i am the 42 year-old girl that’s gotten out of bed at 1pm after a depressing night of caring for a kitty that is struggling to hang on. cancer cells are persistent in their ambition to kill, kill, kill. chemotherapeutics are persistent in their ambition to kill, kill, kill. there is no one place that is not hard. rocks are softer at this point.
and so i get lost where i’m comfortable. in between tom yorke’s green plastic and bowie’s quicksand. i turn it up for sinead’s troy and eddie vedder’s long road…
music. sound. something that i can wrap my heart and mind around. and let it take me somewhere beyond lymphoma and an aching spirit. music. it’s been there, dear readers, when you have not. when i’m the girl in the dark and quiet room wondering what the hell else is around the corner.
i am the girl who hasn’t brushed her teeth or bathed yet. that has half heartedly attempted to use the rowing machine. i’m stuck. even when i know that movement will save me…i stand still letting the waves crush into me. am i the deer in the headlights, or is it that i just can’t physically care right now for myself?
i am the girl who dreamed i was swimming fully clothed, back and forth in an olympic sized pool…and being underneath felt good.