Aug 312001

“up and down a puppy’s hair fleas and ticks jump everywhere…”

today i need rollerskates and a little red wagon to carry what my arms are too sore to… i’m not ready today, not ready. still some cleaning to do, coffee grinds to throw away…cat litter to sweep up, old newspapers about a year old, waiting in vain for the recycle blue bins…

cleaned a thick blanket of dust from some of my books, watteau’s mezzetin on the cover of one, nefertiri’s head on another, my black spell book with silver ribbon, veterinary nursing books with the heart drawn backwards…my deutsch heute tapes to go along with the textbook, and my high school english teacher’s copy of joyce’s portrait of…, my old paper on eliot’s prufrock, selected poems from pope and dryden (yawn)…linda’s 60’s photograph book, the complete set of anthology (a valentine’s gift angrily given back)…

the last few days of being 35…i’ve caught up on the apartment to do list, painted the kitchen, bedroom, and unfinished bathroom window, i’ve purchased a new bed, i’ve moved boxes to the basement storage spot…personally, finally made it to the dentist for a cleaning, need to go to the peek n’poke doc, have quit smoking and gone back to the gym regularly instead…next week classes begin, surgery & radiology, and principles of medicine, i hope i survive…

maybe 36 will be better. i’m quietly chasing happiness’ tail…

Aug 302001

and off she goes flying through the air, with “jump, bitch, jump” helping her every step of the way…disgust, disgust. turn the toxic ink filled page to read how her water broke and she had to push, push, push…blankets and comforters, pillows and ambitious hands who proclaim they watch the learning channel, “i can do this”…babies will come when they’re good and ready, even in apartment complex parking lots…

2 sides of the coin, 2 different circumstances, and those who rise to the occasion can choose to spew dark clouds or rainbow sunshine from their mouths…

caring is one heavy load.

what is it that you want?

is $20 million enough?

is the gorgeous hunk what you need?

is the blonde-blue-eyed bombshell IT for you?

is the white picket fenced in victorian satisfaction?

is the flight to paris, rome, madrid where you want to be?

-do you need for oncogenes to turn off and be alright?

-do you wish for cilia to return to the epithelial lining of your lungs?

-will a calcium channel blocker do?

-does the shape of your prosthesis flatter that shoe?

-will your silicone chest leak in years to come?

-do you know your cancer ABC?

-give me a fridge that doesn’t leak

-show me some catlove when i cry myself to sleep

-ring the phone with a mommi spanish hello

-give me the comfort of a new bed good night’s sleep

-move my eye from the flaws to cute freckles

-put some groove in these hips when aretha sings

-summon a smile when george finally sends me an email from japan

-shower my heart with grace for being able to be broken

-pat me on the back when it itches to try again, again, again…

Aug 282001

that was drawn on you was drawn on me, and now it’s drawing me in, 6th ave heartache…wallflowers.

going into this school season so burned out, don’t quite know how i’ll make it. i’ve decided to take the summer 2002 off. i can’t push myself anymore. i forget how to spell these days, i forget what good grammar is…

i’m walking heavy these days, still in a funk. sometimes i catch myself getting teary-eyed for no damned reason at all. is it the change? at 36?

i guess i’m mourning the children that i know i’ll never have, the dream life of belonging in a big victorian house, visions of me picking up wet towels and sweat socks…isn’t the grass always greener on the other side?

i feel older this year somehow. i’m ready to rest, ready to let this tight hold on the life line ease up a little. i can smile as rope burns my hands, it’s all alright, i always go back to fine.

it was a hard year. physically and mentally. and although every inch of my time was taken up, i felt so empty and dull inside. and it hasn’t changed. nothing.

why am i here? i don’t know. maybe it’s comforting to know that someone is reading about me. i guess it’s worth it to get up in the morning, to crack a smile…i’ve left my silly history, on your wonderful brain lobes…

my stash of moondust and pixie devilish smiles is depleted. and it’s always blue sunday when all the stores are closed…

Aug 272001

of a slow slow dance, under a dusty ceiling fan, in a smoky honky tonk, wearing a cowboy hat, with a talkless sturdy man…

loretta crooning, slide guitar echoing her heartache…

just one of those days when letting words slip out of your mouth is useless, silence is better, retreating to the backroom is the only way…

Aug 262001

early, way early rise today…spidercat jumping on computer desk, and bureau to make my little virgin Mary statue into a soccer ball…i think i spent the entire night trying to ignore the dripping in the toilet, the catbox’s funky odorous fingers sliding under my nose…i miss the morning sunshine in the livingroom, but mr. sofabed is not needed anymore.

i christened my new bed by showering and wearing my nice ivory silk nightie. you know the feeling of putting on cozy just washed sweat socks or drying yourself with a fluffy, spring fresh towel? that’s what it felt like tucking myself into bed last night. let me get the bed-karma going on the right track. heaven. heaven. heaven.

finished American Gods by Neil Gaiman. wonderful. the ending was a little confusing…but all in all, i think i’ll go find other work by him. Am reading the summer vacation’s last indulgence…Brothel, Mustang Ranch and Its Alexa Albert (she’s a doctor in search of superb condom usage where they don’t break, but get one hell of a workout and to redeem the image of working women who strut their stuff in tigerprint teddies and pink frou-frou mules, and hide the look of contempt at “manly fingers” that keep the buzzer going ’til all hours of the night…)

cup of joe, 1 small banana, blueberry bagel, some steely dan tunes and the music rag “Spin” with Kurt Cobain on the cover…i look at his face and i wish i could have saved him, but i’ve learned the hard way, you can’t save someone from themselves…will read the article, plus one on Bjork and Tori Amos. yes, it’s a rag, but who cares, so is the village voice but sometimes i wish it was available just so that i could turn my nose up at it and buy something else.

finished priming and painting the bedroom and kitchen and also the trim. need to organize 6 boxes of books…i need shelves…well, i don’t “need” them, but it would be nice to actually be able to browse through my art history books, etc..without always having to get an upper body workout. my mantra before october comes:

get shelves, get shelves, cat dentistry, cat dentistry…

Darren: i toast your stamina!!! 3 years would put me in a wheelchair.