Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Well, April is Happening

The past few weeks have been a blur of hospital visits and single mom duty and the weird sideways days recovering from that tangle of activity in bed, medicated into a haze.

Aunt Pea got sick five or six weeks ago, and though she was treated for pneumonia she was still struggling to breathe. Finally my brother took her to the emergency room and by the end of the day we learned that she has congestive heart failure. After more than a week of testing and consulting, she had stents installed and got to go home with a temporary defibrillator. (A bunch of you followed the developments and were so supportive- thank you so much. She's like a parent to E and me. It was a really scary week.)

Eric and I had intense déjà vu about these clocks, which are
the model we had in our elementary and junior high schools.
While this was going on, Shane was out of town on two back-to-back business trips, because Murphy's Law is an infallible truth. And Molly had to get braces that week, of course. She did remarkably well with the procedure and hasn't had much discomfort at all. We were all happily surprised that she doesn't need them on her top teeth and doesn't need the spacer thing we assumed she'd get. The problem is a tiny baby mouth but big adult teeth, so the braces will help guide the bone growth in her jaw to make room. And also make those perpendicular teeth and shark teeth line up.

Meanwhile, I battled my stressful week with retail therapy, including this find that made me squeal in the pharmacy:

Yes, I already own several purple shades, but none of those inferior bottles have a label invoking The Chosen One. She Who Walks in Cemeteries at Night.

The retail therapy wasn't a very effective treatment, sadly. Later that night, Finn waited until I was slayerizing my fingernails and then climbed up onto the hearth to find some soot and smeared it all over his fluffy white fur. I just broke down and sobbed. Shane happened to call during the freak out so he talked me down. I stopped frantically trying to wash the squirming puppyface and just let him go to sleep on a blanket because blankets don't squirm when you wash them.

The end of the goddamn world, obviously.
One of my quirks is rerouting stress from huge upsetting things to trivial things. So I didn't really lose my shit about Pam, but I freaked out about Finn's mess. Then that weekend I cried through the entirety of "Noah." The storyline was pretty emotionally charged but I was crying because the movie struck a cord in my creative brain. It was like the few times that a piece of art moved me to tears. Specifically, it felt like standing in the dark inside a James Turrell installation at the Mattress Factory years ago. The imagery touched on a deep, primal symbolism. The film was loaded with so much visual metaphor and absolutely gorgeous composition that every frame could be a painting. Apparently the plot is a serious stretch from the bible's narrative, but I'm as ignorant of Christian mythology as it's possible to be in America, so I have no idea what came from the source material and what was invented.

Later that week I took time to catch up on TV and watched the finale of How I Met Your Mother. I sobbed so hard Finn and Molly were both in my lap trying to comfort me during the last few minutes. I loved it, though I read later that it almost broke the internet. I might get into why I liked it later, but I have my own projects that need attention now.

I'm hoping to still get a couple of  "smallscapes" drawn for the Earth Day exhibit next week at Apartment Earth. I'm so far behind I may not try to push it, but I need to see how my back behaves today before I make a call either way. Right now I'm having a lot of insomnia fallout and I probably need to nap through a couple of Molly's Scooby episodes before I start crying about the heartache of Fred's oblivious ignorance of Daphne's crush.

Happy springtime, bl'eaders.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Blinks and Heartbeats

I'm weighted down but hollow and I feel like the dull thud of a shoe kicked off onto a rug. My great aunt passed away this morning, and I'm aching for her daughters and the sky is a gorgeous clarity and I'm just staring at it, and then at my keyboard and then back out at the blue.

There's a photo of Aunt Dodie holding her great-great-granddaughter and it reminds me of when I photographed my Grandma's beautifully crepe-skinned fingers surrounding Molly's newborn silk hand. That kind of time enthralls me. Generations. It makes the seasons into blinks and heartbeats.

I can't grasp anything out of that perfect sky or the sadness in me that is so tiny compared to those women who lost their mother while the sun rose up today.

I just need the doing of the writing. It just feels so directionless and pointless right now.

My pain is better today, the muscle pain shrinking down into a knot in the left side of the small of my back. I'm too restless to keep lying here but too tired and sunken feeling to move anyway. Too empty to keep pursuing words and trying to force meaning into them.

I will probably fall back to sky gazing and beingfeelingdoing nothing and knowing it's alright to let nothing just be right now.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Conscious, at Least?

This is not me wincing in pain; it's just evidence that I like portraits with scrunched-up faces and I'm in bed in Molly's very dark room and pinched my eyes tight against the camera flash. 

I'm awake, with slight trepidation, because consciousness didn't work out so well for me yesterday. I was mostly drugged stupid and/or asleep because my pain was at the level they don't put on those happyface-to-crying face scale charts because demon cartoons would scare patients.

It seems like a better day but it's also a bloody fabulous day to stay in bed on a Sunday morning with a warm, quiet seven year old girl (meaning obviously a sleeping one because oh my unholy loquacious nuns* is this child chatty) and an equally quiet snuggly puppy. 

So I'm ostriching and staying in bed so I don't have to test my hips and legs. My theory, based on personal physical observation, is that my pelvis is made of lead and covered in spikes. My legs are made of jagged broken glass, and all the nerves inside them are electrified barbed wire. I started a(nother) new treatment, a cream that has anaesthetics, muscle relaxers, neural pain stuff, and motherfucking ketamine. (Special K to you club kids who don't read mommy blogs because you're goddamn ravers who can still dance. Fuck you, by the way, since I'm jealous and bitter and you're an imaginary readership. Fuck your movable hips and shit.) 

It seems to help, my new Rave Cream (I'm gonna call it that as of just now) but not in a miraculous way. The night before last it loosened the rusted hips up a little but it didn't do anything for the Clive Barkeresque pain because nothing does besides hiding from it under so, so many drugs.

Here's hoping today can be a day of not-horror. Cheers! Perky adorable well wishes to you all and please don't worry that I was all lalalala postcards from hell lalalala. 

I'm probably better now. But I should stay in bed a little longer just in case. An abundance of caution and sleepy puppy and all.


*Haven't you read Good Omens? My god. What are you doing with your life?