Tuesday, January 29, 2008
not that I am pro-heroin
but my god. officially going off Lyrica has been like an extended bout of the flu. withdrawals like going off opiates: fever, chills, hot itchy eyeballs, puking, shaking, incessantly dripping nose, can't sleep, can't get comfortable, kafka dreams.
DO NOT WANT.
Monday, January 28, 2008
fun with detox
I guess the half-life of Lyrica is about two weeks, cos Saturday night I got really bad muscle spasms, more or less seizure-like, and a wretched case of the spins. and that was just from cutting to 100 mg. being up all night shaking brought the flu back. hurrah.
I figured I couldn't feel worse, so I went ahead and quit taking Lyrica entirely. I have been nauseated as hell, but I am unsure if it's post-nasal drip or withdrawals.
Being off the weed maintenance program isn't helping, either, but I'm too sick to smoke. One day I'll live in a state with "Compassionate Care" and things will be easier. Really.
I figured I couldn't feel worse, so I went ahead and quit taking Lyrica entirely. I have been nauseated as hell, but I am unsure if it's post-nasal drip or withdrawals.
Being off the weed maintenance program isn't helping, either, but I'm too sick to smoke. One day I'll live in a state with "Compassionate Care" and things will be easier. Really.
Friday, January 25, 2008
reading the new stephen king
ANIMALS
Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners
the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water
I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days
-Frank O'Hara
Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners
the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water
I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days
-Frank O'Hara
these magic muffins are the secret warp tube to the level 8 of your heart
8-10 ounces mexican drinking chocolate (Ibarra or Popular)
1/2 c canola oil
1 c finely chopped dried figs, stems removed
3/4 c bourbon
1.5 tsp mexican vanilla extract
1/2 c vegan butter (earth balance)
1 c chopped walnuts
16 oz can pumpkin
1/3 c water
1 egg
1/3 c flaxseeds
3/4 c quinoa flakes
1/2 c whole wheat pastry flour
1/4 c spelt flour
1 tsp soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp cloves
equipment: muffin tin, 2 small saucepans, large mixing bowl
Preheat oven to 350. grease muffin tin.
melt chocolate with oil over low heat and set aside.
simmer figs, bourbon, and vanilla until liquid is absorbed. add butter and walnuts and fry until the nuts are golden brown. remove from heat and set aside.
combine pumpkin, egg, and dry ingredients. add chocolate mixture. thin to approximately the texture of yogurt or sour cream and stir in fig mixture.
distribute batter even in muffin cups; they should be completely full.
bake until a fork poked into the center comes out clean, about 45 minutes. there's enough oil in them that they really won't get too dry if you forget about them while you are vacuuming, downloading john cougar mellencamp, and cleaning the bathroom. i did. then i ate 4. mmm.
figs are a great source of b-vitamins, potassium, and fiber. flax, canola, and walnuts all are rich in omega-3s. pumpkin has tons of beta-carotene. chocolate is the number one remedy for dementor attacks.
1/2 c canola oil
1 c finely chopped dried figs, stems removed
3/4 c bourbon
1.5 tsp mexican vanilla extract
1/2 c vegan butter (earth balance)
1 c chopped walnuts
16 oz can pumpkin
1/3 c water
1 egg
1/3 c flaxseeds
3/4 c quinoa flakes
1/2 c whole wheat pastry flour
1/4 c spelt flour
1 tsp soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp cloves
equipment: muffin tin, 2 small saucepans, large mixing bowl
Preheat oven to 350. grease muffin tin.
melt chocolate with oil over low heat and set aside.
simmer figs, bourbon, and vanilla until liquid is absorbed. add butter and walnuts and fry until the nuts are golden brown. remove from heat and set aside.
combine pumpkin, egg, and dry ingredients. add chocolate mixture. thin to approximately the texture of yogurt or sour cream and stir in fig mixture.
distribute batter even in muffin cups; they should be completely full.
bake until a fork poked into the center comes out clean, about 45 minutes. there's enough oil in them that they really won't get too dry if you forget about them while you are vacuuming, downloading john cougar mellencamp, and cleaning the bathroom. i did. then i ate 4. mmm.
figs are a great source of b-vitamins, potassium, and fiber. flax, canola, and walnuts all are rich in omega-3s. pumpkin has tons of beta-carotene. chocolate is the number one remedy for dementor attacks.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
bleh.
I tried skipping a dose of Lyrica Sunday and ended up with a ferocious panic attack. Not gonna do that again, at least, not off the weed maintenance program. I certainly can't afford weed, not when I can't even pay my phone bill. I've been off work so long. honestly, I am not looking forward to the prospect of spending 6 hours trying to be productive. or of trying to pass a drug test. just 1 day without weed and I am already jonesing. fun with classical conditioning. not to mention super-low endocannabinoids.
I'm hovering on the edge of full-blown sick, with a fever and chills and a fearsome thirst. I hate being ill. I start class tonight, and at 3.5 hours, it's going to be miserable. I hope the room is cold. I have no idea how I will sit still that long well, let alone fevered and gulping water and pissing 16 oz every 40 minutes.
I'm hovering on the edge of full-blown sick, with a fever and chills and a fearsome thirst. I hate being ill. I start class tonight, and at 3.5 hours, it's going to be miserable. I hope the room is cold. I have no idea how I will sit still that long well, let alone fevered and gulping water and pissing 16 oz every 40 minutes.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Weds already.
I woke up up early, for me, at ten. Discomfort levels are pretty high. Tired, sore, with the sort of pulsing ache under my skin that has always been the main symptom. it's beautiful and sunny out, looks crispy, so maybe after eating and giving the pills time to digest I'll get out for a ride.
The fixie Alex left me apparently had a suicide hub just Locktited on, and it fell apart Saturday night. Baffled the boys I was with. There's a women/trans' night at West Town tonight, and I'm hoping they can show me how to fix it. Guess it needs a lock ring. Otherwise it's gonna be chewing gum, which I was assured is a Rat Patrol secret. Can't be much worse than Locktite.
I don't know why I didn't make better use of the bike co-op back home. I imagine shyness and Saturday hangovers had the largest part to do with it. I wish I had. If wishes were horses, though, I'd have a floor full of shit.
I sorted a shit ton of old clothes into rags and Gaia offerings, so I am hoping my inability to cough up 10 Ds for the "donation" will be assuaged by gifts of shop rags and purple rice milk. I'm completely skint, probably 45 cents to my name if I look in the couch.
It's purifying, I guess, but I sure am tired of rice and beans.
The fixie Alex left me apparently had a suicide hub just Locktited on, and it fell apart Saturday night. Baffled the boys I was with. There's a women/trans' night at West Town tonight, and I'm hoping they can show me how to fix it. Guess it needs a lock ring. Otherwise it's gonna be chewing gum, which I was assured is a Rat Patrol secret. Can't be much worse than Locktite.
I don't know why I didn't make better use of the bike co-op back home. I imagine shyness and Saturday hangovers had the largest part to do with it. I wish I had. If wishes were horses, though, I'd have a floor full of shit.
I sorted a shit ton of old clothes into rags and Gaia offerings, so I am hoping my inability to cough up 10 Ds for the "donation" will be assuaged by gifts of shop rags and purple rice milk. I'm completely skint, probably 45 cents to my name if I look in the couch.
It's purifying, I guess, but I sure am tired of rice and beans.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
fits in a goddamn manila envelope
Down to 100mg of Lyrica today and yesterday. Might stay there a while. Cymbalta cut to 60 from 90 without any of the nasty electrozappies I was expecting. Didn't quite bounce out of bed, but I did wake up after 9.5 ish hours instead of 13.
I've been just on the cusp of manic all day, unable to sit still, starting then abandoning multiple projects only to pick them back up. I made rice milk, joined with millions of slacker computer geeks skiving off work to lurk the macworld expo, registered and paid for pharm tech classes at the Humboldt Park Vocational thingy, biked to the library, read a book, worked on cellphone/vj self portrait, read through the medical terminology textbook...
oh, and made the bomb arroz con gandules.
My body feels more and more mine, but I am not sure how to tell you why. I'm sure part of it is that the vague dread I felt because of December/money stress is tco, but I feel like I've been missing something. Granted, the meds overload and the smoking pot in bed and crying all day could have something to do with why the end of last year seems so blurry.
It's going to be strange to adjust to having a schedule again. Already I have the next week almost completely planned out. Bike workshop, hang with the Other Ex-Pat, Dill Pickle Food Co-op benefit, pin-up shoot w/ vintage auto, then class starts.
I had all those days where it took me hours just to make breakfast. Hours of blurry headed misery, like a teenager again, stuck on the sofa with mono.
I can't go back to that.
I can't stop moving. I can't let gravity catch my feet.
Pray these wings don't melt.
I've been just on the cusp of manic all day, unable to sit still, starting then abandoning multiple projects only to pick them back up. I made rice milk, joined with millions of slacker computer geeks skiving off work to lurk the macworld expo, registered and paid for pharm tech classes at the Humboldt Park Vocational thingy, biked to the library, read a book, worked on cellphone/vj self portrait, read through the medical terminology textbook...
oh, and made the bomb arroz con gandules.
My body feels more and more mine, but I am not sure how to tell you why. I'm sure part of it is that the vague dread I felt because of December/money stress is tco, but I feel like I've been missing something. Granted, the meds overload and the smoking pot in bed and crying all day could have something to do with why the end of last year seems so blurry.
It's going to be strange to adjust to having a schedule again. Already I have the next week almost completely planned out. Bike workshop, hang with the Other Ex-Pat, Dill Pickle Food Co-op benefit, pin-up shoot w/ vintage auto, then class starts.
I had all those days where it took me hours just to make breakfast. Hours of blurry headed misery, like a teenager again, stuck on the sofa with mono.
I can't go back to that.
I can't stop moving. I can't let gravity catch my feet.
Pray these wings don't melt.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
sunday morning is every day for all I care
I cut the Lyrica down to 100 mg a day from 300 and I am already sleeping less. Just a normal 10 hours or so instead of 14 and waking exhausted and groggy. I can almost literally see my body deflating back to the size I am supposed to be. Hi, hipbones!!
the only real benefit I can see Lyrica having is that it does cut down a lot of the static in my nerves- the itching and hypersensitivity. So does megadoses of Omega-3/6, though, and I have high hopes for the acupuncture getting this body back in line.
GOOD day yesterday. Therapy, a good 25 miles of riding, an art show, and a party. just mild panic attackiness at the art show, mostly from the noise. it tends to short everything else else, loudness, making me twitchy like a bunny, and as prone to needing to sit in a corner.
also, I was the only girl at this party with short hair. wtf, midwestern girls. sorority time is over.
the only real benefit I can see Lyrica having is that it does cut down a lot of the static in my nerves- the itching and hypersensitivity. So does megadoses of Omega-3/6, though, and I have high hopes for the acupuncture getting this body back in line.
GOOD day yesterday. Therapy, a good 25 miles of riding, an art show, and a party. just mild panic attackiness at the art show, mostly from the noise. it tends to short everything else else, loudness, making me twitchy like a bunny, and as prone to needing to sit in a corner.
also, I was the only girl at this party with short hair. wtf, midwestern girls. sorority time is over.
Friday, January 11, 2008
He used to call me Bean
I stole an undershirt at his house, thin soft cotton with tiny fraying holes. It fit so well and it was another little piece of him. He lent it me the last time he let me sleep over. Now I think I might sleep in it every night, and I wonder how I will continue to go on like this, feeling so much. Such a wonderful rush of warmth and then a dull cold bitterness. So swift and so sharp. It's got pincers, Mummy, and it reeks of madness.
I gave him a nickname another boy once gave me. This was a boy I met on the nets, who mailed me paintings of blank-faced teddy bears committing seppuku and texted me sweet nothings like, "I'm outside looking at the stars, wondering what it would be like to hold your face in my hands." He was stuck at his parents' house in New Jersey, having just had a nervous breakdown. We'd spend hours talking online and texting each other. It was almost like not being alone.
I gave him a nickname another boy once gave me. This was a boy I met on the nets, who mailed me paintings of blank-faced teddy bears committing seppuku and texted me sweet nothings like, "I'm outside looking at the stars, wondering what it would be like to hold your face in my hands." He was stuck at his parents' house in New Jersey, having just had a nervous breakdown. We'd spend hours talking online and texting each other. It was almost like not being alone.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
maybe this will come true
2007 was a hard year. I came squinting and groaning into it, ashtray and whiskey-breathed and in bed with Someone Who Was Not My Boyfriend. Granted, the Boyfriend had gone AWOL and I'd basically had to break up with his voicemail after 2 weeks.
Things had gone badly between soon after he'd sold his house and moved here. His dog was ill a lot and had gone off the meds that had made him pack up and move 800 miles. He hadn't found a job that he liked and was just sitting around drinking beer and growing more and more barrel-chested and cranky. He had wild facial hair and a handsomely craggy face and tattoos like a sailor. I loved to lie on his bed in my underwear and watch him take things apart and put them together, but I needed to be petted just about as much as he needed to be alone. Crazy plus crazy just can't equal anything lasting.
That was the thing that made me craziest, I think.
Once I get boyfriended I start to get used to constant attention. Every damn time I let myself slip and I start needing him and then I quit paying the right kind of attention to myself. I am terrified of being alone. I guess that's why towards the end of last year I imposed some pretty serious solitude on myself. It got bad enough last year to where I was having trouble leaving the house. Not agoraphobia, just this tedious hesitancy. Now I spend a good amount of time glued to the nets or reading.
I took a vow of chastity on New Year's. I got so tired of fucking guys and falling in love with them at the drop of a hat, belly-up like a puppy, yipping and wriggling for their hands on me.
Fibro has fucked with my head an awful lot this past year. I just started a course of weekly acupuncture treatments and talk therapy sessions. I am going to cut my meds, force myself to exercise and meditate. It will really fucking hurt, but I can't sit in bed and obsess over dying alone anymore. I left the house so little in December, and I am damned if I am going to let this shit win anymore. I am so tired of being depressed and in pain
Things had gone badly between soon after he'd sold his house and moved here. His dog was ill a lot and had gone off the meds that had made him pack up and move 800 miles. He hadn't found a job that he liked and was just sitting around drinking beer and growing more and more barrel-chested and cranky. He had wild facial hair and a handsomely craggy face and tattoos like a sailor. I loved to lie on his bed in my underwear and watch him take things apart and put them together, but I needed to be petted just about as much as he needed to be alone. Crazy plus crazy just can't equal anything lasting.
That was the thing that made me craziest, I think.
Once I get boyfriended I start to get used to constant attention. Every damn time I let myself slip and I start needing him and then I quit paying the right kind of attention to myself. I am terrified of being alone. I guess that's why towards the end of last year I imposed some pretty serious solitude on myself. It got bad enough last year to where I was having trouble leaving the house. Not agoraphobia, just this tedious hesitancy. Now I spend a good amount of time glued to the nets or reading.
I took a vow of chastity on New Year's. I got so tired of fucking guys and falling in love with them at the drop of a hat, belly-up like a puppy, yipping and wriggling for their hands on me.
Fibro has fucked with my head an awful lot this past year. I just started a course of weekly acupuncture treatments and talk therapy sessions. I am going to cut my meds, force myself to exercise and meditate. It will really fucking hurt, but I can't sit in bed and obsess over dying alone anymore. I left the house so little in December, and I am damned if I am going to let this shit win anymore. I am so tired of being depressed and in pain
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
i totally just killed a kitten while thinking about your moms, dude
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=kill+kitten
I am very, very upset that this did not occur to me sooner.
I am very, very upset that this did not occur to me sooner.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
i post on CL a lot cos of teh w33d
After I got my heart broke bad the first and last time, I thought I could fuck my way out of it.
I would train myself to never care, to play as I had been played, to feel the power of using my body to make men do things.. I hurt a lot of people, I ruined my reputation, and I had to move away because my sluttiness had rendered me unboyfriendable.
I was labeled as Crazy Girl and a Bad Girl (although also the Smartest Girl in the City) and I knew I would die alone, surrounded by my cats, watching Buffy.
That led, of course, to my friends and I deciding we'd live in a "tat bro" retirement home. Old rockabilly guys and tiny wrinkled old women with their hair died fire engine red and black, covered in tattoos, sitting around on our porches listening to records.
I may never have another relationship like the one that broke me. So I learn to be honest. Most of the people I hang out with are pretty broken. We're all just waiting for time to pass, hoping something would happen.
-We could hang ourselves.
-It'd give us an erection.
-And all that follows.
I might well be the kind of person who goes through life alone, who never finds someone. That could end up being ok. I have good friends I know will always be around, and if I just have casual sex with other consenting, absent-hearted individuals, that's better than ever going through that again. It'd kill me.
I've been chronically ill since high school, although it didn't truly begin to destroy my life until a few years ago. Fist my hands and knees started to hurt. I figured it was carpal tunnel. Then all my joints started to ache, a hot, flaring flame licking away under my skin. There were invisible ants chewing away at the muscle tissue in my neck and shoulders. Nails were being driven into me. I'd lie awake at night throbbing, and then stumble about the next day, feeling like I'd been thru a sleepwalked rugby game. I was so tired. They did a lot of tests and gave me some pills, kept telling me to come back later. Finally they told me I had fibromyalgia, a disease I'd heard very little about.
After years of keeping up with research, I know more about it than the rheumatologist I saw at Cook County, who barely even knew that it was, in fact, a nerve disease and not one of muscle tissue.
I've learned a lot about the brain. I spend hours reading random articles on Wikipedia and learned that burning wood re-ionizes the air, which affects the release of serotonin in the brain. I wonder why ionizers aren't just given out to everyone during the winter. I wonder this because I spent about 90% of my time in bed or on the sofa. If I'm not there I am on my bike (just switched to fixie), flying through the streets, feeling like I've defeated this crush of gravity that threatens to flatten me. It's the only thing that makes me not want to die. Fuck using the brakes.
I just recently stopped being employable. I went to college in all good faith believing that if I studied hard and was smart I'd be able to find a good job.
But I was too crazy to teach after that, so I worked in food. I got to where I really loved it, but then my body gave out.
I had a desk job over the summer, but the stress made me crazy and I just walked out. I hate rich people. I am not a capitalist. I have been very poor for a very long time and all I want is to go to the damn dentist. I don't need a damn Jetta and brazilian cherry wood floors and stainless steel appliances to make me happy. I just want my mouth to stop hurting.
I can't get jobs any more. I can barely walk some days, and I have no way of knowing when those days will be. I look fine, I'm in great shape, but I'm in wretched amounts of pain and all I want to do is distract myself with a book or a dvd or the Nets. I consistently have Kervorkian fantasies.
I answer porn ads from here on Cl to make a living. I don't feel particularly ashamed of it. It's all I can get. I'm good at sex, I have a great body, I've been modeling naked for years, and emotionally it's about the same as taking a guy home from the bar. And the money can't be beat. I just wish I knew I could get enough of it to pay my rent every month. Still, it's definitely contributed to my being off dating. I just don't have the energy to be emotionally AND sexually involved with the same person, not on top of fucking for money.
The snow is lovely, and I am dying to go ride in it, but my stomach has decided to burn and rumble. Fun with IBS on top of all the other annoying things like feeling like I have a sunburn, or being unable to wear long sleeves indoors. Or itching all the time, even after slathering myself in pecan oil.
I have to get a good night's sleep, because tomorrow I am going to take all my anger out on a man who will pay me to do it.
Nice work if you can get it.
I have no clue what is happening in my life. Sometimes I really just want a nice boy to love me, to want to take care of me so I can go back to school and get a job I can actually do even if I'm in a damn wheelchair. Sometimes I just want to die. I'm so tired. I'm sleeping 12-14 hours a night and I just get more and more exhausted. I wish I could just be in a coma. Wake up when they have a stem cell cure. or nanobots. I can still get excited about those. YEAH! nanobots might fix me one day!!!
or else we just get through each day until the zombie invasion happens.
or the plague hits. or the floods start. or the robots take over. or the aliens attack. or we start to live in space.
see, there is stuff worth waiting for.
I would train myself to never care, to play as I had been played, to feel the power of using my body to make men do things.. I hurt a lot of people, I ruined my reputation, and I had to move away because my sluttiness had rendered me unboyfriendable.
I was labeled as Crazy Girl and a Bad Girl (although also the Smartest Girl in the City) and I knew I would die alone, surrounded by my cats, watching Buffy.
That led, of course, to my friends and I deciding we'd live in a "tat bro" retirement home. Old rockabilly guys and tiny wrinkled old women with their hair died fire engine red and black, covered in tattoos, sitting around on our porches listening to records.
I may never have another relationship like the one that broke me. So I learn to be honest. Most of the people I hang out with are pretty broken. We're all just waiting for time to pass, hoping something would happen.
-We could hang ourselves.
-It'd give us an erection.
-And all that follows.
I might well be the kind of person who goes through life alone, who never finds someone. That could end up being ok. I have good friends I know will always be around, and if I just have casual sex with other consenting, absent-hearted individuals, that's better than ever going through that again. It'd kill me.
I've been chronically ill since high school, although it didn't truly begin to destroy my life until a few years ago. Fist my hands and knees started to hurt. I figured it was carpal tunnel. Then all my joints started to ache, a hot, flaring flame licking away under my skin. There were invisible ants chewing away at the muscle tissue in my neck and shoulders. Nails were being driven into me. I'd lie awake at night throbbing, and then stumble about the next day, feeling like I'd been thru a sleepwalked rugby game. I was so tired. They did a lot of tests and gave me some pills, kept telling me to come back later. Finally they told me I had fibromyalgia, a disease I'd heard very little about.
After years of keeping up with research, I know more about it than the rheumatologist I saw at Cook County, who barely even knew that it was, in fact, a nerve disease and not one of muscle tissue.
I've learned a lot about the brain. I spend hours reading random articles on Wikipedia and learned that burning wood re-ionizes the air, which affects the release of serotonin in the brain. I wonder why ionizers aren't just given out to everyone during the winter. I wonder this because I spent about 90% of my time in bed or on the sofa. If I'm not there I am on my bike (just switched to fixie), flying through the streets, feeling like I've defeated this crush of gravity that threatens to flatten me. It's the only thing that makes me not want to die. Fuck using the brakes.
I just recently stopped being employable. I went to college in all good faith believing that if I studied hard and was smart I'd be able to find a good job.
But I was too crazy to teach after that, so I worked in food. I got to where I really loved it, but then my body gave out.
I had a desk job over the summer, but the stress made me crazy and I just walked out. I hate rich people. I am not a capitalist. I have been very poor for a very long time and all I want is to go to the damn dentist. I don't need a damn Jetta and brazilian cherry wood floors and stainless steel appliances to make me happy. I just want my mouth to stop hurting.
I can't get jobs any more. I can barely walk some days, and I have no way of knowing when those days will be. I look fine, I'm in great shape, but I'm in wretched amounts of pain and all I want to do is distract myself with a book or a dvd or the Nets. I consistently have Kervorkian fantasies.
I answer porn ads from here on Cl to make a living. I don't feel particularly ashamed of it. It's all I can get. I'm good at sex, I have a great body, I've been modeling naked for years, and emotionally it's about the same as taking a guy home from the bar. And the money can't be beat. I just wish I knew I could get enough of it to pay my rent every month. Still, it's definitely contributed to my being off dating. I just don't have the energy to be emotionally AND sexually involved with the same person, not on top of fucking for money.
The snow is lovely, and I am dying to go ride in it, but my stomach has decided to burn and rumble. Fun with IBS on top of all the other annoying things like feeling like I have a sunburn, or being unable to wear long sleeves indoors. Or itching all the time, even after slathering myself in pecan oil.
I have to get a good night's sleep, because tomorrow I am going to take all my anger out on a man who will pay me to do it.
Nice work if you can get it.
I have no clue what is happening in my life. Sometimes I really just want a nice boy to love me, to want to take care of me so I can go back to school and get a job I can actually do even if I'm in a damn wheelchair. Sometimes I just want to die. I'm so tired. I'm sleeping 12-14 hours a night and I just get more and more exhausted. I wish I could just be in a coma. Wake up when they have a stem cell cure. or nanobots. I can still get excited about those. YEAH! nanobots might fix me one day!!!
or else we just get through each day until the zombie invasion happens.
or the plague hits. or the floods start. or the robots take over. or the aliens attack. or we start to live in space.
see, there is stuff worth waiting for.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Poem for Monday, December 10, 2007
The Story
by Mark Strand
It is the old story: complaints about the moon
sinking into the sea, about stars in their first fading,
about the lawn wet with dew, the lawn silver, the lawn cold.
It goes on and on: a man stares at his shadow
and says it’s the ash of himself falling away, says his days
are the real black holes in space. But none of it’s true.
You know the one I mean: it’s the story about the minutes dying,
and the hours, and the years; it’s the story I tell
about myself, about you, about everyone.
Burke's Book Store
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com
please don't take my picture
The year has begun its final tumble toward the exit.
So many things have added their weight to the push that first started its stumbling.
I walked out of a fulltime job, a "green collar" job running an environmentally friendly cleaning service, at the end of the summer. I couldn't keep my mind focused, I was stressed out all the time, and when the owner and I came to anger and yelling I just walked out.
I'd started performing for some femdom pr0n out in the suburbs, and would make as much money in six hours as I did in two weeks at my "real job." It was a bizarre feeling, but it was just like the acting I did in High School, in the long run.
Despite biking twelve miles a day, the new medication I'd started taking for fibro was making me bloat and gain weight. I look at pictures of myself at that time and I cringe. I was pasty and puffy and I weighed almost thirty pounds more than I did ten years ago.
I spend almost all my time now in bed or tucked up in the sunroom.
It's so hard to walk or stand. The ground slips and stutters under me. I panic at bars, need to sit with my back to a wall and drink fast, drink til the leg cramps stop. Smile and talk loud about my cat, about Memphis, but always always I end up talking about being Sick.
It's becoming all I am.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Poem for Monday, December 3, 2007
Poem for Monday, December 3, 2007
At a Loose End
by D. H. Lawrence
Many years have I still to burn, detained
Like a candle-flame on this body; but I enclose
Blue shadow within me, a presence which lives contained
In my flame of living, the invisible heart of the rose.
So through these days, while I burn on the fuel of life,
What matter the stuff I lick up in my daily flame;
Seeing the core is a shadow inviolate,
A darkness that dreams my dreams for me, ever the same.
Burke's Book Store
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
get that serotonin in me
This reminds me that tomorrow I have "meds clinic" instead of a regular visit with my p-doc. I never know how these sessions go. Sometimes I go and it's a teeny room crowded with professional looking men betrayed by their leg-joggling, sometimes it's like a bus just unloaded from a halfway house.
we'll see.
we'll see.
Monday, November 12, 2007
monday
Preoccupation with death.
Perceiving one's body as crippled,
lame, uglier than average,
more flawed than average,
useless, decrepit, defunct.
I will learn to walk with a cane,
I will fuck you like it will be the last time, like
this churning might break me
open at the hips.
Perceiving one's body as crippled,
lame, uglier than average,
more flawed than average,
useless, decrepit, defunct.
I will learn to walk with a cane,
I will fuck you like it will be the last time, like
this churning might break me
open at the hips.
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