Hello, it's me.
We know each other already. You just don't realize it yet. It's ok. I get that look a lot.
observation 309.24.01
Wake up. Go back to sleep. Half dream until heavy eyelids can open by themselves. Wake up again, this time for good. Almost anyway. Scold cat for claw scratches to the lip. Hold cat snugly in forgiveness, smooth down his coat and watch his perfectly round aquamarine eyes soften into satisfaction as facts are faced, yourself. Get up and do it again. Today. Breathe. Keep breathing.
I went to the chiropractor today for my second and last adjustment for now. So good, it only aches in one spot rather than several which is just fine for me. My spine is like a tall stack of thirty-three delicate bone china cups and saucers balanced precariously on a table with uneven legs. Nothing you could notice unless you lived inside my body for awhile. Nothing too bad, just more of a burning annoyance to me that at any time, something could take control of me with just one misplaced step, in one sudden movement, I would break again.
I'm not hungry, but peanut M&M's work all the time. By the way, it's Valentine's Day already according to the Rite Aid drugstore. I never could walk past a bag of red, white and pink candies, and I won't start now. Christmas is right over there in the 50% off bin if you need any.
My chiropracter is a Jehovah's Witness. I don't know much about that. But last time I went in expressing my desperation with my subnormal temperature regarding Christmas and the holidays and how no one around me could get a normal pulse on it this year either for some reason, she gave me a booklet to read. I read two sentences and got a busy signal so I hung up. None of those words fit or make sense to me. I move on to the next thought easily, lots of times, without a nauseated feeling of disappointment.
As I sit waiting to go back for my turn on the table, a woman comes slowly rolling out from behind the louvered, swinging doors and snails past me with a newfangled walker. Impressive, I thought, and "Now there is pain, buddy." Man, she looked old. Looked like she could've been Katherine Hepburn's mother. Plenty of white, silken hair piled up top her head, and for being 137 years old, she was pretty. You could tell at one time, she was chiseled and striking.
"Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look at her," that urgent voice in me said. But I glanced and smiled, knowing we'd talk now.
"I have a beautiful camel coat," she stated. "It's a really nice coat, well-made with very good material, you know, but it's too hard for me to carry now. It's too heavy. I don't rightly know what to do with it. It's funny how I never knew how heavy it was until now." She looked far away, and something slumped down behind her eyes.
People are stepping up answering questions I am not asking, not out loud anyway, so I feel like I need to write it down.
She continued, "I'm from up north, you see."
"It must've been hard for you to adjust to here, to the heat and all." She smiled. "But it must feel good to your joints sometimes, at least more than the cold." She nodded and smiled wider and began to speak. I tried to listen as I tried not to stare, memorizing her face, envisioning what her eyes looked like when she was 19 and her skin was smooth and tight. When she smiled, her tired aged face looked just like the moon, and I wanted to see her smile even more then. So I, for once since I never do, engaged her in personal questions. As best as I could anyway. I tried to emulate this style of questioning that a friend of mine had. I don't have him anymore, but he's always with me. He always made it look so easy when he'd ask questions. He was thorough and detailed and warm. I'm just strong-willed and intuitive. I figure I know enough not to have to ask questions. It's not easy for me to ask good questions.
"Where up north are you from? How far up north?" I was hoping she could tell me where I was from, too, with her answer. Long Island, New Jersey, she said. Close, but that's not it, I thought. Well, keep her smiling, keep her moon shining bright, I figured. So I asked her all about where she came from. She was the one reflecting the shine from memories long ago. You could tell it hurt for her to talk about it because she knew she'd never see it again, and in a way, it didn't matter since it had changed so much that she wouldn't recognize it anymore. Her son-in-law told her it had changed, she said. In other words, she knew she could never go home again, and never visit where she had landed on this earth before she died and went somewhere else.
We have that in common. I can't prove it, but I know it. I'm waiting for an answer that's looking for me harder than I ever looked for it. To be honest, I turned my back on it. Not sure I can recommend turning your back on what's looking for you. Because if you don't search, it will find you because it doesn't go away. This may be why she started the conversation. I don't know. My only observation today is...I forgot. Honestly, someone just distracted me, and I forgot. I've learned to deal with this frustation.
It's ok though. I'll remember. I don't have a choice.
observation 309.24.01
Wake up. Go back to sleep. Half dream until heavy eyelids can open by themselves. Wake up again, this time for good. Almost anyway. Scold cat for claw scratches to the lip. Hold cat snugly in forgiveness, smooth down his coat and watch his perfectly round aquamarine eyes soften into satisfaction as facts are faced, yourself. Get up and do it again. Today. Breathe. Keep breathing.
I went to the chiropractor today for my second and last adjustment for now. So good, it only aches in one spot rather than several which is just fine for me. My spine is like a tall stack of thirty-three delicate bone china cups and saucers balanced precariously on a table with uneven legs. Nothing you could notice unless you lived inside my body for awhile. Nothing too bad, just more of a burning annoyance to me that at any time, something could take control of me with just one misplaced step, in one sudden movement, I would break again.
I'm not hungry, but peanut M&M's work all the time. By the way, it's Valentine's Day already according to the Rite Aid drugstore. I never could walk past a bag of red, white and pink candies, and I won't start now. Christmas is right over there in the 50% off bin if you need any.
My chiropracter is a Jehovah's Witness. I don't know much about that. But last time I went in expressing my desperation with my subnormal temperature regarding Christmas and the holidays and how no one around me could get a normal pulse on it this year either for some reason, she gave me a booklet to read. I read two sentences and got a busy signal so I hung up. None of those words fit or make sense to me. I move on to the next thought easily, lots of times, without a nauseated feeling of disappointment.
As I sit waiting to go back for my turn on the table, a woman comes slowly rolling out from behind the louvered, swinging doors and snails past me with a newfangled walker. Impressive, I thought, and "Now there is pain, buddy." Man, she looked old. Looked like she could've been Katherine Hepburn's mother. Plenty of white, silken hair piled up top her head, and for being 137 years old, she was pretty. You could tell at one time, she was chiseled and striking.
"Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look at her," that urgent voice in me said. But I glanced and smiled, knowing we'd talk now.
"I have a beautiful camel coat," she stated. "It's a really nice coat, well-made with very good material, you know, but it's too hard for me to carry now. It's too heavy. I don't rightly know what to do with it. It's funny how I never knew how heavy it was until now." She looked far away, and something slumped down behind her eyes.
People are stepping up answering questions I am not asking, not out loud anyway, so I feel like I need to write it down.
She continued, "I'm from up north, you see."
"It must've been hard for you to adjust to here, to the heat and all." She smiled. "But it must feel good to your joints sometimes, at least more than the cold." She nodded and smiled wider and began to speak. I tried to listen as I tried not to stare, memorizing her face, envisioning what her eyes looked like when she was 19 and her skin was smooth and tight. When she smiled, her tired aged face looked just like the moon, and I wanted to see her smile even more then. So I, for once since I never do, engaged her in personal questions. As best as I could anyway. I tried to emulate this style of questioning that a friend of mine had. I don't have him anymore, but he's always with me. He always made it look so easy when he'd ask questions. He was thorough and detailed and warm. I'm just strong-willed and intuitive. I figure I know enough not to have to ask questions. It's not easy for me to ask good questions.
"Where up north are you from? How far up north?" I was hoping she could tell me where I was from, too, with her answer. Long Island, New Jersey, she said. Close, but that's not it, I thought. Well, keep her smiling, keep her moon shining bright, I figured. So I asked her all about where she came from. She was the one reflecting the shine from memories long ago. You could tell it hurt for her to talk about it because she knew she'd never see it again, and in a way, it didn't matter since it had changed so much that she wouldn't recognize it anymore. Her son-in-law told her it had changed, she said. In other words, she knew she could never go home again, and never visit where she had landed on this earth before she died and went somewhere else.
We have that in common. I can't prove it, but I know it. I'm waiting for an answer that's looking for me harder than I ever looked for it. To be honest, I turned my back on it. Not sure I can recommend turning your back on what's looking for you. Because if you don't search, it will find you because it doesn't go away. This may be why she started the conversation. I don't know. My only observation today is...I forgot. Honestly, someone just distracted me, and I forgot. I've learned to deal with this frustation.
It's ok though. I'll remember. I don't have a choice.
posted by me at 31.12.05
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