spring and other things that spring eternal

The plants I thought I killed
at least three times once by
drowning once by freezing and

once by thawing too early may
have survived my ineptitude as
there are three sprouts shooting

up from the darkness of the soil
in the pot in my garage all winter
like hope springing eternal until

you find out it's three weeds but
you don't care because everything
is finally coming alive once again.

the blessings of blogging

How amazing it is
that when I will be reading
my work in public, even if
I have been in too much pain
to write much for months,
I can come
here
and find
so much wealth
to plunder.

scattered

if I could only
focus long enough, I could
watch blossoms expand

when it is enough (exercise and chronic pain)

Ask yourself,

"Is is enough?"

and if you think

"I could do more,"

stop before 

it is too much.

reasons for the quest

to sleep, perchance to dream

and to remember dreams,

to remember anything at all

really, to clear out some of this

fog, to be able to choose to live

in the moment instead of being

reduced to it, to see more clearly

and be present more fully, to

be able to cope and not cry all

the time over nothing and every

thing, to be part of community

to serve instead of being served

or hiding or running and stumbling

to be more fully awake to the

world as the seasons turn and I

grow older with the world because

even though it's scary and possibly

dangerous, maybe this time it will

work, and I can begin to heal if

I do not give up and lose all hope

fractured prose

The shameless self-promotion 

from the Facebook group read, 

'Looking for the perfect 

CHRISTMAS PRESENT for that friend 

or relative who loves poetry 

and laments the fact that modern 

"poets" have abandoned it 

for fractured prose?' I was

inexplicably delighted by

this accurate characterization 

of what I write, as if it had

no value or purpose or reason

for existing when, for me, 

it represents how I think

with my bent toward narrative

prose combined with my fractured 

concentration and attention 

span because of the pain 

and the sleeplessness

it causes, so thank you,

disparaging and dismissive

and self-righteous poet busy

flogging your own obviously 

superior form of writing, for

unintentionally presenting me 

with the gift of words 

to accurately describe 

my own.  : )

when I forget fall

I'm glad, Brother Wolf:

you will remember for me

when I forget fall.

temptation to do

In light of the dizziness, swelling, poor wound healing, brain foginess, pain flare-up, thyroid struggling, cold-intolerance, anemia, and my inability to grasp anything (literally or figuratively), one could argue that I might be overdoing it and should use my day off to, oh, I don't know, rest and NOT try to DO ALL THE THINGS, since that do-things strategy seems to not be working for me very well. At least it will be raining. Lying on the couch watching the rain seems to be about my speed right now. Must resist temptation to do . . .

small victories? a (terrifying) glimpse into my head on a bad day but at least not on a pike or anything

Missing a deadline because you are not sleeping well and thus are terrible at adulting is really irksome.  I felt like I was a plastic bag on a windy day getting blown around from one thing I needed to do to another and then all of a sudden there were no more days left.  (However, I did manage to exercise enough self-restraint to keep myself from replying with a number of mean things to a guy being a(n incorrect) grammar/writing jerk to one of my friends on Facebook.  That was a heroic effort today.)  These are the times I think I will never really be an "author" instead of a writer.  (This is not actually an awful thing because I'd rather be a writer even when I am not sleep deprived and scattered to the four winds.)  I already have no desire or motivation to get my work out there like one is supposed to do, but when a call for entries that seems tailor-made for my work comes, and I am a space cadet due to sleep deprivation for a couple weeks and miss it, it's frustrating, and I want to wallow in self-recrimination (which would be easier if I didn't keep getting distracted by everything in the world), but I also know that melodramatic wailing and stressing out is something I need to avoid (it's really bad for me because it kicks up the pain that leeches the sleep that scatters my brain all over the walls of the house that Jack built).  Did you know that sleep deprivation by itself causes symptoms that look almost exactly like fibromyalgia?  They did studies (that are totally illegal now) once upon a time.  (Seriously, Blogger, I promise fibromyalgia is a real word.  You and certain members of the medical community who also don't believe in it are not helping.)  I'd love to promise to do better next time, but if I'm honest with myself, I'll probably be sleep deprived next time because I am always sleep-deprived to a varying degree, and I just want to throw up my hands and give up, but that's not good either.  All of this thrashing makes me more tired, but the pain makes me not sleep.  I LOSE NO MATTER WHAT I DO OR DO NOT DO.  Therefore, I am going to go read a book, so the day is not a total loss.  Here's hoping I have the self-control to stop reading book at a reasonable time in order to not make things even worse . . .

All I wanted to do today

All I wanted to do today
was lie on the deck
reading a book.  When
I am very sleep-deprived,
I do not adult well at all.

Can I quit this club?

The infographic said 1

out of 10 

people has 

pain

every day

and I thought

Really?!

9 out of 10 people 

DON'T?

What is that 

like?  It sounds

awesome to not be part

of this 10% club. I don't

remember what it's like

not to be in this club.  

I've been 

in it longer

than not now.

Does this tithe

of pain count

toward some total

I do not understand?

Would I feel

any better 

if I did

understand?

Doubtful.

About resting badly

for Liz, who is probably right

"You're doing it

wrong," she says

on Facebook in what

I imagine is the aggrieved-

affectionate tone the

Bloggess' long-suffering

husband Victor uses

when he says it to

her.  I think she's right

because other people

would not encourage

resting so much if it

did as much damage

to them as it somehow

does to me.  Does

anyone know where

I could learn how to

safely rest?  Are there

classes for this sort

of thing?  I can't see

the solution as: stop

resting because being

exhausted is bad

enough, but it's worse

when I add resting-

related injuries to the 

mix.  There must be 

a way for me to learn 

how to rest more 

safely.  Maybe

if I practiced it 

as often as I am 

supposed to, I 

would be 

better 

at it?
It can't
hurt
to
try,
right?

Taking a sick day

It feels like a waste for a weekend day, but I'm really feeling awful, so I am taking a sick day today.  Just as soon as I finish the laundry.  And the dishes.  And the bills. After that, I am going to lie on the couch, propped in a posturally correct position to do one thing: watch foreign DVDs with no English vocal track.  (When I do this, I can't multitask by doing other things while listening to the show.  I have to focus on this one thing.  [Whether I can or not is up for discovery.]) 

I will not

• obsess about how I should be  cleaning the floors or researching hot water heaters or using the voice recognition software to dictate quotes from books I've read to get those shelves cleaned off. 
• waste time looking around the internet for information about how to get rid of broken toasters and frying pans. 
• get bent out of shape that I can't write ALL THE THINGS. 
• take apart and put back together my tiny Christmas tree (in sad shape after two guests knocked it off its display shelf).
• read (my elbows, wrists, and hands,  are killing me), and I won't even take notes on what I'm watching. 
• berate myself for not sorting through files or any of the other cleaning tasks that remain from moving into this space all those months ago.
• think about how sleep deprived and tired I am and how much I dread going to work and having to interact with people when I feel this unwell (my patience and filters are just gone, and I say things sometimes that I just shouldn't).
• think about how helpless I feel in the face of this pain and inability to sleep.
• worry about how much more my back hurts or why it feels like I have bruises all over it.

I will

• work hard at not curling up into a miserable ball because that will make various things hurt more tomorrow.
• look out the window at the trees and the sunlight.
• remember to get up and drink water. 
• even eat something, if I am feeling less sick. ( I probably should; if this is an allergy/weather change nausea, then getting some food in my stomach to dilute all the snot draining into it is probably a good idea.) 
• rest as hard as I can. 
• hope that tomorrow will be better.

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chronic pain
happy holidays

Ibuprofen/weakness

Every time I reach

for the bottle I despise

myself a little.

the doctor told me I needed to wear sandals indoors

At first, all I could see was the floral pattern.  Beloved of all the old ladies at the orthopedic shoe store, it seemed unbearably ugly to me.  But it was the only clearance pair that fit without irritating my foot crush injury.  Besides, I was only going to wear them inside, so the hideous flowers wouldn't be viewed in public.

In the darkness of my home, the flowers were invisible, and I started seeing the shape.  They have dark, unusual lines that are solid yet graceful, despite the size of my feet.  The shoes are named after butterflies, but they don't look like butterflies. They also are not as ugly as I thought they were.

quotes out of context

from Jeremiah 30:12-13 to OWCP
 
"Your wound is incurable,
And your injury is serious.
"There is no one to plead your cause;
No healing for your sore,
No recovery for you."

Yep.  My sense of melodrama is still doing just fine though, thanks for asking.  Reading Jeremiah makes me lean toward drama.  Being a prophet was never precisely easy, but wow, did he have a crappy time of it . . .

not really one of my better days, but the pain is having a ball

Today it has felt as if some small creature with dull but strong teeth has been hanging from and gnawing on part of my left arm.

I am sleeping even less than average, and the night was very long when I watched it nearly all the way through until the light returned.

My right hip is throbbing like some caged creature needs to escape from it, and sitting up for hours at a time is more of a challenge than it should be for someone my age.

A tiny, invisible, serrated worm pokes at my right wrist and sometimes wraps itself around and goes into spasms--probably of joy and affection.  If so, I'm glad someone is having a good time here.  I just wish it were me.

the times I am most angry at OWCP are like this

• I'm trying to sing Brahms German Requiem, and my arm hurts insistently and keeps distracting me.  It hurts even worse 30 pages in from the simple act of holding the music and turning each page.  
• I want to help my friend who just had twins get some alone time with her husband, but I can't because holding even tiny babies and changing diapers will cause me agony later, so all I can do is come and help hold the babies while they are still small and sing to them since they don't mind that it is so hard for me to actually learn an entire lullaby anymore.  
• I have a great idea, and the muse is demanding that I sit and write it down right now before it gets bored and goes away, but I can't because my arm hurts, and things are busy at work, and I can't afford to irritate my arm any more, or I won't be able to function at work, and I have to function at work because I need to keep this job, so I can have insurance and because it's hard to find jobs that I am capable of doing anymore.  And so I don't write, and that hurts, too.

the impossible dream

to OWCP with bitterness

I wake up
in the morning,
and I feel rested. 

I get up
and go
about my day,

and I
am not
in pain.