Life in Slow Motion

Written June17, 2012

It is close to sundown, that perfect part of the day when sitting out on the patio, drink in hand, as the temperature concedes to a break and all can seem right in the world for at least a little bit.

It's been a long day.  Not because we are approaching the summer solstice but because of the depth of complication that's been felt.  I have worked off and on all day to complete the laundry, a simple task that should be taxing, but for me it is.  Each year the simple tasks of life become less easy for me. I did a bit of shopping yesterday at three different stores, which for the average person would have been no trouble at all.  However, because of those two hours of walking, standing, and carrying, my body is alive with pain.  This is what comes with the diagnosis of fibromyalgia.  Couple that with my other health issues - migraines, allergies, interstitial cystitis, IBS, PTSD, and depression - and there are days when simply functioning is near impossible.

There are days when I am beyond frustrated.  I feel so much pain that I move at a pace even a senior citizen would consider slow.  On really bad days, I am slowed not only physically but mentally as well.  Those are the days when the depression and/or the PTSD have reared their ugly heads.  (I am thankful to the Bloggess for her "Depression Lies" campaign - there are times when it's hard to remember that simple truth.)  The fibromyalgia can make bad days worse as well with its "fibro fog".  Those are days when one can't be certain that 2+2 is such an easy equation.

Somehow, though, I muddle through.  I have survived much longer than I ever thought I would.  I feel I have finally breached that plane of existence where I can look past all the obstacles and see my life's goals clearly.  It's just taking me much longer than anticipated to reach them.  It's like trying to run in water or thick mud (depending on the physical and/or mental pain level of the day).  The prize is coming into view.  Even if the day is foggy now, I have focus.  I know I will reach my dream with patience and time.

Melancholia Speaks Depression

I watched the movie MELANCHOLIA recently.  This is not a movie I would recommend to just anyone.  Most people will find it tedious and annoying.  However, I saw it for its artistic merit.  It is a beautiful study on depression, its affects on a personal level, and how the family and friends of the person suffering from depression are affected.  As a person who has battled with depression for most of my life, I found it haunting.  It echoed deep within me.  At the end of the movie when all hope is lost, those who were "normal" fell apart and could not handle the idea of their eminent demise.  They fell to pieces.  However, the character, whom everyone had remained annoyed with due to her horrible bouts of depression and need for constant care, was the one who took over the caretaker role.  She embraced the moment and was able to help those who had previously cared for her through the moment of transition as all life was ending.  This film is not for everyone.  After the credits rolled, I confess I felt my own my own melancholy seep through.  Life is a beautiful fractured mess but it is not pointless.  It is given meaning when one forgets oneself and bends to help another in their time of need.

Transit of Venus

Is the Transit of Venus an omen of good or a harbinger of doom?  I have heard it argued both ways.  When linked to the end of the Mayan Calendar (December 21, 2012), it is said to be the first sign of the end of time.  however, I choose to see it more of a harbinger of change.  Or as Bob Dylan famously sang, "Oh the times, they are a changin'."

I have had a lot of changes that have already happened this year - some good and some bad - and I know that there are more changes to come.  As the planetary bodies have moved through the heavens, month by month this year, my life has had changes bit by bit.  So far I've done fair to middlin' on my New Year's resolutions - I'm counting this as a plus.  But I also lost a friend this year when the head of my department suddenly passed away.  I self-published my first book this year.  A compilation of poems entitled "Making Poe Proud" which has made me proud of the accomplishment and the lovely reviews I've received.  Then I had to have major surgery, for which I am still recovering.

The heavenly bodies move across the skies above us.  The paths can be charted mathematically and anticipated far in advance, as proven by the Mayans.  I am not convinced, as yet, that the heavenly bodies take any notice of us at all, though we have admired them for centuries.

I know that change is coming.  I didn't need a darkened spot traveling across the sun to tell me that.  But it does make us stop, momentarily, look up at the beauty with amazement, and take stock of our lives.  Perhaps this is why we decide to make changes.  As the celestial bodies dance, they inspire us to move and change our own patterns as well.

Late Night Ramblings

I have had a lot of late nights and/or sleepless nights since the surgery  in the early part of May.  That led to a lot of odd TV watching and net surfing.  This in turn led to some odd poetry and odd pieces of writing.  I hope that both of these pieces will lead to more fiction writing and a collection of poetry.

Written June 1, 2012

Wail into my world
open the doors of perception
I'll open my soul to you
with no regrets or deceptions
guide me to new landscapes
show me the path you glide
whisper me your secrets
with you I will confide
I am open and receptive
waiting for your wail
I am cloistered in uncertainity
deep within my cell

Written May 28, 2012 - This could be a great jumping off point for a sci-fi or fantasy piece of fiction!

If I have learned anything from watching "Life After People" it's that 5,000 - 10,000 years after people there will be little to no evidence that people were ever on Earth.  Even the islands of plastic waste floating in the oceans will finally disintegrate.  Monuments, cities, dams, canals, machinery, roadways - all are washed away, broken down, and destroyed.  After 10,000 years only a few things consisting of stone exist and because of plant life, climatic changes, the shifting of the Earth, the blowing of dust, and the endless flow of water, these little bits of evidence are buried or drown, making them hard to discover.

Add that to the claims of "Ancient Aliens" and one begins to wonder if perhaps there was once a thriving advanced civilization on Earth that met with a great disaster leaving few survivors.  These survivors would not be able to maintain the advance systems and would move out of the cities, which would become dangerous, and into the countryside.  They would pass down to any descendants stories of what their lives had been like BEFORE.  Over time, after the original survivors had died out, their descendants would pass on stories of things they had never seen or experienced on their own.  These stories from the original survivors would get distored as they were handed down by word of mouth.

Within our own recorded history, when the Roman Empire fell, much knowledge was lost and had to be rediscovered.  Even some monuments and buildings were lost and are only now being rediscovered by people, usually due to our need for expansion.  Perhaps there have been several cycles of civilizations building up and then being obliterated with few survivors to rebuild.  Perhaps even several settlements of different species or evolutions over time from both this planet or from the stars.

When one lets one's mind wander to these ancient ruins for which no one knows the history, one could conceive of many alternate explanations and histories for this planet and its many varied conquerers and inhabitants.

A Hysterectomy for Mother's Day

Here's a little bit about me:  I've been married for 23 years and I have two children.  My Twitter account was an attempt at being anonymous.  However, my "housemates" really are as odd as I've described them.

After I turned 30 it's like the warranty on my bod expired.  A laundry list of things started to go wrong.  I began having migraines. I was diagnosed with fibromylagia.  I received a back injury in a car accident.  My gall bladder had to be removed.  My spastic colon was upgraded to full blown IBS.  It was discovered that I had interstitial cystitis that required 8 weeks of treatment.  It was confirmed that I suffered from PTSD (a story for another time).

Most recently my baby making equipment began failing me.  I had a D&C then a uterine oblation to try to repair the problems with my cycle and out of control bleeding.  That seemed to work for a couple of years.  I'd been having some pain recently along with some odd bleeding.  When I went to my OBGYN I was told that there were fibroids in my uterus (one of which was pushing on my bladder and exacerbating the interstitial cystitis) and a cyst on my left ovary.  In a whirlwind the surgery was scheduled for the Wednesday before Mother's Day.

When I came out of the surgery I was told that the left ovary had to be removed as well because the area where the cyst was removed would not stop bleeding.  So I now have only one ovary to keep my hormones circulating normally.  This should be interesting.

Since the surgery I've been kitten weak, in pain, and sleeping quite a bit.  I'm told this is normal.  I have urges to do something since I'm home but I've been fended off from doing much of anything by my family.  Even if I'm just sitting up for a while watching TV or typing on my laptop I become fatigued.

My family is trying to make it up to me though.  I have roses on my bedside table along with a charming Mother's Day card.  A cake was baked for me along with chocolate muffins.  Delicious food has been provided for me whenever I am hungry.  I have much for which to be thankful.

I need only continue to rest and heal then I can begin to move to the next phase of my life.  One door closes and another one opens.

Sleep
let dreams guide the body healing
Sleep
let the body release pain through dreams
Sleep
let the gods whisper into wounds
Sleep
let wounds be knitted by whispers
Sleep
let red ribbons wind wounds close
Sleep
let wounds be healed in whispered dreams
Sleep
let healing and strength be gained
Sleep
let the body be made whole
Whispered ribbons kitted in dreams
Healing of the gods bring relief
Sleep, an enchantment deep and sweet,
Vivid magic pure and complete

The Junkman's Daughter - Reuse Renew Recycle

I was an environmentalist like Ian Somerhalder before it was cool.  Well, not Quite.  When I was growing up my family picked up scrap metal. sorted it by type, and sold it to the scrap yards in Nashville, Tennessee.  We didn't do this because of a love for the environment.  We did it because we needed the extra money it provided to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.

This early form of recycling/environmentalism wasn't appreciated by my fellow classmates.  It was, instead, something that furthered me as an outcast at school.  it was already looked down on for being poor, for being a weird withdrawn kid; but then to be seen by classmates while picking up metal on the side of the road was a death note to any chance I might have ever had of being accepted by my peers.

Our yard didn't help matters.  Some times my step-father would get permission to collect scrap metal from demolition sites, or where someone had moved out of a rental leaving a mess, and once from a burned out store.  We'd bring it all home to sort out, after enough had been collected we'd take a ton-truck load to the scrap yard that was paying the most on that day.  Until enough had been collected of of tin or iron or aluminum or copper or steel or brass, it would be there in our yard in piles.  We received complaint letter on a few occasions from the city demanding that the mess be cleaned up or we'd be fined.  This only gave further ammunition to my peers and their families.  Parents definitely didn't want some some child from THAT squalor  to visit their children.  That kind of parental rejection of my family was all that some kids needed to initiate tormenting ridicule that followed me throughout my formative years.

Today I am still a bit haunted by the taunting I received from my peers.  although I am past my days of regular scrapyard visits, i am not beyond the habits those early experiences taught me.  I recycle everything I can - paper, plastic, metals, glass, yard wastes.  I never throw out something that can be used by another.  I sell it or donate it to charity.  I'm also a proponent of repairing/renewing/upcycling items instead of trashing them.  Not only has this habit saved me money, it's kept items out of the landfills.  Lastly, my early education taught me to reuse items in unconventional ways.   Mom loved her flowers but didn't have the money for expensive planters or landscaping.  She used found items and made it work.  I have used an old rusted through bucket as a planter for my porch.  It looked fabulous with the blooming flowers.  I've done the same with an old piece of gutter, using it as a hanging (vertical) garden.  Old clothes, torn bedding, and frayed towels have even been re-imagined as altered clothing items, scrap quilts, rag rugs, and all purpose bags/purses.  Old wooden windows have become picture frames.

My days as the junkman's daughter were financially poor but rich in training to be environmentally smart.  There's much  about my childhood that I do not look back on fondly or with pride.  These are stories for another day.  I'll leave you with this :  If I had the opportunity to own that 2 acre plot of land that used to be my own private junkyard hell, I'd plant a tree farm on it.  That way the piece of land that used to be ridiculed could again be involved in environmentalism.

Out of Focus

I wrote this poem today because I found it hard to focus on anything at work.  I thought that maybe if I could take the cacophony from within and place it on the page - make it solid with pen and ink - then I could free myself of it.    The jury is still out on how effective the exercise was.

My mind is like a trap
it holds me deep inside
a buzzing organic prison
busy as a hive
How can I even focus
when thoughts are jungle thick
my responses slow as honey
instead of panther quick
Yet this is where I lanquish
progress slowly made
within my mental prison
I linger in a haze