.
She thinks I broke a vessel in the flap (can't think of the
name) that spearates the esophagus and the stomach.
It would take it some time to heal, so I could still be
tasting the blood in my mouth from time to time from
that. She did order a CBC with diff, lipid profile, thyroid
panel, CA 125, and some other tests. If my blood count
is normal, it is not likely that I have internal bleeding from
a peptic ulcer or varices, etc. Wow, I can't believe I actually
told her, but I did. I can come here and write about these
things, but I don't dare speak about them. Hypochondriasis.
Must be what everything is all about. Why, on top of all
my other real or imaginary plights, did I have to end up
with that idiosyncrasy?
Raining this morning. Which I don't mind except it makes
me want to go back to bed, which dosn't sound like an
altogether bad idea. I have books to read. But I have
tired of Annie and that upsets me. I do like reading about
the terracotta army and the children in Smith's book--
e.g. the bird-headed dwarf children. So, I guess I'll go
try to read. I also got out my Plath and read Morning Song
and Child. I will look for Nick and the Candlestick.
Ok, here we go again. A new problem. My left
eyelid is inflamed and itchy. I washed my make up
off last night and placed a warm compress on it
for about 15 minutes. It is not as swollen this morning,
but it is itchy & twitchy & my eye feels like it has sand in it.
The redness does not appear to be a sty(e). I'll just have
to keep an eye on it.
At the doc last week, I mentioned my bleeding problem.
She thinks I broke a vessel in the flap (can't think of the
name) that spearates the esophagus and the stomach.
It would take it some time to heal, so I could still be
tasting the blood in my mouth from time to time from
that. She did order a CBC with diff, lipid profile, thyroid
panel, CA 125, and some other tests. If my blood count
is normal, it is not likely that I have internal bleeding from
a peptic ulcer or varices, etc. Wow, I can't believe I actually
told her, but I did. I can come here and write about these
things, but I don't dare speak about them. Hypochondriasis.
Must be what everything is all about. Why, on top of all
my other real or imaginary plights, did I have to end up
with that idiosyncrasy?
Raining this morning. Which I don't mind except it makes
me want to go back to bed, which dosn't sound like an
altogether bad idea. I have books to read. But I have
tired of Annie and that upsets me. I do like reading about
the terracotta army and the children in Smith's book--
e.g. the bird-headed dwarf children. So, I guess I'll go
try to read. I also got out my Plath and read Morning Song
and Child. I will look for Nick and the Candlestick.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
By The Time
...I get around to posting anything here, most
everything I thought I wanted to say either
doesn't matter anymore or I just don't have the
energy or need to say it.
Yesterday, when I had Molly outside in the back
yard to do her business, I noticed that one of the
daffodils I planted two years ago had this deep
orange center. It was the color of free range
chicken yolks. Free range from my friend who
had chickens for a few years. She brought me
dozens of eggs, whose shells ranged from speckled
turquoise to light brown. I was apprehensive about
eating them with a yolk so orange. But they were
good--intense, but good. So I thought about her
and I thought about my brother's significant other
who sent those bulbs to me for my birthday in 07.
And I thought how little I try or make an effort
to stay in touch with my siblings now.
There is a disturbance in the force, which is not
always a bad thing.
So, I read some Kay Ryan last night. About 15 poems.
I liked one of them. I may post it soon.
Work is good. I like what I do. I like my coworkers.
I finally had a response on my other blog from a long
time poetry and blog friend. I am most grateful
and will probably send her a personal email.
I guess I figure I really don't have anything to post
or to say to anyone these days. I keep most of what
I am thinking inside. I spend time with friends--
old and new--and am enjoying that. I talk but
sometimes I just gab. Which is ok. I am me.
I can talk shop with the best of the shoptalkers,
and I can relate to those who don't know how
or don't aspisre to talk shop.
I am falling out of love with Annie Dillard. I was
digging For The Time Being, and then it hit me
that Annie is a rich, educated, white out of touch
with my reality person, and I grew disenchanted,
which is not a bad thing. I don't have her on a pedestal
any longer. I don't know whether she would like
to have been there anyway.
The teracotta army is of interest to me. Don't know
why I never knew about it until I was reading Dillard's
book.
That's all.
...I get around to posting anything here, most
everything I thought I wanted to say either
doesn't matter anymore or I just don't have the
energy or need to say it.
Yesterday, when I had Molly outside in the back
yard to do her business, I noticed that one of the
daffodils I planted two years ago had this deep
orange center. It was the color of free range
chicken yolks. Free range from my friend who
had chickens for a few years. She brought me
dozens of eggs, whose shells ranged from speckled
turquoise to light brown. I was apprehensive about
eating them with a yolk so orange. But they were
good--intense, but good. So I thought about her
and I thought about my brother's significant other
who sent those bulbs to me for my birthday in 07.
And I thought how little I try or make an effort
to stay in touch with my siblings now.
There is a disturbance in the force, which is not
always a bad thing.
So, I read some Kay Ryan last night. About 15 poems.
I liked one of them. I may post it soon.
Work is good. I like what I do. I like my coworkers.
I finally had a response on my other blog from a long
time poetry and blog friend. I am most grateful
and will probably send her a personal email.
I guess I figure I really don't have anything to post
or to say to anyone these days. I keep most of what
I am thinking inside. I spend time with friends--
old and new--and am enjoying that. I talk but
sometimes I just gab. Which is ok. I am me.
I can talk shop with the best of the shoptalkers,
and I can relate to those who don't know how
or don't aspisre to talk shop.
I am falling out of love with Annie Dillard. I was
digging For The Time Being, and then it hit me
that Annie is a rich, educated, white out of touch
with my reality person, and I grew disenchanted,
which is not a bad thing. I don't have her on a pedestal
any longer. I don't know whether she would like
to have been there anyway.
The teracotta army is of interest to me. Don't know
why I never knew about it until I was reading Dillard's
book.
That's all.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
On Naivete
My naivete is large. So large sometimes I feel
I must be stupid. How can one person have such
faith in other people? This coming from me, the
cynic.
It's 10:30 and I'm just now eating my cordon bleu.
I have not been able to get beyond my simplicity
enough to eat until now. Now that I know some
parts of our personalities are so fixed.
I didn't realize until today how much faith I still
had in others. How much trust.
We live and work in a system that doesn't put much
stock in trust. Many of us have been burned, chastised,
ridiculed for believing in some kind of intrinsic good.
I am not saying I will let that go. I am saying I must
learn that there are places and times and situations
in which society has dictated one cannot accept the
offerings of others.
Vague but all I have to give. Time for a soak in the tub.
My naivete is large. So large sometimes I feel
I must be stupid. How can one person have such
faith in other people? This coming from me, the
cynic.
It's 10:30 and I'm just now eating my cordon bleu.
I have not been able to get beyond my simplicity
enough to eat until now. Now that I know some
parts of our personalities are so fixed.
I didn't realize until today how much faith I still
had in others. How much trust.
We live and work in a system that doesn't put much
stock in trust. Many of us have been burned, chastised,
ridiculed for believing in some kind of intrinsic good.
I am not saying I will let that go. I am saying I must
learn that there are places and times and situations
in which society has dictated one cannot accept the
offerings of others.
Vague but all I have to give. Time for a soak in the tub.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Monday Morning, Cloudy
I wake again to find no messages in my email
and no comments on my blog. I think I must
accept that I mean nothing to the folks I thought
had become my friends out here in blogland
and cyber world.
I am enjoying a nice breakfast. Scrambled eggs
with asparagus tips, some black forest ham, and
grated colby and monterey jack. Some hot sauce,
splash of milk, kosher salt, and black pepper in the
eggs (of course!). I normally love eggs, but have
not eaten any in some time. I think it's because
my body knows it needs to eat foods lower in
cholesterol, but what do I know? I just haven't
even wanted eggs in some time. I only buy the
cage free/organic/loaded with Omega 3 eggs, but
I still worry about the choloesterol.
Let me see what else I think is wrong with me this
more. Indulge me, dear screen, nonexistent readers.
I now have a cut on my big toe, which bled out in the
night. I must go doctor it before I go to work. I have
an opened blister on my right index finger and a closed
one on my right ring finger. I trimmed ornamental
grass and raked yesterday. My hands did not like
that repetetive work. My head still hurts in the same
place--base of the brain to the left. The ear on that
saide is better. Tasted blood first thing this morning.
Nose stopped up eyes full of gunk. When I get up
in the night to go to the bathroom, I am not very steady
on my feet and tend to walk with a limp. In the night,
I am awakened often with terrible pain in my right hip.
The only time I don't notice any of these things is when
I've had a few drinks. I don't feel any pain anywhere.
I feel good, and free, and uninhibited and confident
that everything is going to be ok. Of course I know
that alcohol is an antiinflammatory, an analgesic,
and anesthetic, and tow other words that srart with
A (word retrieval an ever growing problem).
Got a call last week about a position I applied
for back in early December. I had not been working
very long at that point and was not sure if I was
the right person for the job I have now. I never
heard back from the application so I assumed
the position was filled, so I was surprised when I
got the call asking me to come in for an interview.
I said yes, but I've thought about it all weekend.
And I am going to have to call back and say No.
I like where I am and what I am doing. Why would
I want to leave? So, I need to call the guy back, thank
him for considering me, and decline the interview.
Don't want to burn my bridges, but don't want to leave
my position either.
Time to go do that and get ready for work.
I wake again to find no messages in my email
and no comments on my blog. I think I must
accept that I mean nothing to the folks I thought
had become my friends out here in blogland
and cyber world.
I am enjoying a nice breakfast. Scrambled eggs
with asparagus tips, some black forest ham, and
grated colby and monterey jack. Some hot sauce,
splash of milk, kosher salt, and black pepper in the
eggs (of course!). I normally love eggs, but have
not eaten any in some time. I think it's because
my body knows it needs to eat foods lower in
cholesterol, but what do I know? I just haven't
even wanted eggs in some time. I only buy the
cage free/organic/loaded with Omega 3 eggs, but
I still worry about the choloesterol.
Let me see what else I think is wrong with me this
more. Indulge me, dear screen, nonexistent readers.
I now have a cut on my big toe, which bled out in the
night. I must go doctor it before I go to work. I have
an opened blister on my right index finger and a closed
one on my right ring finger. I trimmed ornamental
grass and raked yesterday. My hands did not like
that repetetive work. My head still hurts in the same
place--base of the brain to the left. The ear on that
saide is better. Tasted blood first thing this morning.
Nose stopped up eyes full of gunk. When I get up
in the night to go to the bathroom, I am not very steady
on my feet and tend to walk with a limp. In the night,
I am awakened often with terrible pain in my right hip.
The only time I don't notice any of these things is when
I've had a few drinks. I don't feel any pain anywhere.
I feel good, and free, and uninhibited and confident
that everything is going to be ok. Of course I know
that alcohol is an antiinflammatory, an analgesic,
and anesthetic, and tow other words that srart with
A (word retrieval an ever growing problem).
Got a call last week about a position I applied
for back in early December. I had not been working
very long at that point and was not sure if I was
the right person for the job I have now. I never
heard back from the application so I assumed
the position was filled, so I was surprised when I
got the call asking me to come in for an interview.
I said yes, but I've thought about it all weekend.
And I am going to have to call back and say No.
I like where I am and what I am doing. Why would
I want to leave? So, I need to call the guy back, thank
him for considering me, and decline the interview.
Don't want to burn my bridges, but don't want to leave
my position either.
Time to go do that and get ready for work.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I Think I'm a Hopeless Case
Let's see, what ailment is it I worry I have this
morning? Well, I cut my finger when I was working
in the yard yesterday, and rather than come inside
and wash it out and off, clean it with peroxide,
put some neosporin on it and a bandage, I decided
just to let it bleed and go on working. Which I did.
When I came in, I washed it thoroughly with soapy
water, cleaned it out with alcohol (out of peroxide),
and that was that. I decided to just forego my neosporin
and bandage. So, I'm sitting here this morning on the
computer looking up bland diets for my ulcer (which
I assume I have based on the pain in my stomach
and the blood in my mouth), when I notice my finger.
It's red and there's a red streak coming down from the
site of the wound. So, now I am thinking, Well, that's
just great. Now you can add cellulitis to the list of things
wrong with you.
Oh my. This is so taxing. Why am I this way?
Once again, there were no comments on my other blog.
I thought someone would wonder where I was. I haven't
posted in over two weeks. For over 10 years of my life,
I have been an active user of the internet. There are
people I know only through their comments on my poetry
at Melic and from their comments on my blog, but I thought
I mattered. Silly goose that I am.
I came to the internet in my loneliness and need to connect
with others with similar interests. I knew no one here
remotely interested in talking shop about poetry, music,
wine, etc. I had good friends at that time, but they didn't
live here, and they had no real interest in poetry. So,
I ventured out and connected. For years there has been
correspondence with these people. I feel that I know them.
If one of them was MIA (and some of them have been that
way from time to time), I would just post a note and say
Hey, you ok? I've done that. And many others who follow
their blogs do that. But not one person has left a note on
my blog.
So, let's see: not missed, possible cellulitis, likely ulcer,
possible heart problems, very likely high blood pressure
(will find out Tuesday--have to go see my doc if I want
my anxiolytic refilled), possible tumor in my lymph node,
possible ovarian cancer, sleep apnea, possible deviated
septum. There are more things to add to the list, but
that's a place to start.
Sicko. That's me. Weirdo. Loser.
Let's see, what ailment is it I worry I have this
morning? Well, I cut my finger when I was working
in the yard yesterday, and rather than come inside
and wash it out and off, clean it with peroxide,
put some neosporin on it and a bandage, I decided
just to let it bleed and go on working. Which I did.
When I came in, I washed it thoroughly with soapy
water, cleaned it out with alcohol (out of peroxide),
and that was that. I decided to just forego my neosporin
and bandage. So, I'm sitting here this morning on the
computer looking up bland diets for my ulcer (which
I assume I have based on the pain in my stomach
and the blood in my mouth), when I notice my finger.
It's red and there's a red streak coming down from the
site of the wound. So, now I am thinking, Well, that's
just great. Now you can add cellulitis to the list of things
wrong with you.
Oh my. This is so taxing. Why am I this way?
Once again, there were no comments on my other blog.
I thought someone would wonder where I was. I haven't
posted in over two weeks. For over 10 years of my life,
I have been an active user of the internet. There are
people I know only through their comments on my poetry
at Melic and from their comments on my blog, but I thought
I mattered. Silly goose that I am.
I came to the internet in my loneliness and need to connect
with others with similar interests. I knew no one here
remotely interested in talking shop about poetry, music,
wine, etc. I had good friends at that time, but they didn't
live here, and they had no real interest in poetry. So,
I ventured out and connected. For years there has been
correspondence with these people. I feel that I know them.
If one of them was MIA (and some of them have been that
way from time to time), I would just post a note and say
Hey, you ok? I've done that. And many others who follow
their blogs do that. But not one person has left a note on
my blog.
So, let's see: not missed, possible cellulitis, likely ulcer,
possible heart problems, very likely high blood pressure
(will find out Tuesday--have to go see my doc if I want
my anxiolytic refilled), possible tumor in my lymph node,
possible ovarian cancer, sleep apnea, possible deviated
septum. There are more things to add to the list, but
that's a place to start.
Sicko. That's me. Weirdo. Loser.
Friday, March 20, 2009
There Will Be Blood
And there is. I keep tasting it in my mouth.
I just don't know where it's coming from, and I am
frankly quite scared to go find out. It could as explianable
as post nasal drip. I have bloody noses. I am not throwing
up blood. I am not coughing up blood. I just taste it, so I
grab a kleenex, clear my throat and spit it out. Quite a bit
yesterday. Not so much during the night. I got so stressed
Wednesday night when my mother-in-law phoned me from
someplace in the hospital asking me to come pick her up
at the Same Day Surgery door. I knew she wasn't in her room,
but she couldn't tell me where she was. As soon as she hung
up, I called hospital security to go find her, woke my husband
up to tell him, hurriedly changed my clothes, went back in to get
my husband off the couch to go with me to the hospital only to
find him back asleep on the couch and wondering why I was
so upset. I just left without him. I don't get that at all. He just
said, Yeah, I'm worried, but what can I do? I shudder to think
what would have happened to her had she not been able to #1:
find a phon #2. remember our phone number & # 3 be easy to spot
as she was walking the halls in a hospital gown and had blood
running from her arm from the IV site (yep, of course she pulled
out her IV). I felt like my head was going to explode that night.
Ultimately, we ended up bringing her here that night. Got here
around 1. I got very little sleep. Next morning, her husband
came to get her. He's a frail, tall 86 year old man who loves her
dearly but can't physically take care of her. He had a heart attack
on Father's Day Sunday-- the first Fahter's Day after my father's
death that April of 2006. We managed to get her home and in her
bed, but again, the lack of sleep, the worrying about how he's going
to take care of her, the worrying about missing part of another
day of work (I took 4 hours off to be at the hospital during her
surgery--do you think her son even thought about that? Nope.).
Anyway, so the blood taste keeps returning. and I want to know
why and I don't. I don't want to die. I just sometimes can't get
what the point of living is. I guess more people would want to die,
would want to take their own lives, if they knew what was on the
other side and what was there was more appealing than what's here.
Oh but I do love a sunset and the ocean! Oh and I do love this earth!
I guess if a person believes that there is nothing on the other
side, perhaps they truly don't live in fear of dying. They just live for
today. I wish I could do that. I wish I could stop thinking about all
the things I've done wrong and focus on just living. But I can't.
If I did that, I would have to let go of some things and some people.
Or at least, I think I would.
I know what it is to fall in love. I do not know what it is to
grow old with the person I fell in love with. I fell in love
as a teenager, so I'm not sure that counts all that much.
I didn't know myself--what I really liked or disliked,
what my value system consisted of, what I wanted
to do with my life, what I wanted in a person for the
rest of my life.
Like most first loves, that one didn't last. And I have
never felt that way about anyone since. I married too
young and for too many wrong reasons, but I can't change
that. My marriage brought me three amazing children
and this really great little guy named Isaac--my grandson.
Life has been good to me. But I do not love the man
I live with every day. The man I am growing old with.
We are, for the most part, kind to one another. We do,
for the most part, get along fairly well. And it saddens
me to feel this way.
Now, I am 50. Even if we divorced so I could find out if
there is someone else out there better suited for me and
for him, I don't think I would want to make the effort to go
out looking. Men my age are looking for younger women.
Older men are looking for younger women (I would be
younger, but I don't have the bod or the brains or the appeal).
At this point in my life, I am not even thinking about another
man. I am just thinking I need to know what it is I am looking
for before I do something stupid or before I die. But I may
not know what it is unless I do something.
I stay conflicted. It wears me out.
I just don't want to end up "simply having visited" this life.
I wish I could be happy, dammit. I wish I knew what it was like
to get up exicted about another day. I wish I wasn't riddled
with fears, insecurities, negativity.
I don't know where I am going with all of this. Nowhere,
most likely. I was too exhausted to work today, so I took a
sick day (shoulc have done that yeaterday!) . I don't like
to miss work. I like what I am doing and I like the people
I work with, but I just had to get some sleep. And I did
sleep most of the morning.
I was dreaming about K. We were talking on the phone.
Just having a normal conversation about nothing in particular--
someone's new truck, something that happened in the hood,
something about music, something about books. I can't really
remember now. All I remember was how good it was to hear
his voice. I didn't want to wake up because then I would
no longer hear him. I could feel myself trying to awaken but
just hanging on to his voice. I just wanted him to keep talking.
I miss his voice. K was my friend. He was one of my best
friends. Strange how a person I only met once in my life
had such an impact on my life. I miss him terribly. I can't
believe he died. I don't know why he had to die. I don't know
why I navigate toward people destined to die young.
First there was C--49 years old. Then K, 54 years old.
Then D, 53 years old. Lost K in Oct. 07 and D in Feb.
08. Lost C in 99. It will be ten years this June 1st. I wonder
what she would look like now. I wonder if she would still
be crazy as hell. I wonder if we would have remained friends.
I wonder where she is. I don't miss her like I used to. I'm not
sure if that means anything. I do think about her often.
But why did I choose people to love who were doing
such damaging things to themselves? C & K may have
been thinking Here's a way to hurry this shit up and get it over with,
and hell, I can stay zoned out at the same time. I won't have
to show up too often for my own life. But D--I don't think she
was looking to die. I think she was running from her fears
for so many years. I think she just got tired of running. Her body
couldn't take it any longer. If there is any afterlife, I hope she
is at peace. I hope she's painting again and writing. She was
an artist with tremendous potential.
I guess I should go do some things. Plenty to do. I've been out
of it for a few weeks. I haven't felt good since I got sick at Dawn's.
I'd really like for a poem to gather itself in my mind and then go one
step further and spill out on the page or the screen. Maybe later.
And there is. I keep tasting it in my mouth.
I just don't know where it's coming from, and I am
frankly quite scared to go find out. It could as explianable
as post nasal drip. I have bloody noses. I am not throwing
up blood. I am not coughing up blood. I just taste it, so I
grab a kleenex, clear my throat and spit it out. Quite a bit
yesterday. Not so much during the night. I got so stressed
Wednesday night when my mother-in-law phoned me from
someplace in the hospital asking me to come pick her up
at the Same Day Surgery door. I knew she wasn't in her room,
but she couldn't tell me where she was. As soon as she hung
up, I called hospital security to go find her, woke my husband
up to tell him, hurriedly changed my clothes, went back in to get
my husband off the couch to go with me to the hospital only to
find him back asleep on the couch and wondering why I was
so upset. I just left without him. I don't get that at all. He just
said, Yeah, I'm worried, but what can I do? I shudder to think
what would have happened to her had she not been able to #1:
find a phon #2. remember our phone number & # 3 be easy to spot
as she was walking the halls in a hospital gown and had blood
running from her arm from the IV site (yep, of course she pulled
out her IV). I felt like my head was going to explode that night.
Ultimately, we ended up bringing her here that night. Got here
around 1. I got very little sleep. Next morning, her husband
came to get her. He's a frail, tall 86 year old man who loves her
dearly but can't physically take care of her. He had a heart attack
on Father's Day Sunday-- the first Fahter's Day after my father's
death that April of 2006. We managed to get her home and in her
bed, but again, the lack of sleep, the worrying about how he's going
to take care of her, the worrying about missing part of another
day of work (I took 4 hours off to be at the hospital during her
surgery--do you think her son even thought about that? Nope.).
Anyway, so the blood taste keeps returning. and I want to know
why and I don't. I don't want to die. I just sometimes can't get
what the point of living is. I guess more people would want to die,
would want to take their own lives, if they knew what was on the
other side and what was there was more appealing than what's here.
Oh but I do love a sunset and the ocean! Oh and I do love this earth!
I guess if a person believes that there is nothing on the other
side, perhaps they truly don't live in fear of dying. They just live for
today. I wish I could do that. I wish I could stop thinking about all
the things I've done wrong and focus on just living. But I can't.
If I did that, I would have to let go of some things and some people.
Or at least, I think I would.
I know what it is to fall in love. I do not know what it is to
grow old with the person I fell in love with. I fell in love
as a teenager, so I'm not sure that counts all that much.
I didn't know myself--what I really liked or disliked,
what my value system consisted of, what I wanted
to do with my life, what I wanted in a person for the
rest of my life.
Like most first loves, that one didn't last. And I have
never felt that way about anyone since. I married too
young and for too many wrong reasons, but I can't change
that. My marriage brought me three amazing children
and this really great little guy named Isaac--my grandson.
Life has been good to me. But I do not love the man
I live with every day. The man I am growing old with.
We are, for the most part, kind to one another. We do,
for the most part, get along fairly well. And it saddens
me to feel this way.
Now, I am 50. Even if we divorced so I could find out if
there is someone else out there better suited for me and
for him, I don't think I would want to make the effort to go
out looking. Men my age are looking for younger women.
Older men are looking for younger women (I would be
younger, but I don't have the bod or the brains or the appeal).
At this point in my life, I am not even thinking about another
man. I am just thinking I need to know what it is I am looking
for before I do something stupid or before I die. But I may
not know what it is unless I do something.
I stay conflicted. It wears me out.
I just don't want to end up "simply having visited" this life.
I wish I could be happy, dammit. I wish I knew what it was like
to get up exicted about another day. I wish I wasn't riddled
with fears, insecurities, negativity.
I don't know where I am going with all of this. Nowhere,
most likely. I was too exhausted to work today, so I took a
sick day (shoulc have done that yeaterday!) . I don't like
to miss work. I like what I am doing and I like the people
I work with, but I just had to get some sleep. And I did
sleep most of the morning.
I was dreaming about K. We were talking on the phone.
Just having a normal conversation about nothing in particular--
someone's new truck, something that happened in the hood,
something about music, something about books. I can't really
remember now. All I remember was how good it was to hear
his voice. I didn't want to wake up because then I would
no longer hear him. I could feel myself trying to awaken but
just hanging on to his voice. I just wanted him to keep talking.
I miss his voice. K was my friend. He was one of my best
friends. Strange how a person I only met once in my life
had such an impact on my life. I miss him terribly. I can't
believe he died. I don't know why he had to die. I don't know
why I navigate toward people destined to die young.
First there was C--49 years old. Then K, 54 years old.
Then D, 53 years old. Lost K in Oct. 07 and D in Feb.
08. Lost C in 99. It will be ten years this June 1st. I wonder
what she would look like now. I wonder if she would still
be crazy as hell. I wonder if we would have remained friends.
I wonder where she is. I don't miss her like I used to. I'm not
sure if that means anything. I do think about her often.
But why did I choose people to love who were doing
such damaging things to themselves? C & K may have
been thinking Here's a way to hurry this shit up and get it over with,
and hell, I can stay zoned out at the same time. I won't have
to show up too often for my own life. But D--I don't think she
was looking to die. I think she was running from her fears
for so many years. I think she just got tired of running. Her body
couldn't take it any longer. If there is any afterlife, I hope she
is at peace. I hope she's painting again and writing. She was
an artist with tremendous potential.
I guess I should go do some things. Plenty to do. I've been out
of it for a few weeks. I haven't felt good since I got sick at Dawn's.
I'd really like for a poem to gather itself in my mind and then go one
step further and spill out on the page or the screen. Maybe later.
Friday, March 13, 2009
I Think I Screwed Up
In my attempt to hang out with a friend
who really needed to get out of the house, I think
I made things worse. We were listening to music--
some old Linda Rondstadt (as if any Linda Rondstadt
were not old!). I wanted her to hear some Jeff Buckley.
So we listened to Hallelujah, and she went to pieces.
I didn't expect that. I didn't know if she'd even like
Buckley. I had forgotten what happened to me the first
time I heard Buckley sing Cohen's Hallelujah. I went
to pieces as well. There is something in his voice--something
powerful, spiritual, needy, hurting, longing, aching, whole
and pure. I should have thought that one through.
My head still hurts. It has been hurting since last Saturday
when I was in Lexington visiting my friend. I don't know when
I vomitted last, but I let loose that night. Scary thing was
her face when she saw the last bit of vomit. She said, Not good.
The water is pink. Meaning blood. Little bit, it seems. I was
afraid because she was afraid and then I thought, she's smart
and strong and if she's afraid maybe I should be, too. But my fucking
head hurt so bad and I was so nauseated that I just couldn't let
myself go anywhere except to the couch. I don't know why
there was some pink shit in the puke, but I hope it's something
explainable that does not include ulcer or varices.
I have been more surrounded by friends and new acquaintances
of late that I find it hard to believe all I can do is still think about
how alone I feel. The outsider. The hard one. The hard sell.
The sellout. The idiot. The whiner. The hard core know-there's-
nothing-gonna-help-your-sorry-ass baby. The leave me alone
already and let me die freak. The holding on to bad news/
can't be no good news sadist. The I need excuses so I can keep
drinking fool. Where is my f***ing break?
If I don't give it to me, how can I expect anyone else will?
Started reading some Annie Dillard last night, and my plan
was to come home tonight and just get in the bed and keep
reading. But, I started drinking, and then I started calling
people. I don't know why in the hell I do that. I can't call
people when I am not drinking. But, I drink so often that
it's a rare night that I don't call someone.
Am I an alkie? An abuser for sure.
Seems pretty screwy to me to be sitting at a computer at 10:45
p.m. typing such nonsense when I could be reading Dillard
or making love to my husband or eating a dark chocolate bar
or out of town listening to some music or just living. Is this living?
I am beginning to believe only terribly lonely people who have
no life spend time on their computers. I mean, really, would a
person with a life be out here typing in anything?
I don't think so. I think they would be f***ing living life.
In my attempt to hang out with a friend
who really needed to get out of the house, I think
I made things worse. We were listening to music--
some old Linda Rondstadt (as if any Linda Rondstadt
were not old!). I wanted her to hear some Jeff Buckley.
So we listened to Hallelujah, and she went to pieces.
I didn't expect that. I didn't know if she'd even like
Buckley. I had forgotten what happened to me the first
time I heard Buckley sing Cohen's Hallelujah. I went
to pieces as well. There is something in his voice--something
powerful, spiritual, needy, hurting, longing, aching, whole
and pure. I should have thought that one through.
My head still hurts. It has been hurting since last Saturday
when I was in Lexington visiting my friend. I don't know when
I vomitted last, but I let loose that night. Scary thing was
her face when she saw the last bit of vomit. She said, Not good.
The water is pink. Meaning blood. Little bit, it seems. I was
afraid because she was afraid and then I thought, she's smart
and strong and if she's afraid maybe I should be, too. But my fucking
head hurt so bad and I was so nauseated that I just couldn't let
myself go anywhere except to the couch. I don't know why
there was some pink shit in the puke, but I hope it's something
explainable that does not include ulcer or varices.
I have been more surrounded by friends and new acquaintances
of late that I find it hard to believe all I can do is still think about
how alone I feel. The outsider. The hard one. The hard sell.
The sellout. The idiot. The whiner. The hard core know-there's-
nothing-gonna-help-your-sorry-ass baby. The leave me alone
already and let me die freak. The holding on to bad news/
can't be no good news sadist. The I need excuses so I can keep
drinking fool. Where is my f***ing break?
If I don't give it to me, how can I expect anyone else will?
Started reading some Annie Dillard last night, and my plan
was to come home tonight and just get in the bed and keep
reading. But, I started drinking, and then I started calling
people. I don't know why in the hell I do that. I can't call
people when I am not drinking. But, I drink so often that
it's a rare night that I don't call someone.
Am I an alkie? An abuser for sure.
Seems pretty screwy to me to be sitting at a computer at 10:45
p.m. typing such nonsense when I could be reading Dillard
or making love to my husband or eating a dark chocolate bar
or out of town listening to some music or just living. Is this living?
I am beginning to believe only terribly lonely people who have
no life spend time on their computers. I mean, really, would a
person with a life be out here typing in anything?
I don't think so. I think they would be f***ing living life.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
That's Me (Not) In The Spotlight
Might as well start posting here. All I do on my blog
is yak. It's taking the place of my journal, which has
been so sorely neglected over the last 2 years that it
must certainly be feeling that lack of love. I just can't
believe any longer that there is much sense in this recording
of the most mundane moments of my life, but then again,
I know how much there is to read between the lines.
It is too late for me to write much this morning. I have
to be at work in 20 minutes, and I haven't even started
to get ready. And I need to lie down for about 5 minutes.
This is a day I could stay home and just lie in bed for most
of the day. I am physically and emotionally wiped out.
But, I like my job and don't like to miss. So, to the bed for
a five minute rest and then time to get dressed and out the
door.
Might as well start posting here. All I do on my blog
is yak. It's taking the place of my journal, which has
been so sorely neglected over the last 2 years that it
must certainly be feeling that lack of love. I just can't
believe any longer that there is much sense in this recording
of the most mundane moments of my life, but then again,
I know how much there is to read between the lines.
It is too late for me to write much this morning. I have
to be at work in 20 minutes, and I haven't even started
to get ready. And I need to lie down for about 5 minutes.
This is a day I could stay home and just lie in bed for most
of the day. I am physically and emotionally wiped out.
But, I like my job and don't like to miss. So, to the bed for
a five minute rest and then time to get dressed and out the
door.
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