it's bizarre to find me floating at the top with the extra virgin oil. here i am. plain as day. today you will find me in my bed. day two of self-imposed bedriddeness in the last few weeks: the last more productive/this more enjoyable/the last more familiar/this more eventful. look at me-- i am free.
i'm pretty much comfortable in my new digs, despite having to listen to mouse chitterings and chatterings and rollerblade sessions and having to locate items like nails and bandaids and lavender soap and having a new responsibility that i can't believe i signed for and my brother doesn't believe i'll ever not shrug off. he may be right.
i'm as comfortable as i can be for someone who's just stripped nearly everything mildly enjoyable from her diet, and instead of feeling better, is feeling akin to puddle of piss and muck. gin and cake makes me feel better than broccoli and tofu. yes, this makes a fuck of a lot of (non)sense. i try to tell myself that i'm detoxing, between the torrents of virulent pain and hopelessness. say my body continues to feel polluted and puffy--i'll revert to my diet of gin, cake, mint chocolate and kamut bread. in many ways, i long for this-- failing my chance to feel somewhat average and perhaps have the opportunity to trip somewhere far away or even far away from a bathroom. my bowels have certainly grown stronger, and mayhaps they'll continue if i offer them the propper fodder for healing. maybe then my body will stop attacking itself. by times it's difficult to look and especially move forward when your body eats itself. but i am fortunate-- i am where i am because of what i am, and i am much more than i was, because of where i was. and i wish i had a yam to yomp.
i'm pretty much comfortable in my new digs, despite having to listen to mouse chitterings and chatterings and rollerblade sessions and having to locate items like nails and bandaids and lavender soap and having a new responsibility that i can't believe i signed for and my brother doesn't believe i'll ever not shrug off. he may be right.
i'm as comfortable as i can be for someone who's just stripped nearly everything mildly enjoyable from her diet, and instead of feeling better, is feeling akin to puddle of piss and muck. gin and cake makes me feel better than broccoli and tofu. yes, this makes a fuck of a lot of (non)sense. i try to tell myself that i'm detoxing, between the torrents of virulent pain and hopelessness. say my body continues to feel polluted and puffy--i'll revert to my diet of gin, cake, mint chocolate and kamut bread. in many ways, i long for this-- failing my chance to feel somewhat average and perhaps have the opportunity to trip somewhere far away or even far away from a bathroom. my bowels have certainly grown stronger, and mayhaps they'll continue if i offer them the propper fodder for healing. maybe then my body will stop attacking itself. by times it's difficult to look and especially move forward when your body eats itself. but i am fortunate-- i am where i am because of what i am, and i am much more than i was, because of where i was. and i wish i had a yam to yomp.
2 comments:
i know that you can heal.......
when we make it to the place in hell for us and our friends, i will feed you cake from an onyx fork, and gin from a crystal birdbath.
i can't wait to go to hell. emilar, je t'aime.
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