I went to bed at 5"o'clock Tired to the bone I think the saying goes. So tired I could not talk, or think, but I could eat and then I fell asleep again. I awoke with the same aching bones oh well they must me tired deep inside and need more than just the physicality of sleep. The tired of soul and spirit, that consumes the bone and muscles and takes the brain's ability to feel lightness away. I know I must make the choice to be in the sun. I must make the choice to leave the worry to it's own solitary bleakness and move on, but it is hard when you are anchored into the port like the mother of all flagships, because you are the mother.
"A ship in a port is safe, but that is not what a ship is built for"
When I was little I never wanted to sleep and I was read this story about a bed that ran away because it was sad. The bed had many adventures as it flew away. The child missed it's bed. The bed grew tired also. Maybe there is always hope that child will grow weary and understand it is not bad to sleep, perchance to dream.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Sometimes you are just lucky
Sometimes you are just lucky you don't get the flu or you weren't born in a country where girls cover their heads and brains. Sometimes you are just lucky the milk in the fridge isn't sour, the cat hasn't peed in your shoe, no one beat you and stomped you in the head . Sometimes you're just lucky that you're only laid off for a month, that the van missed the house, that the guy just stole the laptop and didn't shoot you in the chest. Sometimes you're just lucky that you just have a sinus infection, or a spider bite, or you weren't devoured by the the mrsa beast. Sometimes you just get lucky you inherited the thin hair, myopic eyes, but have no propensity to pick up a drink of liqueur and keep picking them up until there is no walking, talking or consciousness.
Sometimes you're just lucky you don't carry these appendages these fungus' that are lodged deep within the soul. There should be no glory in flaunting superiority of sobriety and sanity, but by the grace of God, by the minisculity of a cell, by a bit a luck goes I.
Sometimes you're just lucky you don't carry these appendages these fungus' that are lodged deep within the soul. There should be no glory in flaunting superiority of sobriety and sanity, but by the grace of God, by the minisculity of a cell, by a bit a luck goes I.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Marissa
She is the youngest sister the third to complete our M and M club. She is also the bravest and fiercest. She walked at nine months old. I don't think I had mastered the holding up of my head for extended periods yet that age. She hated clothes and because of this her body grew this downy fur all over her back at least that is what we theorized. She was impossible to watch. It was my job to watch her. I did not like to move much I liked television and books and operating on ants and attempting to save them with the inside of portulaca leaves. She liked to run crazy-like everywhere and dance in circles for hours with her arms outstretched and she never fell over or walked like a drunk. She did not like clothes and would strip faster than the barnyard cats I would dress, truly impressive.
The best or worst event, dependent on if you were the mother, was my middle sister's first communion. It was a very solemn sacrament, a very long crowded, pompous Mrs. Chechenese is going to whack me in the ears if I talk during it event. My parents sat closer to the front I had Marissa in one of he back pews,usually the most sought after holy grail catholic seats, except on filming for posterity days where girls sat primly like vessels practicing for that greatest position in a Catholic's woman's life marriage and motherhood in pre-bridal dresses while restless twitchy boys with slicked back hair and ties sat on their hands. Marissa made it through the gospel, but not the homily when the priest drones on about whatever he has chosen to hear his voice. The homily was when I became frozen and dreamed about my real family my alien royal family and that is when Mrs. Chechennese snapped me on the head to look at my half-naked sister. She was down to her slip her dress, shoes, socks all in a puddle by her feet and the slip was over her head. I grabbed her in mid-run She was heading down the aisle toward my mom. This would not end well. She kept going for the slip. I could feel the heat and hives starting to form and my ears were roaring instead of the horrified snickering of the awakening flock I could hear Father Bielskas clearing his throat like a rumble of thunder and then I caught her. I clapped my large hand over her mouth and dragged her as fast as I could out the door. As the heavy door closed I let her down. She tore that petticoat off and let out a scream of freedom.
Epilogue: Marissa called last night someone stole her 2002 Saturn while she was with a client. The client was worried that she had to call the police. How do we explain how we know each other? The police doesn't care. She cries for the police and can't believe someone has stolen such a car. Her dead mother and brother helped her buy this car. "Please find my car" she wails.
The client said his mom could give her a ride when she came back with the dog. His mom had to take the dog away while Marissa was providing or she might get bit in the face. The client is disabled. She said," No thanks I will take a taxi". The taxi didn't believe she really wanted a taxi that far and asked if she really had the money.
She said, "Why does it cost more than $300.00?".
"No, I've just been burned It cost eighty"
She gives him a hundred She knows the service industry.
She sounds resigned "you know what this means"
"yeah I know". She has to do some specials, but she doesn't say it like that. She tells me exactly what it is and goes into a diatribe about men and we laugh. She says better go work and such says she loves and misses me. I love and miss her too.
The best or worst event, dependent on if you were the mother, was my middle sister's first communion. It was a very solemn sacrament, a very long crowded, pompous Mrs. Chechenese is going to whack me in the ears if I talk during it event. My parents sat closer to the front I had Marissa in one of he back pews,usually the most sought after holy grail catholic seats, except on filming for posterity days where girls sat primly like vessels practicing for that greatest position in a Catholic's woman's life marriage and motherhood in pre-bridal dresses while restless twitchy boys with slicked back hair and ties sat on their hands. Marissa made it through the gospel, but not the homily when the priest drones on about whatever he has chosen to hear his voice. The homily was when I became frozen and dreamed about my real family my alien royal family and that is when Mrs. Chechennese snapped me on the head to look at my half-naked sister. She was down to her slip her dress, shoes, socks all in a puddle by her feet and the slip was over her head. I grabbed her in mid-run She was heading down the aisle toward my mom. This would not end well. She kept going for the slip. I could feel the heat and hives starting to form and my ears were roaring instead of the horrified snickering of the awakening flock I could hear Father Bielskas clearing his throat like a rumble of thunder and then I caught her. I clapped my large hand over her mouth and dragged her as fast as I could out the door. As the heavy door closed I let her down. She tore that petticoat off and let out a scream of freedom.
Epilogue: Marissa called last night someone stole her 2002 Saturn while she was with a client. The client was worried that she had to call the police. How do we explain how we know each other? The police doesn't care. She cries for the police and can't believe someone has stolen such a car. Her dead mother and brother helped her buy this car. "Please find my car" she wails.
The client said his mom could give her a ride when she came back with the dog. His mom had to take the dog away while Marissa was providing or she might get bit in the face. The client is disabled. She said," No thanks I will take a taxi". The taxi didn't believe she really wanted a taxi that far and asked if she really had the money.
She said, "Why does it cost more than $300.00?".
"No, I've just been burned It cost eighty"
She gives him a hundred She knows the service industry.
She sounds resigned "you know what this means"
"yeah I know". She has to do some specials, but she doesn't say it like that. She tells me exactly what it is and goes into a diatribe about men and we laugh. She says better go work and such says she loves and misses me. I love and miss her too.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Spinners and lights
I woke up and the nail was spinning, spinning, spinning against the broken plaster with the green poinsettia wallpaper. It was one of those days. The can't hold my head up, walk a straight line days. It would progress to violent puking and then the lights. I would like to explain that I could make the rooms brighter and the light bulbs bigger, but my mother would respond,fine then do it. It would save money, I guess she couldn't see it. I decided then I was special maybe a vessel of God and sainthood was to be mine. So I would watch Our Lady Of Fatima and the children upon seeing Mary knew they needed to suffer They wore rough corded belts around their waists that cut into their skin and bled. I tried that with a rope from a pickle sack.It itched mostly I broke out in hives that spread to my face and my mother asked, if I had been back the barn, because something back the barn usually provoked these hives. She told me to take a bath in baking soda. I did and also decided the belt was not painful just scratchy and I made a piss poor martyr.
I went on to another favorite saint movie Bernadette, well I would make a grotto like she saw Mary in Lourdes and the sun twirled. The sun was always shifting for me between light and bright and blasts of nova like extravaganzas, but still no Mary. My grotto did not get very far I tried recruiting my sister a much harder worker by telling her it would be like the house in Thomasina where the witch lady lived who helped all the animals. We would haul rocks from the field gather muck from the swamp to make a paste to stick the rocks together clearly our engineering skills were nonexistent. Of course this project did not last long. Melissa, the third girl, had to be taken care of. She was not going to make walls. Trouble, is what she'd be doing, heading toward the mucky swamp.
My religiosity continued. I would hold mock church amongst my dolls and stuffed animals flattening white Butternut bread into facsimile of hosts and offering up to Old Blue my teddy Bear and Mary Ellen the half bald doll, and Melissa if she promised to not put it in her pants . That was usually my job make sure she doesn't put dangerous things in her underpants like scissors or glass. She carried things in her panties like a purse.
I kept looking for Mary everywhere. She must be somewhere in those bright lights, but I didn't wear the rope more than eleven hours and that stone wall pretty pathetic, guess I was not as deserving as those children in Mexico or the girl in France who endured bone cancer with no mention of pain. So with regret in my heart, no more lunches spent praying at the foot of the statue of St. Theresa to make the roses bloom in winter, no more reading The Lives of the Saints from the library, no more dreaming of casting my body to the lions and saying I do believe.
I must go on to my next hypothesis... aliens
I went on to another favorite saint movie Bernadette, well I would make a grotto like she saw Mary in Lourdes and the sun twirled. The sun was always shifting for me between light and bright and blasts of nova like extravaganzas, but still no Mary. My grotto did not get very far I tried recruiting my sister a much harder worker by telling her it would be like the house in Thomasina where the witch lady lived who helped all the animals. We would haul rocks from the field gather muck from the swamp to make a paste to stick the rocks together clearly our engineering skills were nonexistent. Of course this project did not last long. Melissa, the third girl, had to be taken care of. She was not going to make walls. Trouble, is what she'd be doing, heading toward the mucky swamp.
My religiosity continued. I would hold mock church amongst my dolls and stuffed animals flattening white Butternut bread into facsimile of hosts and offering up to Old Blue my teddy Bear and Mary Ellen the half bald doll, and Melissa if she promised to not put it in her pants . That was usually my job make sure she doesn't put dangerous things in her underpants like scissors or glass. She carried things in her panties like a purse.
I kept looking for Mary everywhere. She must be somewhere in those bright lights, but I didn't wear the rope more than eleven hours and that stone wall pretty pathetic, guess I was not as deserving as those children in Mexico or the girl in France who endured bone cancer with no mention of pain. So with regret in my heart, no more lunches spent praying at the foot of the statue of St. Theresa to make the roses bloom in winter, no more reading The Lives of the Saints from the library, no more dreaming of casting my body to the lions and saying I do believe.
I must go on to my next hypothesis... aliens
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Def Leopard and Ritalin
I make discoveries everyday, archaeological finds, digs in the recesses of the dirt infested caves of my dwelling, some of them like a faded holey shirt a homage to a semi-defunct band. I hold it tightly to my heart and breathe in the essence of sunlight. It is glorious and I smile and cry and know she has led me to this treasure because I need a treasure now. Others like the pills that I find squirreled in bags and drawers remind me why I hide them and I should quit, but I won't and I can't.
Medication continues to be an annoying irony of these phantom neurological paradoxes. Ritalin, magical pill,directing my brain to stay awake, to try to focus, to supplement the other pills when they can't keep me awake. I like these pills, but the ones to apparently slow my brainwaves down are not as pleasant an incendiary crusade battling with the others.
Enough of this poppycock. The sun is shining. I have sparkles on my shirt and my pants, yes my pants. I have started embroidering again a farm picture I began in 1983. I may watch Thomasina yet. Onward there are roads to be run, flowers to be planted, fun to be had...
Medication continues to be an annoying irony of these phantom neurological paradoxes. Ritalin, magical pill,directing my brain to stay awake, to try to focus, to supplement the other pills when they can't keep me awake. I like these pills, but the ones to apparently slow my brainwaves down are not as pleasant an incendiary crusade battling with the others.
Enough of this poppycock. The sun is shining. I have sparkles on my shirt and my pants, yes my pants. I have started embroidering again a farm picture I began in 1983. I may watch Thomasina yet. Onward there are roads to be run, flowers to be planted, fun to be had...
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Silent
So this is what is what I think, medication, meditation, mediation. You just keep trying You just keep trying so hard until you are quiet and you learn not to ask, not to be noticed, and no one likes that either except the dogs and the cats and they are never quiet. The dogs and cats are always kind and don't care if you ask them how they are ten times in an hour or if you talk to you yourself or you fall down or walk funny. They don't care if you cry into their fur and they wait patiently for you to stop weeping, licking your tears. They like you sick or well, sad or happy. They are much more humane than people.
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