I just keep wondering when I won't be sick, or sad or afraid anymore.
Two days ago I had a sudden onset a-typical migraine. It started with crazy visual distortions that made it so I couldn't focus on my own face in the mirror. Everything was rippling and waving like a lake at dawn when every crest is frosted with light. Slowly my head began to hurt and then after that the nausea started. By this time I was in the doctor's with my husband and they decided to give me three shots to help the pain and the nausea. I jumped when the second needle hit my tush. After the amount of time they believed it would take for me to begin feeling better, I wasn't. So they sent my husband and I to the ER. I threw up outside. In the ER they tested my cognition and coordination again to see just how likely it was that this was a migraine and not a brain tumor. I passed all my tests and they decided to give me more drugs, and if those didn't work, I would then need a CAT scan. They gave me an IV with a cocktail of drugs which included benadryl. It knocked me on my arse. After a while they woke me up and I was feeling better so we went home. I went to bed at 8:30 pm and slept until 9 am the next day. Even after that I still felt groggy from the drugs.
Anyway, that was the latest episode. I'm just always amazed at the random things that happen to me. Two months ago I felt a sharp pain in my chest first thing in the morning. I knew it wasn't my heart because it was on the wrong side and it was more acute when I moved a certain way. Nonetheless, the pain was sharp and I couldn't do anything for a whole day. Over the course of several days the pain went away. Very weird.
I can't wait for the day when I just feel well all the time. I especially can't wait for the day when I no longer have illogical fears over issues of daily life. As of yet, my anxiety is untreated and so I still find myself battling nonsensical issues in my inner psyche. I'm afraid of so many things, even to call the doctor to make an appointment to deal with my anxiety. Catch 22. Oh well.
Sometimes I wonder, if I didn't have all the illnesses, all the physical and the mental ones, if I would really be the kind of person that so many people think I am: someone who is grossly talented and intelligent, and capable of doing anything at all, just so long as I want to. Teachers and friends have thought that about me my whole life but I've never been that person. Never ever.
I may never know what I could be unhampered. It may be that the true test of my existence will be to create beauty hampered and greatness fettered. That is what most of us are doing, isn't it?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Haiku, Limerick, and a Spenserian Sonnet
Haiku
Wandering the house
Listening: rain, one fly and
Empty thought. Monday.
Limerick
There once was a girl from the Coast,
Who ate garlicky, chewy old toast
And her friends did decide
Of all breaths they despised
Garlic toast girl's they hated the most.
Spenserian Sonnet
A blackened lantern stands upon the shelf,
Unlit so many years since it once shone,
The single light when deep down died the self,
That sputtered in its darkness far from home.
And here to there the shrinking wick would roam
Midst valleys, mountains, gales and torrents bleak
Ash falling through the lantern's crack on stone,
In hellish worlds of which I'll never speak.
I once knew only windows that would leak
and lives that only knew to fall apart
and ashy lantern light so pale and weak
it hardly could improve upon the dark.
Look here young friends, I stand as at noon day,
The light you hold is darkness, come away.
Wandering the house
Listening: rain, one fly and
Empty thought. Monday.
Limerick
There once was a girl from the Coast,
Who ate garlicky, chewy old toast
And her friends did decide
Of all breaths they despised
Garlic toast girl's they hated the most.
Spenserian Sonnet
A blackened lantern stands upon the shelf,
Unlit so many years since it once shone,
The single light when deep down died the self,
That sputtered in its darkness far from home.
And here to there the shrinking wick would roam
Midst valleys, mountains, gales and torrents bleak
Ash falling through the lantern's crack on stone,
In hellish worlds of which I'll never speak.
I once knew only windows that would leak
and lives that only knew to fall apart
and ashy lantern light so pale and weak
it hardly could improve upon the dark.
Look here young friends, I stand as at noon day,
The light you hold is darkness, come away.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Good Cop, Bad Cop
He was obviously dead. Gaping holes tend to make you feel that way about a person.
I hadn't known him well, nor had I ever wished to, but even still there was something about seeing him lifeless, strewn over a desk that made me wonder if I should have. I felt connected to his death. After all, I had known him.
It was several months ago when I was transferred to the East Precinct that I first met Detective Mulroney. He had a greasy sort of look about him, kinda like he used pig lard instead of gel to smooth his hair down. His eyes were so brown they may as well have been black and he stood with the sort of ponchy posture you'd expect from an overweight bull-terrier.
It took less than no time at all for us to realize that we would never be anything close to donut buddies, and he would spend most of his time trying to make my life a living hell.
I was just a beat cop at the time, and being a recent transfer, the newest, lowest guy on the totem pole. I think Detective Mulroney stayed up nights thinking of ways he could get me to quit, or at least have some sort of involuntary bodily function. He'd been doing this for years to all the greenies and he wasn't about to change things for me, a bright-eyed cop with morals and ideals from a different part of town that may as well have been another world.
It started with high-school-bully-prankster type stuff. One day I came in and opened my locker to find a bloody calf's foot hanging from the hook. There was a note taped to the inside of the door that said, "So glad you mooved here." Other than the mess, I actually thought it was pretty funny and had a huge smile on my face when later I passed Detective Mulroney in the hall. His sinister grin dropped into a snarling grimace. He was so mad he could've pissed himself.
Later, things started to get a little more serious. My wife answered the door one night to find a hooker holding my badge who said, "Sorry hunny. Your husband forgot this in the alley." I spent the next half hour explaining to my wife that I hadn't "lost" my badge, it had been stolen by another cop, and no I'd never met a girl named Pixie in my life, and no her pants didn't make her look fat.
Work itself was hell. All the worst jobs were given to me. If there was a dirty job to be done, I was the one that got it. A boring job? Mine also. A pointless job? Right again.
Detective Mulroney was nothing but a huge greasy smile after a few weeks. He was going to break me. His sick form of happiness depended on my misery, but it was really too bad because he was the fool.
What Detective Mulroney didn't know is that he couldn't break me. It's hard to re-break a bone in the same place it's been broken once before, and healed over. His was a futile cause. I was always a little stronger than he was meaner.
I hadn't known him well, nor had I ever wished to, but even still there was something about seeing him lifeless, strewn over a desk that made me wonder if I should have. I felt connected to his death. After all, I had known him.
It was several months ago when I was transferred to the East Precinct that I first met Detective Mulroney. He had a greasy sort of look about him, kinda like he used pig lard instead of gel to smooth his hair down. His eyes were so brown they may as well have been black and he stood with the sort of ponchy posture you'd expect from an overweight bull-terrier.
It took less than no time at all for us to realize that we would never be anything close to donut buddies, and he would spend most of his time trying to make my life a living hell.
I was just a beat cop at the time, and being a recent transfer, the newest, lowest guy on the totem pole. I think Detective Mulroney stayed up nights thinking of ways he could get me to quit, or at least have some sort of involuntary bodily function. He'd been doing this for years to all the greenies and he wasn't about to change things for me, a bright-eyed cop with morals and ideals from a different part of town that may as well have been another world.
It started with high-school-bully-prankster type stuff. One day I came in and opened my locker to find a bloody calf's foot hanging from the hook. There was a note taped to the inside of the door that said, "So glad you mooved here." Other than the mess, I actually thought it was pretty funny and had a huge smile on my face when later I passed Detective Mulroney in the hall. His sinister grin dropped into a snarling grimace. He was so mad he could've pissed himself.
Later, things started to get a little more serious. My wife answered the door one night to find a hooker holding my badge who said, "Sorry hunny. Your husband forgot this in the alley." I spent the next half hour explaining to my wife that I hadn't "lost" my badge, it had been stolen by another cop, and no I'd never met a girl named Pixie in my life, and no her pants didn't make her look fat.
Work itself was hell. All the worst jobs were given to me. If there was a dirty job to be done, I was the one that got it. A boring job? Mine also. A pointless job? Right again.
Detective Mulroney was nothing but a huge greasy smile after a few weeks. He was going to break me. His sick form of happiness depended on my misery, but it was really too bad because he was the fool.
What Detective Mulroney didn't know is that he couldn't break me. It's hard to re-break a bone in the same place it's been broken once before, and healed over. His was a futile cause. I was always a little stronger than he was meaner.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Of One Thing Only Am I Queen
I've always loved going to the Dentist. Even as a child I had a great love for clean teeth and brushed my teeth often and well. I remember going to our family dentist, also a close family friend, and loving every second of my teeth cleaning. That slick-tooth feeling you get after having your teeth cleaned was as good as getting a lollipop. Maybe better.
I know, I was a strange kid. I'm sure now that the only reason I was able to enjoy the dentist office so much was because of all that icky fluoride I was asked to bite down on, over and over. That was the only part I hated. There was something about biting down on gummy-filled foam that never tasted like what they said it would taste like that made me want to gag and puke. In hindsight, I'm grateful.
You see, I've never had a cavity in all my 27 years of life. Not a single, tiny one. What's more, and this has nothing to do with fluoride, I never even had braces or a retainer. My teeth are naturally straight, adequately spaced, and though I have a small mouth, there's almost nothing wrong with anything in it.
Also, and I hear this is very strange, I don't even have a single wisdom tooth in my jawbone. They're just not there.
So there you have it. No cavities, no wisdom teeth, no braces or retainers. I'm the freak of nature every mother hopes she'll have.
At this point I'm just waiting to see how long my streak will last. I keep wondering every time I go to the dentist, "Is this the time they'll find a cavity? Is my reign as queen of tooth perfection coming to an end?" But as always, I come out with a perfect score.
Going to the dentist for me is a bit like going to a major awards ceremony. I am lauded and praised and wowed over as if I'd floated in the door from some dental nirvana. Often the dental hygienist or dentist are so amazed by my clean mouth and track record that they have to call someone else in the room and tell them about it.
"Did you know she's never had a cavity?"
"What? No!"
"And she never had braces either!"
"You're kidding me! Her teeth are as straight as a ruler!"
And so on.
The dentist's office is the one place I can go where everything in the world is going right with me. The rest of my life may be in tatters, job hopeless, relationships strained, body sagging, but at the dentist I am perfection itself, the paragon of dental triumph, and everybody's best friend.
Now if you'll excuse me. It's time for me to go polish all my perfectly enameled trophies.
I know, I was a strange kid. I'm sure now that the only reason I was able to enjoy the dentist office so much was because of all that icky fluoride I was asked to bite down on, over and over. That was the only part I hated. There was something about biting down on gummy-filled foam that never tasted like what they said it would taste like that made me want to gag and puke. In hindsight, I'm grateful.
You see, I've never had a cavity in all my 27 years of life. Not a single, tiny one. What's more, and this has nothing to do with fluoride, I never even had braces or a retainer. My teeth are naturally straight, adequately spaced, and though I have a small mouth, there's almost nothing wrong with anything in it.
Also, and I hear this is very strange, I don't even have a single wisdom tooth in my jawbone. They're just not there.
So there you have it. No cavities, no wisdom teeth, no braces or retainers. I'm the freak of nature every mother hopes she'll have.
At this point I'm just waiting to see how long my streak will last. I keep wondering every time I go to the dentist, "Is this the time they'll find a cavity? Is my reign as queen of tooth perfection coming to an end?" But as always, I come out with a perfect score.
Going to the dentist for me is a bit like going to a major awards ceremony. I am lauded and praised and wowed over as if I'd floated in the door from some dental nirvana. Often the dental hygienist or dentist are so amazed by my clean mouth and track record that they have to call someone else in the room and tell them about it.
"Did you know she's never had a cavity?"
"What? No!"
"And she never had braces either!"
"You're kidding me! Her teeth are as straight as a ruler!"
And so on.
The dentist's office is the one place I can go where everything in the world is going right with me. The rest of my life may be in tatters, job hopeless, relationships strained, body sagging, but at the dentist I am perfection itself, the paragon of dental triumph, and everybody's best friend.
Now if you'll excuse me. It's time for me to go polish all my perfectly enameled trophies.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
What This Blog is All About...
Gene Fowler said, "Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."
Well, this is where I will begin my daily blood-letting.
I am an aspiring author and recovering perfectionist. A nasty duo if you weren't aware. This blog is my way of getting something down on the page every day, even if it's absolute crap. And I assure you, most of it will be.
So here's to sitting, staring, future blood transfusions and the daily answer to the question that rises out of the void of a blank sheet of paper or glistening white screen:
What fresh hell is this?
Well, this is where I will begin my daily blood-letting.
I am an aspiring author and recovering perfectionist. A nasty duo if you weren't aware. This blog is my way of getting something down on the page every day, even if it's absolute crap. And I assure you, most of it will be.
So here's to sitting, staring, future blood transfusions and the daily answer to the question that rises out of the void of a blank sheet of paper or glistening white screen:
What fresh hell is this?
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