what I want to do for my birthday

she asks what do you want
to do for your birthday, and I don't answer
for days because I am composing lists
in my head of all the impossible things
I want to do on my birthday

bask in a hammock in the warm sun of early summer
not drive anywhere
take a bath

read a book,
a whole book,
and not be in too much pain
during and afterwards

make delicious food without pain
eat foods I like that make me sick
and not get sick

enjoy time with my friends without stress and pain
talk to my sister without mental illness getting in the way

write without pain
walk without pain
rest without pain
laugh without pain

sleep deeply and well without pain
wake up refreshed and alert without pain
live one day without pain

she asks what do you want
to do for your birthday, and I think about how much
I want to finish something, anything, today

but then I think maybe that's not the most important thing
to do today, maybe instead I should
start something new with or without pain
as a new year of my life begins, and that is something
I can and will do on my birthday

I would believe him

I would believe him

if he says

'I don't remember'

because who

remembers

every

      curiosity satisfied

      strength exerted

      small pleasure taken

      destructive act towards another

our brains 

do not 

work that way

I surely do not

remember, but

I hope 

      that I am wise enough to know

            that what I do or do not

                  remember does not change

                  what did or did not happen

                  to anyone else

      that when someone says

'you hurt me when you did this'

      that I will be humble enough and strong enough to remember and say

'I am sorry I did that to you.'

Can you forgive me? What

can I do 

for you 

to atone?'

      that I will not lash out

      that in the hot moment of shame

            when accused of wrongdoing

            I will not lie

            by saying it didn't happen

            simply because 

            I don't remember

as if I believed 

that what I remember

could possibly 

change reality

I don't believe that someone

who does not know this truth

of how the mind works,

      that what we remember is not reality,

should be given

power over others

to abuse

falling

this autumn I hurt
in all the broken places
fingers to feet to heart

the weight of books

the only thing that
keeps me anchored to the couch
is books, books, and books

Grimly curious

we'll find out 

how many things 

on the to-do list 

can be done from 

the couch with 

only one knee 

properly elevated 

and resting

Today's faint praise

Today I am grateful
my knee gave out
5 steps from my door
not further away

One of those days

after the third bruise

it's time to call it a day

to prevent further harm

the wrong foot

I hate
how an accidentally
too-long hike can destroy
my health for half a year and
already be eating
into this year,
too.

Today, right now, when I don't fall over for once

old PT ladies 

observe my balance improved

watch enviously

remember when singing

I think as long as I can remember

when singing didn't hurt this much,

I will be okay.

I never really wear jewelry

I never wear jewelry
because it's not practical
to wear it with a wrist brace

today I wore jewelry
it didn't stop the pain or
even make it better, but

the green beads were beautiful
handmade for a living wage
in South America, so

this is how I can fight back
against what I'm not quite sure,
but it still feels important

Saturday questions

• Who cuts themselves with eggshells? Under their fingernails? Seriously?!
• Why must foods high in iron taste uniformly gross? Perhaps because I taste it every day as it goes down the back of my throat when my nose tries to bleed but can't because of the swelling from the allergies and the deviated septum from the 6th time I broke my nose?
• Why does winning something feel so nice, even if it isn't something you really want or need? I'm sure the folks I share it with will appreciate my good fortune. : )
• Why do I still laugh so hard at good burping stories? Burping. Heh.

the poem about the dead deer (attempt 18?)

ruin of Monday morning first
day of autumn weather doe curled
impossibly graceful dead with
startling boneless acceptance
that only the shattered display

when you are happy your thyroid is failing (again)

My thyroid is on the ropes again.  Yay!  I'm excited about this because

• I noticed and got it checked (eventually, dang brain fog)!
• I wasn't making it up; it's worse than ever!
• it might be related to one of the numerous new allergy meds I've been trying to get off decongestants on the off chance I will then sleep better!

These are all good things (more or less) because the sudden weight gain and enormous increase in joint pain and other symptoms have a reason now and are not a signal that my body is tired of all this crap and has given up.  See?  Yay!  And if they were caused by a med (and I have a culprit in mind already), then maybe I can get my thyroid working again like I did the last two times and won't have to go on a med for it forever yet.  Hope springs eternal!  (But has to be cautious of increased dizziness and on the alert for overdoses that lead to heart problems.  Really noticeable and obvious heart problems.)

Huzzah?

Give me justice!

Imagine me, if you will, in that Japanese trope from crime shows where the victim lies facedown, with one finger outstretched in the act of writing (using her own blood) the name of the murderer even as she died.  You see the letters M-O-S-Q with the tail of the q fading. If I die unexpectedly in the next few days, it had to have been the mosquitoes, who are, no doubt, in their evil lair right now, drunk, satiated, and thinking they are above the law. Don't let them get away with it! I demand justice.

Stay tuned . . .

who wouldn't cry

The sun was already out of sight, but it was still a dreamy, shady 80 degrees, and I went out to the deck and set up the hammock (even though I've already REALLY overdone it this week), and some of the new neighbors were there, but they weren't swearing, and their illegal dog was acting really weird, and I wonder if they also don't realize that when the signs get put on the grass out front that it's been treated to make it look soft and lush and inviting and is now extremely poisonous to pets and children, the poisoning also applies to the back, and I wonder if the tiny, adorable doggie has been poisoned or is just trying to whack underground moles to death with her skull, but then I get back to my book, which is nonfiction and makes me cry anyway because I'm so tired, and it's so beautiful on the deck now that I've swept away the dead neon green and black wasp and the last bits of sunlight are showing me the glowing spider webs above the neighbors' yard, who wouldn't cry?

I just wish it had happened AFTER I shifted the books

I suppose it was
inevitable that I
would trip and fall
on the hammock

because no blessing
has lately come to
me not accompanied
by cursing. This

is why resting has
not been particularly
restful for me
lately.

these small acts of self-sabotage

Why is it that I seem to be most compelled

to write when I am in more pain and know

that writing will make the pain worse?  I am

so ornery sometimes.  Are these small acts

of self-sabotage or attempts at redemption?

If all I cared about was the pain

then I should not have held
the baby, but I refuse
to reduce my life to
the reduction
of pain
if it means
I can never hold
the babies.

a position without pain

The restorative yoga teacher says

to move to a position where nothing

in your body is calling attention to 

pain, and I snort and think that there

is no such position for me, and I wonder

if there is such a position for anyone, 

and then I think, surely there must 

have been such a position at SOME

point in my past, and I realize that,

if there ever was, I can't remember 

it right now, and the grief is another

dull pain I add to the list of pains to

ignore right now while I try to focus

on just breathing in and out and in.