Thursday, October 23, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
listening for his arrival. No phone call, no note, no word
from him, no idea of his whereabouts. He's just decided
to have a sleepover and not let us know, your husband says,
trying to reassure you. He's grounded from sleepovers
so he knows we'll deny him. Of course, that was what you
imagine, too. What you want to believe. You want him safe,
having fun. Thoughtlessly happy and safe.
Safe. And then you imagine priests and predators
and all the terrible things that happen to young teens,
those things that fill the lurid headlines you try to refuse
to read or hear. What if he's in trouble, desperately
hoping for rescue, while you both lie in bed, doing nothing
but staring at the dark ceiling, watching patterns of light shift
with each passing cars? Fewer and fewer cars pass,
less and less often the dim rainbow squares slide
across the flat black sky as the red numerals on the clock
slowly turn, minute by minute. Should you notify the police
of his failure to return? I don't expect him home until late
tomorrow, your husband says. He's probably right,
but you want to kick him, for not sounding worried
enough. Your son, wherever he is, can't see you lying here,
turning your backs to each other, worried, angry, fearful.
He can't imagine being old, can't imagine a heart
other than his own, beating into the darkness,
and if he could, he wouldn't care. Nor can he picture you
at fourteen. He doesn't believe that you can and cannot
remember what is was like to be his age. He imagines
your lives, if he thinks of them at all, so different from his
as to be irrelevant. Useless. All that matters to him
is his own immediate pleasure, and not the consequences
of his actions or the pain he causes others. Tomorrow,
when he's hungry, he'll return, pretending nothing happened,
because if nothing happened, there with be no punishment.
He will want not what you eat, what you carefully, lovingly prepared,
but soda, double chocolate Milano cookies, microwave mac and cheese.
He will complain bitterly if the freezer isn't stocked
to his preferences. Your husband, feeling exhausted, spineless
and limp on his 63rd birthday, will hide in his painting and do
and say exactly what his son wanted, nothing, giving the boy
permission for more of the same. You, his wife will imagine divorce,
a quiet cabin in the country. Freedom from the having to care
for anyone unable to return an ounce of love. When the lights
on the ceiling increase again and then fade into dawnlight and the boy
has not returned, you know it will get worse before it gets better.
Or it will never get better. If the boy survives
to return, it's all downhill forever, as it always was.
Mary Taitt, 081020-1141-1b
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
- I made myself an utterly totally scrumptious lunch: spring rolls a la Mary and bran with blueberries
- I watered the African violets Dawn gave me and the ivy in the stairwell
- I put a load of laundry in the dryer and one in the washer
- I folded two loads of laundry, carried them up and put them away
- I read and responded to a note from my sister-in-law regarding the terrible anyeurism and stroke of my ex-sister-in-law and friend who is only in her fifties
- I wept
The shower was running slow this morning. So after I showered, I pulled up the cage in the drain, which was full of course of hair, but also leaves, paint chips and something large and smelly—SHIT! Fecal matter—large chunks of bowel movement ¾ inch to an inch in diameter. I had to dig it out with my fingers! GAK! And this was after I had showered. I almost hurled.
WHAT THE HELL!! ???? !!!!
Next time the shower drain is running slowly, I will let BB know.
Friday, October 03, 2008
I was able to stand up in the bathroom after my shower and brush and
braid my hair. Yesterday, I had to lie down as soon as I got out of
the shower. So that's an improvement.
I still feel incredibly tired. I feel as if a gallon of coffee and a
box of dark chocolate truffles might help. But they would only make
me feel worse later, so I am not caving. No coffee, no chocolate, I
I am simply going to take it easy. One minute at a time.
It takes three to four days to clear the system of 75-90% of toxins
and tiredness (assuming sleep in the meantime), and ten days to clear
it entirely. I am hoping in a few days to be able to function
relatively normally and resume my regular daily activities.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
home decides to take a "sick day?"
I have fibromyalgia and with it, chronic fatigue. I am feeling
exhausted, depressed, and overwhelmed.
I always feel exhausted, depressed and overwhelmed. I am always sick.
But I still have my ups and downs and right now, I am having a down.
It's from the traveling, which is very hard on me.
I've decided I'm taking some "sick leave." I will get "paid" for it,
too, just as much as I always get paid: nothing at all. Well,
nothing for my labor. I do have a small income. And BB has one. The
pay, however, is not the point.
The point is, I am totally overwhelmed, sick and unable to cope. The
chronic fatigue that comes with fibromyalgia is getting the better of
me. I had 8 days of rain, soakings, insufficient sleep and bad food.
It's caught up with me. And I have too much to do.
I always have more to do that I have time to do it, more to do that I
have the energy to do. And there is guilt associated with that. I
feel as if I "should" be getting more done.
But STRESS is one of the major exacerbators of fibro and chronic
fatigue and it stresses me out that I feel guilty about not getting
enough done--and then I feel angry and resentful at everyone who I
imagine is judging me for my "laziness." "Walk a mile in my shoes," I
want to shout at everyone, because I am under the impression that no
one knows or understand what it feels like inside me with the pain and
exhaustion, because if they DID understand, they wouldn't expect so
But--how CAN they understand when I live with it every day and I don't
understand. Why can't I function like a normal human being and get
more done? I must be lazy and if I am lazy, I must be BAD! That's
what I think about myself when I'm like this, and that's what I
imagine everyone else thinks.
But is someone with cancer or diabetes BAD because they have cancer or
diabetes? I don't think so. While some lifestyle choices may
contribute somewhat to either of those conditions, they are diseases
that are largely beyond the control of the sufferer--and so is chronic
fatigue, at least at this point. Though my choice to travel and the
subsequent choices that followed from that contributed to my current
state, am I supposed to remain sequestered and never move? NO! I
don't think so. Already my condition keeps me from a number of things
I'd like to do.
OK, so I am sick, genuinely sick, today. And I will be, probably, for
several more days. This is why I am taking some sick days.
So, what do I then mean by this? I am going to try to take it easy.
I am going to try to lower my expectations as to what I can accomplish
today and for the next few days. And, I am going to try to not beat
myself up when in fact, I accomplish little and was secretly still
hoping against hope to accomplish more. I am going to try to take
time to rest and relax. I hope to sit and simply rest from time to
time, and maybe even lie down. Something I rarely do (even at night,
I am feeling guilty also for feeling sad and depressed about my
condition--I've had it put into perspective because a person who was
once a very close friend and also a sister-in-law and is still
numbered among my dear friends has an aneurism and stroke and I
haven't heard any more, but I hope she's going to recover. I'm
frightened for her, and for myself, and for all of us. Stroke is
terrifying, can be fatal, can render one unable to talk or eat or
move. And I know little about what is going on with her, so I am very
afraid. Worried and beyond worried.
Even with the perspective that her condition is so much worse, and
that I at least am alive and able to function somewhat, I am still
suffering and overwhelmed. I am still taking some sick days. I need
Life is short and could come to a sudden end at any time. Or be
irrevocably changed. I need to take the best possible care of myself,
and I need to start NOW--with a sick day. This day right here.
Today. Easy does it.
"Easy does it" is one of the slogans of the 12-steps, and it is one I
keep forgetting to practice. EASY DOES IT. One day at a time.
I am crying now, because I am so hard on myself. No one can tell,
probably, because I am such a failure. But I work SO hard at what I
think I should be doing. I need a little more EASY DOES IT before I
stress myself out of existence. Today. Now. Sick. Rest. Relax.
Easy Does it.
Mary, Thursday, October 02, 2008, 1:49 PM