WE ARE THE WEAVERS, WE ARE THE WEB
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moon phases � |
What next?
Just when a hormone storm kicks in yesterday and I have no tolerance for life, things get more depressing and complicated. Picture this, I feel totally tense and tired and get into bed with the intention of healing soothing sleep... RING...RING...RING...damned phone rings at eleven o'clock. My cousin called to inform me that her mother, my aunt, my father's sister has died. Poor thing suffered through colon surgery to remove cancer and a good chunk of colon, pneumonia, infections, being on a respirator, having a feeding tube up her nose, being unable to talk because of it all and then, just when she seems like she is inspired to get better she bleeds out from the medicine she was given to get rid of the blood clots in her legs that could have killed her in other ways. Isn't modern medicine wonderful? The icing on the cake is that had she survived she probobly would have gotten to do it all again when the cancer returned since the surgeon could not remove all of it the first time around.
Give me that old time religion!
Speaking of religion, looks like I will be spending some time in the religious ceremonies of the chronically christian. Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge anyone their religious comfort, it is just that the whole thing gets dragged out a bit in christian circles and tends to wallowing in self pity for the survivors. I think the jewish folks have the right idea in putting the body to rest ASAP and letting the living hang out and ponder the sweetness of life.
This whole situation also highlights my inevitable future in funeral planning. Let's be realistic, my parents are both turning eighty-six this year. I can't say I totally dread the idea given that my mother's life is loosing connection with reality rather much lately. My father, on the other hand probobly has a couple of good years in him if the docs don't overmedicate him.
For me, a peaceful end with my ashes scattered to the four winds , please.
Let us not forget the rainman factor in all of this. He just has no clue. No empathy in this guy, can't seem to put himself even close to where I am in this situation. Is it unreasonable to expect from one's spouse the consideration of insight? Am I too demanding to think he could think things through and wonder how I feel given my immediate relationship to my elderly parents?
Never mind.
In the midst of my hormone storm I was trying to find me. You know, the real me. Like the Who song from Quadrophenia. "Can you see the real me, can you? Can you?" This I say to myself. I always seem to have extra trouble making sense of things when progesterone rules. Estrogen is fine for chugging along, but progesterone, now there is a tough choreographer. If one is not dancing to the correct tune when progesterone runs the show your fucked, really fucked.
I really need something that is mine. Time to work on the few photos I take. I even became somewhat inspired to paint again after watching the movie Basquit last night. I don't know if I am safe in a mode of too much introspection though. I could plunge to a depth that is not compatable with motherhood.
A coyote trotted across the road in front of my car yesterday morning. The moon was full last night. A chill touched my right wrist in the middle of last night. The wind rattled the leaves this morning in a strange song. My eyes remain open even in exhaustion. What is it that I must see??
written at 9:35 p.m.
2001-07-06
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