Please, please stand up. It's not that hard, really. Just plant your feet firmly on the floor of this bus, engage your quadriceps, and push. You will rise from that seat and you will redeem your punk ass in my eyes. I don't care that you are wearing a white coat. I don't care that you have a new Littman Master Cardiology stethoscope hanging around your neck, I have one too. I see that you are studying. Your nose is practically buried in that text. But you see her. You must. Her pregnant, full belly is right in front of you, at your eye level. I don't care that she is a tech, or a nurse, or an assistant. She is pregnant. Stand up and be a man.
Please, please stop honking your horn. He is old, he has Louisiana plates on his car. He is stopped on Fannin and he is lost. He is driving through the largest medical center in the United States, in the fourth largest city in the country. He is your brother, my father, someone's son. He is a grandfather, a husband. He is a man with dignity. Is he not deserving of just ten seconds of latitude, ten seconds of patience?
Please, please accept your own truth. I heard you discount your intuition today in favor of another's desires. I am watching you sacrifice your happiness and security yet again in order to satisfy the needs of another. Determining your own rank with yourself, and defending it, is permitted and I encourage you to do so. It is the ultimate act of kindness to oneself.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Ralph
Step-wise. It is how I prefer to accomplish tasks. I view most projects as smaller steps that, once taken, will lead to the desired endpoint. I fully understand that this model isn't applicable to all processes, but working in that logical fashion feels right to my left brain.
My desk at work is an example of my preference for steps. My list of upcoming surgeries is in constant renovation. I've found coordination between services to be the most challenging component of a big case, so I keep check sheets to remind me not to miss a vital step. And there are so many. A few months ago I decided to take a week of vacation and discovered (at the last minute) that I was the only one who knew how to set up a particular type of case. I emailed all of my colleagues, the residents and the fellows the check sheet for the case. I received responding emails stating that some had no idea what went into that type of surgery, and some hoped they would never have to coordinate one. They will. I will take more vacations.
Now...the thing about steps. There are limiting factors. Resources available being one. Sometimes staff isn't available, or the patient has to work out insurance kinks. But the biggie, the one that can bring my "I-ride-a-unicorn-to-work-and-I-work-in-a-hearts-and-flowers-everybody-is-so-happy-to-see-everybody-please-thankyou-can-I-help-you-with-that?-day...is the Rate Limiting Factor. Ugh! Sometimes there is one step that simply must be completed, and if not completed, the process will grind to a halt. A virtual standstill. This. Drives. Me. Crazy.
I concede to a small genetic expression of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I realize this. I count backwards while I run. I'm crazy about checking and re-checking the prescriptions I write. But not being able to move, not being able to work can make me a lunatic. Okay, lunatic is a pretty strong word. In my head I'm a lunatic. To the observer, I'm probably just a little edgy, maybe cranky. I suppose I should say the I understand a rate limiting factor that is uncontrollable, some things just happen...like, oh I don't know...hurricanes. But if I'm sitting around waiting on someone who is not participating in the process, and SHOULD be participating because it's his or her job, either as part of the health care system - or as the patient, I'm likely to be a little testy. I don't need or want excuses from these RLF's. Thinking of them as "Ralph's" seems to help. It's a name I simply can't take seriously.
As I consider this, there are also RLFs in relationships. I've been in relationships where one party is simply not participating. That's pretty damned rate limiting. Lately, I find myself wanting to make sure I'm walking my own steps. I don't mind walking next to someone through the process, but I don't want to be caught up in his idea of what the steps are and wander too far off of my own path. I have so much going on in my life right now, and I'm still learning. Each person I encounter is a teacher, as I hope am I. Although I will continue to introduce myself as Michelle, I am also Ralph.
My desk at work is an example of my preference for steps. My list of upcoming surgeries is in constant renovation. I've found coordination between services to be the most challenging component of a big case, so I keep check sheets to remind me not to miss a vital step. And there are so many. A few months ago I decided to take a week of vacation and discovered (at the last minute) that I was the only one who knew how to set up a particular type of case. I emailed all of my colleagues, the residents and the fellows the check sheet for the case. I received responding emails stating that some had no idea what went into that type of surgery, and some hoped they would never have to coordinate one. They will. I will take more vacations.
Now...the thing about steps. There are limiting factors. Resources available being one. Sometimes staff isn't available, or the patient has to work out insurance kinks. But the biggie, the one that can bring my "I-ride-a-unicorn-to-work-and-I-work-in-a-hearts-and-flowers-everybody-is-so-happy-to-see-everybody-please-thankyou-can-I-help-you-with-that?-day...is the Rate Limiting Factor. Ugh! Sometimes there is one step that simply must be completed, and if not completed, the process will grind to a halt. A virtual standstill. This. Drives. Me. Crazy.
I concede to a small genetic expression of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I realize this. I count backwards while I run. I'm crazy about checking and re-checking the prescriptions I write. But not being able to move, not being able to work can make me a lunatic. Okay, lunatic is a pretty strong word. In my head I'm a lunatic. To the observer, I'm probably just a little edgy, maybe cranky. I suppose I should say the I understand a rate limiting factor that is uncontrollable, some things just happen...like, oh I don't know...hurricanes. But if I'm sitting around waiting on someone who is not participating in the process, and SHOULD be participating because it's his or her job, either as part of the health care system - or as the patient, I'm likely to be a little testy. I don't need or want excuses from these RLF's. Thinking of them as "Ralph's" seems to help. It's a name I simply can't take seriously.
As I consider this, there are also RLFs in relationships. I've been in relationships where one party is simply not participating. That's pretty damned rate limiting. Lately, I find myself wanting to make sure I'm walking my own steps. I don't mind walking next to someone through the process, but I don't want to be caught up in his idea of what the steps are and wander too far off of my own path. I have so much going on in my life right now, and I'm still learning. Each person I encounter is a teacher, as I hope am I. Although I will continue to introduce myself as Michelle, I am also Ralph.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Closure
For all who have supported/wondered/ranted (that wasn't necessary, but I love you for it)/asked/phoned/texted/occupied my time...I have the answers now.
Eastern Europe.
Safe.
Family illness.
I started saying "Goodbye" in my heart a couple months ago. I was allowed to do so in my email reply earlier this week. The knowing is such a relief. The safety and comfort of that sweet family is of utmost importance to me. The rest is simply the rest.
Again, I appreciate the way my friends rallied during this time. I've learned so much. I've grown in ways I may never be able to fully measure. I am grateful beyond words.
Love,love. M
Eastern Europe.
Safe.
Family illness.
I started saying "Goodbye" in my heart a couple months ago. I was allowed to do so in my email reply earlier this week. The knowing is such a relief. The safety and comfort of that sweet family is of utmost importance to me. The rest is simply the rest.
Again, I appreciate the way my friends rallied during this time. I've learned so much. I've grown in ways I may never be able to fully measure. I am grateful beyond words.
Love,love. M
Friday, October 12, 2007
In-complete/complex-ity
This unfinished business between us stirs my mind. I am unsettled. I am vexed. I close my eyes to shut it out and my lapses fall in line. Rational thought points blame away, but I redirect fault's arrows, allowing old guilts to advance.
Stand with them now. They are your comrades in my old battles.
She was on her death bed and I left her there, I thought I was fatigued beyond imagination. I didn't know the difference between fatigue and grief.
He was bullied on the school ground. I looked to another for his salvation.
She was angry at me and I took it personally instead of taking myself to her and asking for forgiveness.
I didn't know how to treat their illnesses. I was embarrassed by my inabilities. I remain so today.
He didn't know how to be a father. I thought I did something to provoke his absence.
My rational mind tells me that there are no perfect answers. I did the best I could possibly do in each of these situations. And I've done the best I could do in our unfinished business. But I feel so very guilty. The commonality is my unknowing, my inability to help someone that I love(d) so very much.
I suppose all I can do is ask that if someone knows the answer, that they help me out by filling in the blanks. If I should be grieving, I'll grieve. I can do that, I've done it before. He is missed. You are missed. I am unsettled.
Stand with them now. They are your comrades in my old battles.
She was on her death bed and I left her there, I thought I was fatigued beyond imagination. I didn't know the difference between fatigue and grief.
He was bullied on the school ground. I looked to another for his salvation.
She was angry at me and I took it personally instead of taking myself to her and asking for forgiveness.
I didn't know how to treat their illnesses. I was embarrassed by my inabilities. I remain so today.
He didn't know how to be a father. I thought I did something to provoke his absence.
My rational mind tells me that there are no perfect answers. I did the best I could possibly do in each of these situations. And I've done the best I could do in our unfinished business. But I feel so very guilty. The commonality is my unknowing, my inability to help someone that I love(d) so very much.
I suppose all I can do is ask that if someone knows the answer, that they help me out by filling in the blanks. If I should be grieving, I'll grieve. I can do that, I've done it before. He is missed. You are missed. I am unsettled.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
You're A Runner
As the Metro train pulled into the Reliant Park Station, I knew I'd probably have to share my seat with someone. Even though it was only 6:30 on Saturday morning, the cars were filling fast. People were on their way to work in the Medical Center and more than a few of us were headed downtown to a big charity race/run/walk. I noticed a 20-something woman stepping onto the train and scooted over in my seat.
"You're running, too?", she asked.
"I think a lot of us are," I nodded toward the near-full car.
She then told me that this was her first race, that she was training for the New York Marathon. She'd won a spot in the lottery, and her coach wanted her to run a short race this week, as fast as she wanted, to get a feel for the race atmosphere. She's been running long distances in her training runs. She told me she was nervous.
I remembered my first race. I was so scared. And excited. And lost. It was the 5K associated with the Houston Marathon. Huge field of runners and I had no clue what I was doing. I simply showed up and took off like a jackrabbit out of the starting line. It's been my personal best time to this date.
I told her about that first race, and that I still get nervous, that it's normal for some runners.
"Oh, I'm not a runner," she said. "I just started a couple months ago, I entered the lottery for the marathon on a lark."
I looked at her shoes. They were water-stained, dirty, obviously with some miles on them.
We talked a bit more before we arrived at our station. Then we walked together to the staging area, and found the chip lines. She wasn't sure how to tie the chip to her shoe. I told her how I do it, then I remembered something else about the chips. "When you finish the race, there will be a volunteer waiting to cut the chip from your shoe. You don't have to stop right then and there. It's OK to walk around a bit and then come back. Just don't bend over to mess around with the chip yourself, or you might feel faint. This is your race, do what you need to in order to take care of yourself."
We parted ways then, only to briefly see each other at about 18 or 19 minutes in, but only for a moment. She asked me how far until the end. I told her I thought it was less than a mile, and to hang in there, then I lost her.
I was standing on the train platform, waiting for the return trip to the parking lot when she approached me, all smiles. "I did it! My first race!" Her cheeks were flushed.
We boarded the train and stood, holding onto the poles while we recapped the run. She told me she couldn't believe how quickly she came out of the start. She hasn't been running her long runs at such a fast pace and she had to hold back, thinking she might run out of steam. God, that sounded so familiar. She apologized for talking to me at mile 2. "Did that bother you? I didn't mean to bother you."
I reassured her that it didn't bother me at all. I was glad that we ran into each other again.
She told me she was glad I mentioned getting the chip cut off her shoe. "I walked right past them. If I would have stopped, I think I would have passed out. I'm so glad I ran into you. You really helped me today. Thank you."
She asked me if I was going to do anything to celebrate my run today. I laughed. "No, I guess it will be a normal Saturday for me, but what about you?"
"I think I'll have to do something special, after I rest for a couple hours."
The train pulled into Reliant Park, and she moved toward the doors. She told me goodbye, and thanked me again. Just before she left I told her, "Hey, I looked at your shoes, you're a runner."
"You're running, too?", she asked.
"I think a lot of us are," I nodded toward the near-full car.
She then told me that this was her first race, that she was training for the New York Marathon. She'd won a spot in the lottery, and her coach wanted her to run a short race this week, as fast as she wanted, to get a feel for the race atmosphere. She's been running long distances in her training runs. She told me she was nervous.
I remembered my first race. I was so scared. And excited. And lost. It was the 5K associated with the Houston Marathon. Huge field of runners and I had no clue what I was doing. I simply showed up and took off like a jackrabbit out of the starting line. It's been my personal best time to this date.
I told her about that first race, and that I still get nervous, that it's normal for some runners.
"Oh, I'm not a runner," she said. "I just started a couple months ago, I entered the lottery for the marathon on a lark."
I looked at her shoes. They were water-stained, dirty, obviously with some miles on them.
We talked a bit more before we arrived at our station. Then we walked together to the staging area, and found the chip lines. She wasn't sure how to tie the chip to her shoe. I told her how I do it, then I remembered something else about the chips. "When you finish the race, there will be a volunteer waiting to cut the chip from your shoe. You don't have to stop right then and there. It's OK to walk around a bit and then come back. Just don't bend over to mess around with the chip yourself, or you might feel faint. This is your race, do what you need to in order to take care of yourself."
We parted ways then, only to briefly see each other at about 18 or 19 minutes in, but only for a moment. She asked me how far until the end. I told her I thought it was less than a mile, and to hang in there, then I lost her.
I was standing on the train platform, waiting for the return trip to the parking lot when she approached me, all smiles. "I did it! My first race!" Her cheeks were flushed.
We boarded the train and stood, holding onto the poles while we recapped the run. She told me she couldn't believe how quickly she came out of the start. She hasn't been running her long runs at such a fast pace and she had to hold back, thinking she might run out of steam. God, that sounded so familiar. She apologized for talking to me at mile 2. "Did that bother you? I didn't mean to bother you."
I reassured her that it didn't bother me at all. I was glad that we ran into each other again.
She told me she was glad I mentioned getting the chip cut off her shoe. "I walked right past them. If I would have stopped, I think I would have passed out. I'm so glad I ran into you. You really helped me today. Thank you."
She asked me if I was going to do anything to celebrate my run today. I laughed. "No, I guess it will be a normal Saturday for me, but what about you?"
"I think I'll have to do something special, after I rest for a couple hours."
The train pulled into Reliant Park, and she moved toward the doors. She told me goodbye, and thanked me again. Just before she left I told her, "Hey, I looked at your shoes, you're a runner."
Friday, September 21, 2007
Walking Through
I tell my patients that the fight they are about to begin is like walking through the woods. I ask them to notice that as they step into the trees there is a path to follow. There will always be a place to step. At all times, there will be solid ground below, if they will just glance down to find it, and take time for steadiness before they advance.
I ask them to pay attention to the spanish moss hanging from the trees, sometimes seeming to block their way, but moved easily, if they will just brush it aside. The moss filters the light from above, and the darkness may be frightening, but the woods are also cool with the dark canopy provided overhead, These woods provide a place to escape from the demands of work and other stressors, if only for a little while.
I ask them to listen to the sounds of the woods, to the water dripping from rocks, collecting in small pools and moving on to form streams, to the birds, and to the insects. And I ask them to listen to the sound of their own breathing while they are in that quiet, calm, dark, cool place.
It will not be long before they approach the brightness of the clearing and realize that they have come through their treatment. They will have walked through what was a fearful place into another phase of their lives. None of us knows what that phase holds. It could be cure, it could be more disease and more treatment, or it could be acceptance of letting the disease take it's course. The treatment and it's outcome are different for each person.
I'm recalling this simple guided suggestion that I make with my patients because I've come to make it almost out of habit, and I sometimes wonder why I do what I do. Today, I was reminded. I would never give the details (of the particular encounter), and I won't know the outcome for a very long time. But I love the practice of Oncology. I have no idea what is in store for me, where I should practice, or in what capacity. But I witnessed grace today. I am so very, very thankful, and I felt compelled to write about it in some way. I suppose it's all part of my own walk through the woods.
I ask them to pay attention to the spanish moss hanging from the trees, sometimes seeming to block their way, but moved easily, if they will just brush it aside. The moss filters the light from above, and the darkness may be frightening, but the woods are also cool with the dark canopy provided overhead, These woods provide a place to escape from the demands of work and other stressors, if only for a little while.
I ask them to listen to the sounds of the woods, to the water dripping from rocks, collecting in small pools and moving on to form streams, to the birds, and to the insects. And I ask them to listen to the sound of their own breathing while they are in that quiet, calm, dark, cool place.
It will not be long before they approach the brightness of the clearing and realize that they have come through their treatment. They will have walked through what was a fearful place into another phase of their lives. None of us knows what that phase holds. It could be cure, it could be more disease and more treatment, or it could be acceptance of letting the disease take it's course. The treatment and it's outcome are different for each person.
I'm recalling this simple guided suggestion that I make with my patients because I've come to make it almost out of habit, and I sometimes wonder why I do what I do. Today, I was reminded. I would never give the details (of the particular encounter), and I won't know the outcome for a very long time. But I love the practice of Oncology. I have no idea what is in store for me, where I should practice, or in what capacity. But I witnessed grace today. I am so very, very thankful, and I felt compelled to write about it in some way. I suppose it's all part of my own walk through the woods.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Fighting Mad
I tested for Cardiokickboxing Instructor yesterday through a national fitness organization that certifies aerobic fitness instructors. I have no idea if I passed. I won't know for at least 4 weeks. I left with a desire to just put it behind me. I'd studied, I'd stepped up my workouts, I felt prepared going into it. Why, then, the resignation, the apathy?
I view fitness as one of many components in a healthy lifestyle. A positive attitude is another. Yesterday's experience was anything but positive. The course participants were positive, at least we tried to be. It seemed as if every possible chance to cut us down, to ridicule, was taken by the lead instructors. Don't get me wrong, I was never the direct target of this negativity. It was simply pervasive throughout the day. And some participants caught it directly.
We started half an hour late, and this was going to be a long day, we were very much aware of it. Specific questions were simply not answered. Some participants were made fun of, laughed at, made sport of. And the weird thing was, that the room full of potential certified instructors weren't laughing. We were confused, trying our best, not understanding what the hell was going on.
One particular punch was demonstrated in a bizarre way that I've never seen. We were told that we had to roll our shoulders in an exaggerated windup prior to throwing an uppercut...or we would fail. Over and over, we attempted that uppercut. I must have thrown a thousand. I don't know if I got it. I really don't.
When the written test came around, the monitors talked while we took our hour long, 100 question test. Their children were in the room. They gave us hand written (HANDWRITTEN BY THEIR CHILDREN) evaluation forms to fill out.
I was in disbelief when I left. I left a few words on my evaluation form. I won't let the certification body know what I thought until after I get my letter. I don't trust the monitors. I'm pissed, I'm disappointed. I'm also so very, very tired. 9 hours with at least 4 hours spent throwing punches and kicks.
I hope they passed me. I know I'm good. I know I can teach this class safely and effectively. I just don't know that they can. Damn it!
I view fitness as one of many components in a healthy lifestyle. A positive attitude is another. Yesterday's experience was anything but positive. The course participants were positive, at least we tried to be. It seemed as if every possible chance to cut us down, to ridicule, was taken by the lead instructors. Don't get me wrong, I was never the direct target of this negativity. It was simply pervasive throughout the day. And some participants caught it directly.
We started half an hour late, and this was going to be a long day, we were very much aware of it. Specific questions were simply not answered. Some participants were made fun of, laughed at, made sport of. And the weird thing was, that the room full of potential certified instructors weren't laughing. We were confused, trying our best, not understanding what the hell was going on.
One particular punch was demonstrated in a bizarre way that I've never seen. We were told that we had to roll our shoulders in an exaggerated windup prior to throwing an uppercut...or we would fail. Over and over, we attempted that uppercut. I must have thrown a thousand. I don't know if I got it. I really don't.
When the written test came around, the monitors talked while we took our hour long, 100 question test. Their children were in the room. They gave us hand written (HANDWRITTEN BY THEIR CHILDREN) evaluation forms to fill out.
I was in disbelief when I left. I left a few words on my evaluation form. I won't let the certification body know what I thought until after I get my letter. I don't trust the monitors. I'm pissed, I'm disappointed. I'm also so very, very tired. 9 hours with at least 4 hours spent throwing punches and kicks.
I hope they passed me. I know I'm good. I know I can teach this class safely and effectively. I just don't know that they can. Damn it!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Race For The Cure
What better way to pull oneself up, then to help others? My daughter pointed out to me that autumn is a tough season for me. I remember Mom. She died in October. So, I'm going to do something about it. I've signed up to run in the Komen Houston Race For The Cure, a 5K run to fund research, education, screening and treatment for breast cancer. The run is October 6th. I'm going to run in the competitive, chip-timed division. Why not? All this training for the January half marathon must be doing me some good.
If you want to contribute to this worthy cause, here's the link to my page.
http://www.komen-houston.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1020&px=1305136
Just cut and paste.
There's a great picture of my mom there.
I sent out emails to some family and friends. My dad came through first thing. It really touched me. And she touched so many people. And still does, to this day. I like to think that each patient I care for gets a little bit of me...not too much, because I can't give all of me away. But I want to care for them like I'd want Mom to be cared for, not so much medically, but humanly.
About every 6 months or so I ask myself, "Why do I do this?" Why Oncology? I think I simply must. That's all, I simply must. For her and for them. And ultimately, for me.
If you want to contribute to this worthy cause, here's the link to my page.
http://www.komen-houston.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1020&px=1305136
Just cut and paste.
There's a great picture of my mom there.
I sent out emails to some family and friends. My dad came through first thing. It really touched me. And she touched so many people. And still does, to this day. I like to think that each patient I care for gets a little bit of me...not too much, because I can't give all of me away. But I want to care for them like I'd want Mom to be cared for, not so much medically, but humanly.
About every 6 months or so I ask myself, "Why do I do this?" Why Oncology? I think I simply must. That's all, I simply must. For her and for them. And ultimately, for me.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Through These Days
I'm not pushing, I'm dragging myself.
Each morning, each day, I drag myself through time to perform for the witnesses to my life. I've attempted to do otherwise. I simply am not able.
This state elicits surprise in me each time I become aware of it, this condition. I deny it, then it washes over me unrelentless in it's smothering, it's heaviness.
So I find my self slogging through my day, nearly fixed in apathy. Ah, but apathy has come to be my trusted friend. I appreciate my apathy. For when indifference passes, in slips sorrow. Quick, piercing, black sorrow.
I let the hateful tears come when they want now, for they don't seem to accomplish anything. They don't wash, they don't heal. They leave me as quickly as they come. I don't understand this type of sadness. I wait. I wait for an answer to fill the void that I can't name, that I haven't had the courage to question.
I will continue the dragging. My head tells me that my heart can have this battle. I refuse to think this one through. I am feeling it. As painful as it is, there is a reason for it. It is mine.
Each morning, each day, I drag myself through time to perform for the witnesses to my life. I've attempted to do otherwise. I simply am not able.
This state elicits surprise in me each time I become aware of it, this condition. I deny it, then it washes over me unrelentless in it's smothering, it's heaviness.
So I find my self slogging through my day, nearly fixed in apathy. Ah, but apathy has come to be my trusted friend. I appreciate my apathy. For when indifference passes, in slips sorrow. Quick, piercing, black sorrow.
I let the hateful tears come when they want now, for they don't seem to accomplish anything. They don't wash, they don't heal. They leave me as quickly as they come. I don't understand this type of sadness. I wait. I wait for an answer to fill the void that I can't name, that I haven't had the courage to question.
I will continue the dragging. My head tells me that my heart can have this battle. I refuse to think this one through. I am feeling it. As painful as it is, there is a reason for it. It is mine.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
My Stride
The end of mile four was difficult for me. Yesterday, I breezed through the first three and thought, "Hey, maybe I'll go for nine today". Number four knocked the enthusiasm right out of me. The trail was soggy and there were puddles to navigate along the way. It seemed as if I was suddenly working harder than I needed to be.
I heard another runner coming up on my left and as he passed me, I noted that he was at least six feet tall and that his legs were obviously much longer than mine. His stride outstretched mine significantly and he didn't even seem to notice the puddles. I wished I was taller.
But I'm not. I try very hard to keep positive thoughts in my head while I run. I can't use my running time to solve problems, because focusing on conflict or difficulty seems to take away from the joy of the run itself, and when I'm finished I don't feel as good as the times when I run in a more meditative fashion. Realizing that I was comparing myself to another runner, I mentally pictured the landmarks coming up on the course and checked them off a little list in my head as I passed them. It was enough to pull me away from thinking about my five foot six frame which is not going to get any taller any time soon.
Running through mile six was easier, except for a little nag from my left knee. It will be ok. Just ice and a couple days off.
Last night I was talking to a friend about how often other friends seem to be checking in on me lately. They know that my life changed a while back. A shift occurred and a void was created. Concerned friends call or email just to see how I'm getting along. It's funny, but I'm to the point of saying, "I'm ok! Really! I'm standing up to my own height, and my own situation. I'm hitting my own stride."
I appreciate the concern and I love my friends dearly. My point is that I am accepting of the situation. I cannot change what is. It's been what seems like miles now. But I have more to go, so I will.
I heard another runner coming up on my left and as he passed me, I noted that he was at least six feet tall and that his legs were obviously much longer than mine. His stride outstretched mine significantly and he didn't even seem to notice the puddles. I wished I was taller.
But I'm not. I try very hard to keep positive thoughts in my head while I run. I can't use my running time to solve problems, because focusing on conflict or difficulty seems to take away from the joy of the run itself, and when I'm finished I don't feel as good as the times when I run in a more meditative fashion. Realizing that I was comparing myself to another runner, I mentally pictured the landmarks coming up on the course and checked them off a little list in my head as I passed them. It was enough to pull me away from thinking about my five foot six frame which is not going to get any taller any time soon.
Running through mile six was easier, except for a little nag from my left knee. It will be ok. Just ice and a couple days off.
Last night I was talking to a friend about how often other friends seem to be checking in on me lately. They know that my life changed a while back. A shift occurred and a void was created. Concerned friends call or email just to see how I'm getting along. It's funny, but I'm to the point of saying, "I'm ok! Really! I'm standing up to my own height, and my own situation. I'm hitting my own stride."
I appreciate the concern and I love my friends dearly. My point is that I am accepting of the situation. I cannot change what is. It's been what seems like miles now. But I have more to go, so I will.
Friday, August 24, 2007
To The Left
Beyonce sang to me as I drove home tonight. Her anthem of woman-power speaks of putting possessions in a box in the closet, of letting a man know he's replaceable.
I could start by putting things in a box in the closet. I could start tonight, simply putting things away.
The key.
The jewelry.
I always wear certain earrings with the bracelets, so I'll need to put the earrings in the box, also. And I started wearing the necklace my dad gave my mom. It just felt right. Now it doesn't. I feel sad when I wear it. So I'll put it in the box, too.
The jewelry box. It came from Russia. He told me he would tell me the story behind the painting on the front. He never got the chance. I'll put it in the box. And the Russian nesting dolls. My Russian things just remind me of how he talked of Russia. So I'll put the Russian egg my friend painted for me in the box too...for now. And the cognac he gave me.
The books I read while he was in Europe. I don't want to read them again.
The dress I wore on our first date. The pictures of his children. The crayon drawing his daughter made for me. The books I'm writing inspired by his kids. The paints I bought to illustrate the books. The paintings I've started. My brushes.
The gifts I bought for the kids while I was on vacation. The T-shirt they bought for me while they were on theirs.
My Dynamo shirt, my Astros shirt, my ball cap. My ticket stubs from the games. My theatre program.
My memories.
My memories.
My memories.
I don't have a container large enough to store what I want to lock away. I want to place my heart in the box, in the closet, to the left. I want to close the door and not look back, but I can't. Once I start putting things away, I fear I won't stop. I am leaving the key on the counter. I can bear to look at it once in awhile. It will sting, but I can bear this. It is certainly better than the alternative.
I could start by putting things in a box in the closet. I could start tonight, simply putting things away.
The key.
The jewelry.
I always wear certain earrings with the bracelets, so I'll need to put the earrings in the box, also. And I started wearing the necklace my dad gave my mom. It just felt right. Now it doesn't. I feel sad when I wear it. So I'll put it in the box, too.
The jewelry box. It came from Russia. He told me he would tell me the story behind the painting on the front. He never got the chance. I'll put it in the box. And the Russian nesting dolls. My Russian things just remind me of how he talked of Russia. So I'll put the Russian egg my friend painted for me in the box too...for now. And the cognac he gave me.
The books I read while he was in Europe. I don't want to read them again.
The dress I wore on our first date. The pictures of his children. The crayon drawing his daughter made for me. The books I'm writing inspired by his kids. The paints I bought to illustrate the books. The paintings I've started. My brushes.
The gifts I bought for the kids while I was on vacation. The T-shirt they bought for me while they were on theirs.
My Dynamo shirt, my Astros shirt, my ball cap. My ticket stubs from the games. My theatre program.
My memories.
My memories.
My memories.
I don't have a container large enough to store what I want to lock away. I want to place my heart in the box, in the closet, to the left. I want to close the door and not look back, but I can't. Once I start putting things away, I fear I won't stop. I am leaving the key on the counter. I can bear to look at it once in awhile. It will sting, but I can bear this. It is certainly better than the alternative.
Yellow Man
You followed me home.
I see you each time I close my eyes.
Tiny man, painted yellow.
Green towels wrapped you like a shroud,
You slept while we worked,
Trusting us to crack you,
Like the egg man.
You'll never be as you were.
Maybe you'll simply be...
For awhile, anyway.
When we were finished,
Your slumbering self was lifted
To a different wall.
But we left your voice in it's shell
On the table.
And now you're with me,
Your yellow self watches
Me silently.
I wish we could
Talk about it.
I see you each time I close my eyes.
Tiny man, painted yellow.
Green towels wrapped you like a shroud,
You slept while we worked,
Trusting us to crack you,
Like the egg man.
You'll never be as you were.
Maybe you'll simply be...
For awhile, anyway.
When we were finished,
Your slumbering self was lifted
To a different wall.
But we left your voice in it's shell
On the table.
And now you're with me,
Your yellow self watches
Me silently.
I wish we could
Talk about it.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Rainy Day Connecting
Yesterday's rains kept coming. With each encroaching band of clouds, it seemed as if the pace of the day slowed a little bit more. When I arrived at work, the sky was heavy and dark, but there was only a sprinkle. By the time I left the surgical wing, the rains had started. I made my way to my office tower and we began to watch, and wait.
Computers slowed as electricity toyed with the system. I completed what paperwork I was able. I began to make more frequent trips out into the hallway to view the skyline with my coworkers. Conversations were sometimes animated. More often, we simply stood, together, and watched. We have a great view of the Medical Center from our floor.
Throughout the afternoon, I received text messages from my good friend who was waiting to catch a flight from LA to DC, through Houston. Seemed as if he might be delayed. He would keep me posted. He was bored and sending me some pretty funny messages.
I called another friend, checking on the roads in my area. It's nice to have people to reach out to, just for a few minutes sometimes. I took time to have a cup of soup. A colleague and I decided to walk over to the clinic and take care of some details on that side. The elevators were shut down because of basement flooding, so we tackled the stairs together. Seven stories later, we'd solved no issues, but we'd had a nice talk. She's leaving my department, I will sorely miss her.
I decided to skip my afternoon conference, I didn't have any patients being presented and it seemed as if I could probably make it home without having to wade. I traded my work shoes for my running shoes and headed out the door for a very humid, but calm, run in my neighborhood.
When I returned home, my traveling friend called. You may know him as my Man Dictionary. He was stuck in Houston. We met at our favorite restaurant and caught up for awhile. He'll fly out today while I'm at work.
Yesterday was a good Thursday. Quite connected, in the setting of potential missed connections...it worked out well.
Computers slowed as electricity toyed with the system. I completed what paperwork I was able. I began to make more frequent trips out into the hallway to view the skyline with my coworkers. Conversations were sometimes animated. More often, we simply stood, together, and watched. We have a great view of the Medical Center from our floor.
Throughout the afternoon, I received text messages from my good friend who was waiting to catch a flight from LA to DC, through Houston. Seemed as if he might be delayed. He would keep me posted. He was bored and sending me some pretty funny messages.
I called another friend, checking on the roads in my area. It's nice to have people to reach out to, just for a few minutes sometimes. I took time to have a cup of soup. A colleague and I decided to walk over to the clinic and take care of some details on that side. The elevators were shut down because of basement flooding, so we tackled the stairs together. Seven stories later, we'd solved no issues, but we'd had a nice talk. She's leaving my department, I will sorely miss her.
I decided to skip my afternoon conference, I didn't have any patients being presented and it seemed as if I could probably make it home without having to wade. I traded my work shoes for my running shoes and headed out the door for a very humid, but calm, run in my neighborhood.
When I returned home, my traveling friend called. You may know him as my Man Dictionary. He was stuck in Houston. We met at our favorite restaurant and caught up for awhile. He'll fly out today while I'm at work.
Yesterday was a good Thursday. Quite connected, in the setting of potential missed connections...it worked out well.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Running? Or running.
A little self-pity goes only so far with me. The journal entry below was cathartic. I needed to get it out. Kind of like cleaning out the refrigerator (that's a piss-poor inside joke). Anyway, I've been to the gym. Had a great workout and was taken to breakfast by my instructor and another friend. Received some excellent validation that I'm on track. This is what women often do. We talk, we Get.It.Out.
So it's out. Now what? I'm going to run. No, not to Boston. I've tried that before. Oh, I'll keep my options open. But I'm going to run the half marathon. I signed up. It's in January. I'll be running in support of the Cade R. Alpard Pediatric Liver Foundation. A PA I work with started this foundation when her son was born with liver disease. It's a worthy cause. So here's the link. You can cut and paste if you want to check it out.
http://www.cadesfoundation.org/
I need to keep moving. Sitting still has never been effective for me. So I'm going to run and train. Getting healthy has worked before. I'm going to stick with what I know. The unknown only swirls in my brain to wreak havoc. And why would I want to allow that? I wouldn't. I don't and I won't.
So it's out. Now what? I'm going to run. No, not to Boston. I've tried that before. Oh, I'll keep my options open. But I'm going to run the half marathon. I signed up. It's in January. I'll be running in support of the Cade R. Alpard Pediatric Liver Foundation. A PA I work with started this foundation when her son was born with liver disease. It's a worthy cause. So here's the link. You can cut and paste if you want to check it out.
http://www.cadesfoundation.org/
I need to keep moving. Sitting still has never been effective for me. So I'm going to run and train. Getting healthy has worked before. I'm going to stick with what I know. The unknown only swirls in my brain to wreak havoc. And why would I want to allow that? I wouldn't. I don't and I won't.
Just An Entry Today
I'm certainly struggling. I'm at that point I recognize all too well. The point where I can (not so easily) pick up and leave. Because of this, I'm sizing up my surroundings. I'm considering my options. I know the value of my assets. I've tallied my debts.
I've attempted distraction. I'm bringing others down with me. That doesn't work for me. My honor code won't allow me to function in this manner much longer. I don't want to serve up another helping of this crap to friends who want to talk, but I feel the sadness oozing from me. Even without talking, they know. They read my face. I've been trying so very hard. But it's not working.
I've worked more hours. Unfortunately my line of work is wicked depressing. I have to admit this. Sure, sure...many have heard me say how rewarding it is, how we cure some, how I've learned so much...but shit, we disfigure some, many have pain, not a few die. This is not building me up. This is pulling me down. I've considered a potential move close to my current position. But taking the eyes of babies? Christ! What was I thinking?
I met up with a few friends last night, dinner first, then a couple drinks. A drunk fell out of the door of the bar, hitting his head. I helped care for him until the ambulance arrived. It was a strange scene. He just kept telling me that his brother died...that day. I don't know if it was the truth or not. But he was so flat in his tone of voice. I know he was drunk. He was plowed, obviously. But it struck me, after I got home just how very flat and lifeless he seemed. It frightened me.
My tears started soon after. I haven't cried earnestly since this whole ordeal began. I was surprised how big they (the tears) were. They flowed for longer than I would have expected, too. So now I've cried. And I'm still crying this morning. And it hasn't solved anything. I want to leave. I don't want to be in this room, in this city, with these memories. I've done this before. I know the drill.
I've attempted distraction. I'm bringing others down with me. That doesn't work for me. My honor code won't allow me to function in this manner much longer. I don't want to serve up another helping of this crap to friends who want to talk, but I feel the sadness oozing from me. Even without talking, they know. They read my face. I've been trying so very hard. But it's not working.
I've worked more hours. Unfortunately my line of work is wicked depressing. I have to admit this. Sure, sure...many have heard me say how rewarding it is, how we cure some, how I've learned so much...but shit, we disfigure some, many have pain, not a few die. This is not building me up. This is pulling me down. I've considered a potential move close to my current position. But taking the eyes of babies? Christ! What was I thinking?
I met up with a few friends last night, dinner first, then a couple drinks. A drunk fell out of the door of the bar, hitting his head. I helped care for him until the ambulance arrived. It was a strange scene. He just kept telling me that his brother died...that day. I don't know if it was the truth or not. But he was so flat in his tone of voice. I know he was drunk. He was plowed, obviously. But it struck me, after I got home just how very flat and lifeless he seemed. It frightened me.
My tears started soon after. I haven't cried earnestly since this whole ordeal began. I was surprised how big they (the tears) were. They flowed for longer than I would have expected, too. So now I've cried. And I'm still crying this morning. And it hasn't solved anything. I want to leave. I don't want to be in this room, in this city, with these memories. I've done this before. I know the drill.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Realization Through Dreaming
I never had it to begin with, so how can I possibly miss it? Or maybe I should say, I wasn't supposed to have it, but I got it, then it was gone, so why do I think I have the right to miss it? I may very well have it at this moment, and just not realize it. I simply don't know. It is something I will have, when I am supposed to have it. I can wait. I have waited this long.
The Specter
Crepe. No, silk.
Lain. No, swept,
With purpose
By the specter who bends
Over my sleeping self.
Faceless first,
Then shifting
To those I've known
In dreamy days past.
Why wake me now?
But broken, too
This sleep.
When silk's smooth course
Lays grounded by
Cold sweat.
Reproach finds its path
on the morning beam.
No spare cloth is held
By the hand that
Remains empty.
The Specter
Crepe. No, silk.
Lain. No, swept,
With purpose
By the specter who bends
Over my sleeping self.
Faceless first,
Then shifting
To those I've known
In dreamy days past.
Why wake me now?
But broken, too
This sleep.
When silk's smooth course
Lays grounded by
Cold sweat.
Reproach finds its path
on the morning beam.
No spare cloth is held
By the hand that
Remains empty.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Faint Warnings
I pulled into the entrance of the remote lot today and almost hit the traffic cone that was blocking the drive. Apparently the lane I'd chosen was out of order. I didn't see the cone in the middle of the lane. It was right there. But it was bleached pale by the Texas sun. No longer fluorescent orange, it was anemic, barely visable. It looked less like a beacon of alarm than something that belonged atop a thirteen year old's vision of the perfect wedding cake. "I want all peach and lime green. And all my bridesmaids will have lime green dresses with peach-colored sashes. We'll have peach punch with floating icebergs of lime sherbert. Oh, it will be just dreamy!"
I tend to think in black and white. And lipstick red. I like my warnings to be just that, shots across the bow. Give me the information. Give me a medication bottle that says, "This shit can kill you if you mix it with..." THAT is good information. Give me a directional sign on the highway that says, "Get in the right lane NOW if you want to get to the airport, otherwise, you're never going to make it." THAT is good information. Give me the truth, don't talk around it. I don't do hints well. I'm not clairvoyant.
Today, I am tired. I haven't slept for two nights. I feel as if I've been trying to decifer hints and words that make no sense to me. I come to work and receive mixed messages. The same is holding true in my home life. Someone fire a fucking shot across my bow. I am looking for a sign, a warning, a direction. I feel as if I'm on this highway and the signs are faded. For now, I'm going to stay in this lane and drive, but I'm running out of gas.
I tend to think in black and white. And lipstick red. I like my warnings to be just that, shots across the bow. Give me the information. Give me a medication bottle that says, "This shit can kill you if you mix it with..." THAT is good information. Give me a directional sign on the highway that says, "Get in the right lane NOW if you want to get to the airport, otherwise, you're never going to make it." THAT is good information. Give me the truth, don't talk around it. I don't do hints well. I'm not clairvoyant.
Today, I am tired. I haven't slept for two nights. I feel as if I've been trying to decifer hints and words that make no sense to me. I come to work and receive mixed messages. The same is holding true in my home life. Someone fire a fucking shot across my bow. I am looking for a sign, a warning, a direction. I feel as if I'm on this highway and the signs are faded. For now, I'm going to stay in this lane and drive, but I'm running out of gas.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Forever
So what is forever, anyway? One of the administrative assistants at work used that word today. Forever. We were talking about jewelry. I told her I'm wearing a special piece of jewelry right now because every time I see it, I'm reminded of the person who gave it to me. I'm very fond of the bracelet. I'm more fond of the person. I miss him. She offered not to talk about him. She was afraid it would make me sad. I told her, no...I appreciate the reminder. It makes him closer. It's ok.
I'm watching television now, waiting to go to the gym. I'm spending a lot of time at the gym these days. That's what I'm doing with my time. Spending it. Filling it. I don't want to waste it. I don't have forever, do I? Do I have the luxury of so many minutes and hours on this planet that I can simply sit, and waste away my life? I don't think so. Anyway, a commercial came on for diamonds. And a reference to "forever". I have diamonds that I haven't seen in years. They were supposed to signify forever. They are simply stones, set in metal, sitting in a box, laying in a drawer, resting in a dresser, standing in a room, more or less forgotten. I suppose they will be here forever, but they certainly no longer mean forever.
The words and experiences that have formed memories are forever. Certainly, I will forget specific words. But for now, the memories must suffice. For now, I can think of someone who isn't next to me and know that no matter what the future brings, we have our past and we have today. Even a sad moment can bring about a happy thought if I consider the whole picture. Our yesterdays have built our todays and our tomorrows have even more potential.
Amidst the realization that my memories are sustaining, the world is not standing still. I have been given so many incredible opportunities to interact, and notice, and live. So... here is forever, what I choose to make of it, how I choose to live it, certainly not waiting for it to happen. For if I wait for it, I fear it will end up in a box, in a dresser, standing in a room...more or less forgotten.
I'm watching television now, waiting to go to the gym. I'm spending a lot of time at the gym these days. That's what I'm doing with my time. Spending it. Filling it. I don't want to waste it. I don't have forever, do I? Do I have the luxury of so many minutes and hours on this planet that I can simply sit, and waste away my life? I don't think so. Anyway, a commercial came on for diamonds. And a reference to "forever". I have diamonds that I haven't seen in years. They were supposed to signify forever. They are simply stones, set in metal, sitting in a box, laying in a drawer, resting in a dresser, standing in a room, more or less forgotten. I suppose they will be here forever, but they certainly no longer mean forever.
The words and experiences that have formed memories are forever. Certainly, I will forget specific words. But for now, the memories must suffice. For now, I can think of someone who isn't next to me and know that no matter what the future brings, we have our past and we have today. Even a sad moment can bring about a happy thought if I consider the whole picture. Our yesterdays have built our todays and our tomorrows have even more potential.
Amidst the realization that my memories are sustaining, the world is not standing still. I have been given so many incredible opportunities to interact, and notice, and live. So... here is forever, what I choose to make of it, how I choose to live it, certainly not waiting for it to happen. For if I wait for it, I fear it will end up in a box, in a dresser, standing in a room...more or less forgotten.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Oasis
I slept until close to nine a.m. this morning. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to run without rain pouring down, I quickly pulled on my shoes and headed out the door. Two hours makes a huge difference in the heat index. Sunday morning traffic is at a minimum on my route, so I like to take advantage of this quiet time in the Reliant area. It's a completely different run at five p.m. on Tuesdays.
Less than ten minutes in, I was feeling the sun pounding down on my shoulders. I thought this might be a good thing. I don't want my vacation tan to fade just yet. It wasn't long before I was just plain....hot. I run in a very commercial area, all cement and a lot of car dealerships. The stretch from Belfort and Kirby, then down the 610 feeder road seemed much longer than usual. I started looking forward to the few trees and bits of shade as I saw them coming up in the distance. I'd run faster in the full sun, and then slower in the blissful shade...to make it last longer. But I was exerting myself more. My pace was a little crazy, and I was beginning to wish I had a water bottle in my hand instead of my cell phone. (I always run with my cell phone. If I'm attacked, I'll use it to bludgeon the bastard to death.)
I made the final turn home and there was, thankfully a long row of trees. I allowed myself to finish at a jog. This wasn't the morning to time-train. Ending up in the cool, blinds-drawn, relative darkness of my apartment was like walking into a final destination oasis after passing through tiny ones along the way during the run.
There have been so many challenges during the last year. I've had to sprint to make it from shady spot to shady spot. I am learning to know myself, to understand my pace. As in running, living and thriving requires self-study. There are times when all I can do is listen to my breathing. And that has to be enough.
My oases are sometimes populated, sometimes I'm the solitary inhabitant. It seems that I am learning to enjoy them more with each stop. Relaxation, rest, love, comradeship and laughter are all becoming more sweet as I age. As is my time alone. The discovery of who I am, how I came to be here and how I react to certain situations is no longer traumatic, it is a gift. Choosing how I react to situations with thoughtfulness is an assignment I'm only now beginning to understand, but I look forward to the day I can relish that assignment, rather than fear it.
If I can keep my eyes on the horizon and enjoy the run in the meantime, I believe all the work will be worthwhile. My task is to remember that there will always be shade, there will always, always be respite.
Less than ten minutes in, I was feeling the sun pounding down on my shoulders. I thought this might be a good thing. I don't want my vacation tan to fade just yet. It wasn't long before I was just plain....hot. I run in a very commercial area, all cement and a lot of car dealerships. The stretch from Belfort and Kirby, then down the 610 feeder road seemed much longer than usual. I started looking forward to the few trees and bits of shade as I saw them coming up in the distance. I'd run faster in the full sun, and then slower in the blissful shade...to make it last longer. But I was exerting myself more. My pace was a little crazy, and I was beginning to wish I had a water bottle in my hand instead of my cell phone. (I always run with my cell phone. If I'm attacked, I'll use it to bludgeon the bastard to death.)
I made the final turn home and there was, thankfully a long row of trees. I allowed myself to finish at a jog. This wasn't the morning to time-train. Ending up in the cool, blinds-drawn, relative darkness of my apartment was like walking into a final destination oasis after passing through tiny ones along the way during the run.
There have been so many challenges during the last year. I've had to sprint to make it from shady spot to shady spot. I am learning to know myself, to understand my pace. As in running, living and thriving requires self-study. There are times when all I can do is listen to my breathing. And that has to be enough.
My oases are sometimes populated, sometimes I'm the solitary inhabitant. It seems that I am learning to enjoy them more with each stop. Relaxation, rest, love, comradeship and laughter are all becoming more sweet as I age. As is my time alone. The discovery of who I am, how I came to be here and how I react to certain situations is no longer traumatic, it is a gift. Choosing how I react to situations with thoughtfulness is an assignment I'm only now beginning to understand, but I look forward to the day I can relish that assignment, rather than fear it.
If I can keep my eyes on the horizon and enjoy the run in the meantime, I believe all the work will be worthwhile. My task is to remember that there will always be shade, there will always, always be respite.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
For you, and you, and you.....
More conversations than I can even recall yesterday. The day is almost a blur. One friend here, another there, calling, texting, checking in. I felt connected all day long. I was walking down the hall at the YMCA, and heard my name. I hadn't seen her in over a year. That was nice. We caught up before and after the class. I stopped by the playroom and took a peek at her two fine sons. They've grown.
Received one call when a friend's car was in the shop, she was just passing a little time. Several texts back and forth while another was considering an interview suit. Emails about a party Saturday. While waiting for my second kickboxing class of the day, cleaned out my text messages in my phone, saved the special ones. Met with a girlfriend for a drink and some latin music. Went to bed much too late.
Awakened by the radio alarm much too early. Report of the bridge failure in Minnesota. Oh. My. God. So sudden. So severe.
Our lives go on each day. We talk. We connect. Sometimes we don't hear from each other for awhile. If you're reading this, and are considering that this might apply to you, know that it probably does...know that I love you. I know I say it a lot. But I wanted to say it again. I wanted you to read this little post and remember that you are a special person on the planet...to me.
Received one call when a friend's car was in the shop, she was just passing a little time. Several texts back and forth while another was considering an interview suit. Emails about a party Saturday. While waiting for my second kickboxing class of the day, cleaned out my text messages in my phone, saved the special ones. Met with a girlfriend for a drink and some latin music. Went to bed much too late.
Awakened by the radio alarm much too early. Report of the bridge failure in Minnesota. Oh. My. God. So sudden. So severe.
Our lives go on each day. We talk. We connect. Sometimes we don't hear from each other for awhile. If you're reading this, and are considering that this might apply to you, know that it probably does...know that I love you. I know I say it a lot. But I wanted to say it again. I wanted you to read this little post and remember that you are a special person on the planet...to me.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Ending Monday Maudlin
I woke up decidedly positive. Must be positive. Will be positive. Positively positive. At work by 6:30 a.m. after being on vacation for a week. Quickly realized I would be positively buried in paperwork. But it would be okay. Attacked the stacks one task at a time. What other way was there?
Greeted my colleagues with a smile. Right, a half-smile, but I attempted it...let's have a little credit, please. Showed off the cruise pics and the pics of the party from the weekend previous. Day ticked on, got a clinic assignment. I could handle it. Just work, and really, what else did I have to do today?
Ate lunch early so that I could be in clinic by noon. Smiled through a consult and three preop history and physicals. Out of work by 5pm, not so bad. Home to catch a healthy dinner (I'm on a mission to eat well right now), and do a little laundry. Then off to the gym for an hour of high energy cardiokickboxing.
I was doing fine. I was all right. Until I saw the full moon during my drive home. It was beaming so bright. I don't know what I was thinking, but I spoke to the moon. I asked the moon if it could see him tonight. Then I pulled up to a red light, placed my forehead on the steering wheel and started crying.
So much for keeping it together. I guess I needed to let it go. Damned moon. Damned car. Damned situation. Oh well. There is always tomorrow. I'll start again. I'll positively give it another try.
Greeted my colleagues with a smile. Right, a half-smile, but I attempted it...let's have a little credit, please. Showed off the cruise pics and the pics of the party from the weekend previous. Day ticked on, got a clinic assignment. I could handle it. Just work, and really, what else did I have to do today?
Ate lunch early so that I could be in clinic by noon. Smiled through a consult and three preop history and physicals. Out of work by 5pm, not so bad. Home to catch a healthy dinner (I'm on a mission to eat well right now), and do a little laundry. Then off to the gym for an hour of high energy cardiokickboxing.
I was doing fine. I was all right. Until I saw the full moon during my drive home. It was beaming so bright. I don't know what I was thinking, but I spoke to the moon. I asked the moon if it could see him tonight. Then I pulled up to a red light, placed my forehead on the steering wheel and started crying.
So much for keeping it together. I guess I needed to let it go. Damned moon. Damned car. Damned situation. Oh well. There is always tomorrow. I'll start again. I'll positively give it another try.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
He Watches
Pure sadness here, false gladness more.
You crossed my path, then through my door
to bring me words of wistful waiting
knowing that our hearts are skating
'round the issue. Hand-in-hand we hold
the conversation as cold
as we possibly can
so as not to disrupt the man
in the moon who watches our dance.
There is more heartbreak than romance,
as trained upon our tearful faces,
through the window he traces
our hopeful, not-forever goodbye
built on a loving little lie.
You crossed my path, then through my door
to bring me words of wistful waiting
knowing that our hearts are skating
'round the issue. Hand-in-hand we hold
the conversation as cold
as we possibly can
so as not to disrupt the man
in the moon who watches our dance.
There is more heartbreak than romance,
as trained upon our tearful faces,
through the window he traces
our hopeful, not-forever goodbye
built on a loving little lie.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Now, Wait Just a Minute!
I checked in a few minutes early. I noticed that the waiting room was packed. I usually ask for a morning appointment for this exam, but I saw my dentist this morning, the crazy one who makes me laugh every time I see her waving her arms around while she talks. So I had a 3:45 appointment on my day off. It was ok, really. I'd been running like crazy all day long, trying to get errands completed. I was all right with sitting for awhile and just doing noting. (All right, I confess, I checked my email on my stupid Blackberry - rats!)
I was called to the back within 10 minutes. Excellent. Uh-oh, asked to wait in another waiting room. This was different. I was told that she was double booked and was interviewing applicants. What the hell? Well, I was there, I had to have this stupid test, I settled in with a fashion magazine from October 2006 and began to wait. And wait. After 20 minutes, I noticed that I was the only one left in the little alcove. I stood up and peeked around the corner. The medical assistant noticed me and told me I hadn't been forgotten. I pulled out my Blackberry.
I finally got into the room an hour and a half after my scheduled time. Surprisingly, my blood pressure was normal. I waited, half-naked, another 15 minutes for my exam. My doctor was appropriately apologetic. She explained that they were short-handed, and some other stuff that I don't even remember now. She told me she was waiving my co-pay. I told her I appreciated it. She reminded me that we need to keep performing these tests. I won't be in the clear for awhile yet. Excellent. Wonderful.
I will be taking a vacation next week. But I have 2 days worth of opportunities ahead of me. I will do everything in my power to make my patients' visits go as smoothly and as quickly as possible while still giving them the information they need. The dentist visit was nothing. Now that I think about it, I had to wait 30 minutes past my appointment time. But there was no stress involved. There were also no abnormal cells involved. That was the difference between my two appointments. My patients deal with this shit day in and day out. It was a good day. It's always a good day when I learn something.
I was called to the back within 10 minutes. Excellent. Uh-oh, asked to wait in another waiting room. This was different. I was told that she was double booked and was interviewing applicants. What the hell? Well, I was there, I had to have this stupid test, I settled in with a fashion magazine from October 2006 and began to wait. And wait. After 20 minutes, I noticed that I was the only one left in the little alcove. I stood up and peeked around the corner. The medical assistant noticed me and told me I hadn't been forgotten. I pulled out my Blackberry.
I finally got into the room an hour and a half after my scheduled time. Surprisingly, my blood pressure was normal. I waited, half-naked, another 15 minutes for my exam. My doctor was appropriately apologetic. She explained that they were short-handed, and some other stuff that I don't even remember now. She told me she was waiving my co-pay. I told her I appreciated it. She reminded me that we need to keep performing these tests. I won't be in the clear for awhile yet. Excellent. Wonderful.
I will be taking a vacation next week. But I have 2 days worth of opportunities ahead of me. I will do everything in my power to make my patients' visits go as smoothly and as quickly as possible while still giving them the information they need. The dentist visit was nothing. Now that I think about it, I had to wait 30 minutes past my appointment time. But there was no stress involved. There were also no abnormal cells involved. That was the difference between my two appointments. My patients deal with this shit day in and day out. It was a good day. It's always a good day when I learn something.
To Lead
Running today, same descending count in my head. 99 to 1. 99 to 1. 99 to 1. Clears away the crap so that I can get to where I need to be, which may be nowhere at all. Occasionally I'll have a song stuck in my brain, too. Usually something I've been playing in the car, but there is always my count. Every other step is paced by my counting. I was in Hermann Park one day when a group of about 10 runners passed me. I think it was a YMCA bootcamp or something like that. They were verbalizing their pace at the direction of a tough woman who sounded for all the world like a drill sergeant. They counted in ascending order.
At about mile 2, I looked up and saw a flock of geese. It's only mid July, so I'm not sure if they're just moving from pond to pond, or if they start early here to move North. I like to call myself a Texan, but I haven't got it all down just yet. They were flying in V-formation. So few of them, only about 12, but they were lined up and following the leader.
I talked to my boss recently. I needed his leadership. I had to ask him for the time, but it was important. Just for a few minutes, just to check in.
My favorite cardiokickboxing instructor is a shining example of packaged energy. But she was tired Monday night. She admitted that she taught class at 8:30 that morning and it had been a long day. She warned us ahead of time, that she might be instructing more than participating. About halfway through class, I heard her say, "I think I'll just let Michelle teach this part!" What??? Good thing I knew the combination.
I walked into an exam room yesterday and was met by an elderly patient and many family members. I commented that he had brought the home team with him. It's a light hearted comment I sometimes make to break the tension at a first visit. The patient's son immediately responded by telling me that they were there to take care of the "coach". I realized that not only had they assembled for their leader, they had also circled their wagons. They were attempting to protect that which was most precious to them. Not only was the man, the leader, at risk...so was their family.
This thing called leadership, this desire of humans (and animals) to lead and to be led, is fascinating to me. It can be so very basic, and yet so very complex as to involve yearning. But are not yearning for and yes...even the love of the leader also not among the most basic of all instincts?
At about mile 2, I looked up and saw a flock of geese. It's only mid July, so I'm not sure if they're just moving from pond to pond, or if they start early here to move North. I like to call myself a Texan, but I haven't got it all down just yet. They were flying in V-formation. So few of them, only about 12, but they were lined up and following the leader.
I talked to my boss recently. I needed his leadership. I had to ask him for the time, but it was important. Just for a few minutes, just to check in.
My favorite cardiokickboxing instructor is a shining example of packaged energy. But she was tired Monday night. She admitted that she taught class at 8:30 that morning and it had been a long day. She warned us ahead of time, that she might be instructing more than participating. About halfway through class, I heard her say, "I think I'll just let Michelle teach this part!" What??? Good thing I knew the combination.
I walked into an exam room yesterday and was met by an elderly patient and many family members. I commented that he had brought the home team with him. It's a light hearted comment I sometimes make to break the tension at a first visit. The patient's son immediately responded by telling me that they were there to take care of the "coach". I realized that not only had they assembled for their leader, they had also circled their wagons. They were attempting to protect that which was most precious to them. Not only was the man, the leader, at risk...so was their family.
This thing called leadership, this desire of humans (and animals) to lead and to be led, is fascinating to me. It can be so very basic, and yet so very complex as to involve yearning. But are not yearning for and yes...even the love of the leader also not among the most basic of all instincts?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
What...balanced?
She said she was struck by my balance. I had to concentrate on her words. I couldn't have heard correctly. Balanced? Who, me? We were talking about a personal issue. Personal, career, emotional, spiritual. It's all been a big whirl to me as of late.
Until I heard her words I could have sworn I was off balance, out of kilter. I thought I was walking a tight wire stretched across a bayou. The water was rushing below, pulling Houston flotsam with it, mucking with my peripheral vision and forcing me to close my eyes lest I tilt from vertigo. The slightest breeze from the gulf might just have caused me to sway. I might have swayed enough to lose my footing and plunge into the murk. Sometimes my perspective is just whacked.
But I'm holding it together. I'm having to work at it, this is for certain. As far as my job goes, I don't believe I've worked this hard in a very, very long time. The difference is that I am concentrating on the goal at the end of the wire. I have shut my eyes, I have blocked the stimuli that might have previously caused me so much distress. I may not be getting breaks at work, but I'm standing up and stretching when I can, or if I'm scrubbed and waiting for pathology, I'm grabbing five minutes on a seat. Extreme organization, email, and delegation are lifesavers right now. I'm keeping little reminders of what's important with me during the day, touchstones to keep me grounded. I've talked to my family more in the last couple of weeks than is usual...I'm very grateful for that.
So that's the career part. The rest? It's not so different, really. I'm just focused on the end of the wire. I keep my touchstones with me. I'm trying very hard to remember what is important and to sort out what is not.
Things will be back to normal (whatever that is) soon. In the meantime, I'm going to take a vacation, the work (and life) will be there when I get back. I'm going to read a book. I'm going to count my blessings. I have so many.
Until I heard her words I could have sworn I was off balance, out of kilter. I thought I was walking a tight wire stretched across a bayou. The water was rushing below, pulling Houston flotsam with it, mucking with my peripheral vision and forcing me to close my eyes lest I tilt from vertigo. The slightest breeze from the gulf might just have caused me to sway. I might have swayed enough to lose my footing and plunge into the murk. Sometimes my perspective is just whacked.
But I'm holding it together. I'm having to work at it, this is for certain. As far as my job goes, I don't believe I've worked this hard in a very, very long time. The difference is that I am concentrating on the goal at the end of the wire. I have shut my eyes, I have blocked the stimuli that might have previously caused me so much distress. I may not be getting breaks at work, but I'm standing up and stretching when I can, or if I'm scrubbed and waiting for pathology, I'm grabbing five minutes on a seat. Extreme organization, email, and delegation are lifesavers right now. I'm keeping little reminders of what's important with me during the day, touchstones to keep me grounded. I've talked to my family more in the last couple of weeks than is usual...I'm very grateful for that.
So that's the career part. The rest? It's not so different, really. I'm just focused on the end of the wire. I keep my touchstones with me. I'm trying very hard to remember what is important and to sort out what is not.
Things will be back to normal (whatever that is) soon. In the meantime, I'm going to take a vacation, the work (and life) will be there when I get back. I'm going to read a book. I'm going to count my blessings. I have so many.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The Front Porch
I remember our front porch. I bet it wasn't as big as I see it when I close my eyes. But I can remember running to the end where the wrought iron rail would stop me. It seems there must have been bright green indoor/outdoor carpet on the porch at one point. I think the foundation was cement. I'm not sure. There were two steps that led to the front door. We had a screen door. I know this for certain because we didn't have air conditioning most of the time we lived in that tiny house on the East side of town. I remember time spent on that porch, on those steps, with my brothers.
I grew up in that house. I was about three years old when we moved there. I think many of my memories of it aren't real though. They are simply imprinted from looking at photographs of myself and my family with the house in the background. A few instances I absolutely remember, though. I remember my first day of school. I walked home alone and I was so very lost. I remember crying and being terrified that I wouldn't make it to my house. I came upon it from the back yard. I didn't tell anyone what I'd done. I was afraid I would get in trouble.
I remember running away once. But I didn't know where to go. So I went in my room and went to sleep. It's something I've repeated throughout my life. If I don't know where to go. I go to sleep. Back then, they didn't even know I ran away. It still holds true today.
Back to the porch. I remember playing jacks on the porch. And hopscotch on the little sidewalk that led up to it. And my final memory of that house and of the porch was waiting for a man to take me skating. He didn't show. He just didn't show. He was replaced. It happened almost overnight. Don't get me wrong. I adore my Dad. He was the replacement. But for some reason I'm so goddamn melancholy now, and I think much has to do with that porch and that house and my unquestioning acceptance of men who don't show. And how I can just go to sleep. And how no one knows if something is wrong. It's all on that porch, with that little girl. Sitting by herself.
Sunday morning: I've had time to sleep on this. A lot of time to sleep. Some of it not so good, most of it very good. And I've had time to think about replacing the man who did not pick me up for skating. I know, as a woman, that he can not be replaced. I know, as a woman, that the hurts from long ago are the left-over hurts of a little girl who didn't understand why/how a man goes away. And I also know that I have carried these hurts with me, reliving them when someone leaves. I also know that I have fear of sitting on my porch alone, again. But each time I go through it, I am that much more aware of from where the pain springs. And I am not alone this very moment, this very day. I need not wait to be abandoned...for that is a waste of the miraculous life that I have now. And who is to say that it will happen again? I have no idea what the future holds. I simply have no idea. The woman is asking the little girl to step aside.
I grew up in that house. I was about three years old when we moved there. I think many of my memories of it aren't real though. They are simply imprinted from looking at photographs of myself and my family with the house in the background. A few instances I absolutely remember, though. I remember my first day of school. I walked home alone and I was so very lost. I remember crying and being terrified that I wouldn't make it to my house. I came upon it from the back yard. I didn't tell anyone what I'd done. I was afraid I would get in trouble.
I remember running away once. But I didn't know where to go. So I went in my room and went to sleep. It's something I've repeated throughout my life. If I don't know where to go. I go to sleep. Back then, they didn't even know I ran away. It still holds true today.
Back to the porch. I remember playing jacks on the porch. And hopscotch on the little sidewalk that led up to it. And my final memory of that house and of the porch was waiting for a man to take me skating. He didn't show. He just didn't show. He was replaced. It happened almost overnight. Don't get me wrong. I adore my Dad. He was the replacement. But for some reason I'm so goddamn melancholy now, and I think much has to do with that porch and that house and my unquestioning acceptance of men who don't show. And how I can just go to sleep. And how no one knows if something is wrong. It's all on that porch, with that little girl. Sitting by herself.
Sunday morning: I've had time to sleep on this. A lot of time to sleep. Some of it not so good, most of it very good. And I've had time to think about replacing the man who did not pick me up for skating. I know, as a woman, that he can not be replaced. I know, as a woman, that the hurts from long ago are the left-over hurts of a little girl who didn't understand why/how a man goes away. And I also know that I have carried these hurts with me, reliving them when someone leaves. I also know that I have fear of sitting on my porch alone, again. But each time I go through it, I am that much more aware of from where the pain springs. And I am not alone this very moment, this very day. I need not wait to be abandoned...for that is a waste of the miraculous life that I have now. And who is to say that it will happen again? I have no idea what the future holds. I simply have no idea. The woman is asking the little girl to step aside.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Uh, no thanks, not now.
7am appointment to get my mirror fixed on my car. I nudged one of those big ol' cement poles in a parking garage a couple years ago. The silly thing has been loose ever since. I kind of press it in place, it loosens up, I push it back on. It never really falls all the way off. But I know I can't drive through a car wash. That's ok, because I don't wash my car that often, and when I do, I don't mind doing it by hand anyway. It's kind of therapeutic for me to wash it, and dry it. It's kind of a Miyagi experience for me, I escape from the rest of the day for about an hour...nice.
But I finally reached that point on my to-do list, and got a verbal estimate from the service guy at the Chevy dealership. $47.00 plus "a little" to fix it. I sat in the customer service area today, drank a cup of what passed for coffee and read up on the latest fashion out of Paris and Milan. (If my Elle magazine ever stops coming, I fear I will perish!) After an hour, Jewels (my oh-so-friendly service manager) let me know that it can't be fixed!!!.
I need a new mirror. They will gladly order one for me, and of course, it will be black, so it will need to be painted. All for the happy, grand total of $400.00.
I said, okay...I'll be going out of town in a couple weeks, why don't I drop it off then? Sure, happy to set it up for me. (Of course he was, dammit!) I drove home. I walked in my apartment, thinking of my upcoming vacation.
You know what? I've been pressing that mirror into place about once a week for almost 2 years. My vacation is in less than 2 weeks.
I called Jewels. "Hey, guy...I don't know what I was thinking. I'd like you to cancel that order for that mirror. I'll call you when I'm ready."
He didn't sound surprised.
I'll continue to hand wash. And I'll enjoy my dollars in Cozumel more if I'm not thinking about that silly mirror.
But I finally reached that point on my to-do list, and got a verbal estimate from the service guy at the Chevy dealership. $47.00 plus "a little" to fix it. I sat in the customer service area today, drank a cup of what passed for coffee and read up on the latest fashion out of Paris and Milan. (If my Elle magazine ever stops coming, I fear I will perish!) After an hour, Jewels (my oh-so-friendly service manager) let me know that it can't be fixed!!!.
I need a new mirror. They will gladly order one for me, and of course, it will be black, so it will need to be painted. All for the happy, grand total of $400.00.
I said, okay...I'll be going out of town in a couple weeks, why don't I drop it off then? Sure, happy to set it up for me. (Of course he was, dammit!) I drove home. I walked in my apartment, thinking of my upcoming vacation.
You know what? I've been pressing that mirror into place about once a week for almost 2 years. My vacation is in less than 2 weeks.
I called Jewels. "Hey, guy...I don't know what I was thinking. I'd like you to cancel that order for that mirror. I'll call you when I'm ready."
He didn't sound surprised.
I'll continue to hand wash. And I'll enjoy my dollars in Cozumel more if I'm not thinking about that silly mirror.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Pledge to One's Self
A pledge to not,
to none, to self.
So there it sits
upon the shelf.
But how to do it?
How to be
the one where two
I thought I'd be?
Commit to void,
to empty space.
Turning 'round,
I caught your face.
Looking back in
my mind's eye,
as I walk off
we've said goodbyes.
It seemed the answer,
was so clear.
Now in this promise
is bred a fear
of holding on to nothing,
of losing for the sake
of winning an illusion
that isn't worth the stake.
I've written several pieces that received comments (on another blog site) from women regarding the fear we, as women, can face when making the decision to be alone. The interesting thing to me, is this. Strong women (and I suspect strong men, also) may be able to make incredibly difficult decisions at work without trepidation, but when faced with relationship decisions...we waiver, quiver, and question. Of course, we question, for emotions are at stake. But emotions are also wrapped around and through and tangled to the point of tripping us when perhaps we (I) should simply be stepping through the door. This was the case in the relationship that dragged on and on until I finally pledged to myself that being alone by myself was better than being alone next to someone.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Revisiting Gratitude
Long, long week. I was fed up and (at the same time) happy that I had not thrown in the towel. I'm being pushed, not stretched. I know this. A girlfriend called and asked if I wanted to meet up at a club for a night of dancing. Normally I would have jumped at the chance, but I am simply tired. I knew that there was a gathering at a quiet pub and that several of my friends would be there. I wanted to sit, to catch up. I needed to cool off mentally.
As soon as I walked in and caught sight of the first two at the table, my mood lifted. And the evening just got better. Great conversation, wide-open laughter, hugs...it was like medicine for me. I got home early, I slept well. This morning, I am reminded once again of all for which I am grateful. I could never make a complete list. It fills me. I am so thankful for the awareness of my blessings. The way I fill my hours in the day will be worked out. This will come to resolution. My life (the experience), and my living (not how I earn it) are such an adventure. Such a simple, pleasant, thrilling, excellent adventure.
My Gratitude
3/12/2007 8:56:23 PM
For sweet voices and the gift of familiar converse, I am grateful.
For time spent 'round the table, I am grateful.
For answers attempted to questions stammered, I am grateful.
For allowing tears to fall when they must, I am grateful.
For each day old friends grow older still - together, I am grateful.
For the opening of a circle to form one anew, I am grateful.
For yesterday, for today, for tonight, for tomorrow, I am grateful.
As soon as I walked in and caught sight of the first two at the table, my mood lifted. And the evening just got better. Great conversation, wide-open laughter, hugs...it was like medicine for me. I got home early, I slept well. This morning, I am reminded once again of all for which I am grateful. I could never make a complete list. It fills me. I am so thankful for the awareness of my blessings. The way I fill my hours in the day will be worked out. This will come to resolution. My life (the experience), and my living (not how I earn it) are such an adventure. Such a simple, pleasant, thrilling, excellent adventure.
My Gratitude
3/12/2007 8:56:23 PM
For sweet voices and the gift of familiar converse, I am grateful.
For time spent 'round the table, I am grateful.
For answers attempted to questions stammered, I am grateful.
For allowing tears to fall when they must, I am grateful.
For each day old friends grow older still - together, I am grateful.
For the opening of a circle to form one anew, I am grateful.
For yesterday, for today, for tonight, for tomorrow, I am grateful.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Folding Chair
I watched a woman.
She walked down the street carrying a folded folding chair.
She wore a black sack of a dress.
She carried her chair,
and a plastic sack,
and a conversation.
She conversed with herself as she walked in her
black sack dress,
and white canvas shoes.
Her legs were swollen
and folded over her white canvas shoes.
She stopped on the street and leaned on the
folded folding chair to pick at a sore on her leg.
All the while she carried on the conversation.
When she walked away, she left the plastic sack
on the street, but kept her chair and conversation with her.
10/21/06
She walked down the street carrying a folded folding chair.
She wore a black sack of a dress.
She carried her chair,
and a plastic sack,
and a conversation.
She conversed with herself as she walked in her
black sack dress,
and white canvas shoes.
Her legs were swollen
and folded over her white canvas shoes.
She stopped on the street and leaned on the
folded folding chair to pick at a sore on her leg.
All the while she carried on the conversation.
When she walked away, she left the plastic sack
on the street, but kept her chair and conversation with her.
10/21/06
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Running Not-So-Wild
Happy 4th! I got up early, early, early today to run the Run Wild 5K in Uptown Park. Pulled into the little upscale shopping center, fully expecting to duck into Starbucks and get some calories. Ack! Closed! What? What? Oh, right. Holiday. I found a McDonald's around the corner, though...and an english muffin. Ok, that disaster was averted. Disaster, heh.
Finally met up with my friend, Ken. We are often signed up for the same races. I see him at the start. He's faster than me. But it's nice to see a friendly face. (I never saw you again after the start, Ken...hope you had a good one!)
Light sprinkles, cloudy sky. It seemed deceivingly cool. It was humid as all get out. A woman sang the National Anthem and we were off. I felt it again. The same old heart-racing, can't catch my breath, adrenaline charge that I get at the start of each race. It would be super if only it didn't pull a mind f* on me. It does. I tried to pull back, but I was sucking air before I even got into the first quarter mile. I wonder if hypnosis would help?
Anyway, first mile, 8:30. Ok, that's good. I was calming down a little. 2nd mile, 17:00. Pace still where I wanted it to be. Then, I have no idea what happened. Well, maybe I do. I watched someone I know pass me. I recognized her as she ran by. I was surprised, because I knew she was there, but I would have thought she'd be quite a bit further up in the pack. I shouted out, "Go Maria." She waved a hand as she turned on her kick. And I felt my energy flag. Oh no, I was slowing down! In my training, the 3rd mile is where I speed up to an 8 minute pace. I rounded the 3 mile mark and had to push to come in to the finish at 28:30. That's a 9:08 pace.
It was a good time for me. I don't know where I finished in my bracket, although I suspect it wasn't as high as I had hoped. And this is where I think I need to get my head in line. I need to compete with myself, not the rest of the pack. I'm only running for myself. This is a solo sport for me. But when I was passed up, I felt deflated, I slowed down. There is work to be done around this. I feel it. Oh, and there are Clif bars to be purchased and to be kept in the car. No more showing up on race day with an empty stomach. Bad form, that.
Finally met up with my friend, Ken. We are often signed up for the same races. I see him at the start. He's faster than me. But it's nice to see a friendly face. (I never saw you again after the start, Ken...hope you had a good one!)
Light sprinkles, cloudy sky. It seemed deceivingly cool. It was humid as all get out. A woman sang the National Anthem and we were off. I felt it again. The same old heart-racing, can't catch my breath, adrenaline charge that I get at the start of each race. It would be super if only it didn't pull a mind f* on me. It does. I tried to pull back, but I was sucking air before I even got into the first quarter mile. I wonder if hypnosis would help?
Anyway, first mile, 8:30. Ok, that's good. I was calming down a little. 2nd mile, 17:00. Pace still where I wanted it to be. Then, I have no idea what happened. Well, maybe I do. I watched someone I know pass me. I recognized her as she ran by. I was surprised, because I knew she was there, but I would have thought she'd be quite a bit further up in the pack. I shouted out, "Go Maria." She waved a hand as she turned on her kick. And I felt my energy flag. Oh no, I was slowing down! In my training, the 3rd mile is where I speed up to an 8 minute pace. I rounded the 3 mile mark and had to push to come in to the finish at 28:30. That's a 9:08 pace.
It was a good time for me. I don't know where I finished in my bracket, although I suspect it wasn't as high as I had hoped. And this is where I think I need to get my head in line. I need to compete with myself, not the rest of the pack. I'm only running for myself. This is a solo sport for me. But when I was passed up, I felt deflated, I slowed down. There is work to be done around this. I feel it. Oh, and there are Clif bars to be purchased and to be kept in the car. No more showing up on race day with an empty stomach. Bad form, that.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Her Sacrifice
Introspection strikes again. I've heard, and I believe, that the "next step", the big stretch in writing poetry, comes when one can step out of the autobiographic. I'm trying, but so many fantastic things have happened and continue to happen in my life that the task is difficult. I use the word "fantastic" in it's most literal sense: Some recent occurrences seem to be conceived of the most unrestrained imagination. They are nearly remarkable. They are marvelous. So I am left with my thoughts when I am quiet. Again...I am in my head. And I am drawn to comparative speculation. I am drawn to this autobiographic piece from earlier this year. I am sad as I read it. But with my sadness also comes acceptance that I needed to go through those emotions. I am grateful for the happiness and joy I feel each day, for the sadness I've experienced...because that sadness allows me to be comparative and to appreciate my joy...and for the courage to realize that this was about me when I wrote it.
Her Sacrifice
Internally apologetic,
She steadies the craft before she embarks.
Calm is her credo,
Or so it seems.
Like a lamb, she stares dumb-faced.
Sacrificially stupid and willing
To take the blunt force
Of the blow.
Amassed on the deck are
More sisters, more sheep.
Some seem to know better
But none will turn back.
The wind has turned cold
And the hour is now late.
This is her solitary meal of
Warmed-over optimism,
Served on a teak-smooth
Plank of hope.
Splashed by salty waves,
She sails toward her extinction.
1/21/2007 5:41:18 PM
Her Sacrifice
Internally apologetic,
She steadies the craft before she embarks.
Calm is her credo,
Or so it seems.
Like a lamb, she stares dumb-faced.
Sacrificially stupid and willing
To take the blunt force
Of the blow.
Amassed on the deck are
More sisters, more sheep.
Some seem to know better
But none will turn back.
The wind has turned cold
And the hour is now late.
This is her solitary meal of
Warmed-over optimism,
Served on a teak-smooth
Plank of hope.
Splashed by salty waves,
She sails toward her extinction.
1/21/2007 5:41:18 PM
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Looking Into the Future
I know horoscopes are, as my Grandmother used to say, a bunch of hooey. But sometimes, when I'm just not quite sure what's going on around me, I'll check out the forecast for Pisces and see if it's applicable to my current situation. It usually is. I know. I know. I can twist anything to fit. But at least it's another way for me to view my circumstances, another angle. And so it goes with tomorrow's words:
Negotiate relationships between coworkers today, and you will earn major points.
I can approach this about a dozen different ways. I need to approach this in at least three or four. Tomorrow should be interesting. I look forward to it. I really do.
Edited to add: After posting this I started thinking about my day...and a conversation I had with a colleague about what we (she and I) see almost every day. It's tough. We don't admit that to too many people. I remembered a blog entry from awhile back. And I realized that I had literally shoved a very tough day right to the back of my mind. Today was not good. Today was bad. And I left work, got busy with errands, and then cleaned my apartment for a couple hours. What was I cleaning, anyway? Perhaps I was cleaning away my day. I don't know. Anyway. I think one reason I blog is to get this stuff out. So here it is. From today and from some yesterdays ago. I think it helps me.
Burn on, don't burn out.
5/4/2007 6:13:14 PM
Today brought a relentless procession of "not good".
Sad. Tragic.
Oh. My. God. Don't. Make. Me. Consider. That.
They just kept coming.
I can handle one or two a day. I can handle three, sort of.
But seven-thirty to three, with only a couple of breaks to run to the bathroom, Too much to handle. At least not on a regular basis. Good thing I don't have to. This is not the norm.
And all I wanted to do was get out of there and get into me. But I'm not quite me yet. And I had some of me chipped away today. Rather, I think I gave some of me away. They seemed to need it/her/me more than I did.
*sigh*
I want to do what is right for me. I want to take a bit. But that seems to be too much (to ask) at this very moment in time. Here's the thing. I wonder if this isn't just an easy way (to be sad) sometimes. An easy out. For those of us who are in it up to our necks. Seems I could admit to the other things that are eating at me...but I don't have to, if I have this. This sadness. So again... I want to do what is right for me. I want to take a bit. But just what is too much for this moment in time? For what do I ask and from whom?
Negotiate relationships between coworkers today, and you will earn major points.
I can approach this about a dozen different ways. I need to approach this in at least three or four. Tomorrow should be interesting. I look forward to it. I really do.
Edited to add: After posting this I started thinking about my day...and a conversation I had with a colleague about what we (she and I) see almost every day. It's tough. We don't admit that to too many people. I remembered a blog entry from awhile back. And I realized that I had literally shoved a very tough day right to the back of my mind. Today was not good. Today was bad. And I left work, got busy with errands, and then cleaned my apartment for a couple hours. What was I cleaning, anyway? Perhaps I was cleaning away my day. I don't know. Anyway. I think one reason I blog is to get this stuff out. So here it is. From today and from some yesterdays ago. I think it helps me.
Burn on, don't burn out.
5/4/2007 6:13:14 PM
Today brought a relentless procession of "not good".
Sad. Tragic.
Oh. My. God. Don't. Make. Me. Consider. That.
They just kept coming.
I can handle one or two a day. I can handle three, sort of.
But seven-thirty to three, with only a couple of breaks to run to the bathroom, Too much to handle. At least not on a regular basis. Good thing I don't have to. This is not the norm.
And all I wanted to do was get out of there and get into me. But I'm not quite me yet. And I had some of me chipped away today. Rather, I think I gave some of me away. They seemed to need it/her/me more than I did.
*sigh*
I want to do what is right for me. I want to take a bit. But that seems to be too much (to ask) at this very moment in time. Here's the thing. I wonder if this isn't just an easy way (to be sad) sometimes. An easy out. For those of us who are in it up to our necks. Seems I could admit to the other things that are eating at me...but I don't have to, if I have this. This sadness. So again... I want to do what is right for me. I want to take a bit. But just what is too much for this moment in time? For what do I ask and from whom?
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Midweek Meanderings
This was a day for trying to accomplish little tasks and for taking my time doing just that. Trying to meet those two goals in concurrence took some effort. I'm not sure if is realistic to expect to relax on my one day out of the office during the work week, but I tried. Harry helped. Harry Connick, Jr. More about him in a little bit.
First, let me digress. I want to join the ranks of those who are speaking out in scorn and disdain of the evil monster dubbed "BlackBerry". The vile creature has been vibrating at me all day. I've attempted to set the profile (whatever the hell that is) so that the little beast will not notify me of new emails, only pages. But nooooo! It won't obey me. It has it's own agenda, which I believe is to remind me each 3 or 4 minutes that I am a slave to the State of Texas. Prior to receiving this 5 by 8 centimeter piece of potential rancor, I considered myself a mere employee of the former Republic. Yuch, yuch, yuch.
So, back to Wednesday. I drove over to the Galleria area first thing this morning. Needed to pick up W's mail. I'm so glad there are quick ways around 610 traffic. It was just zip in, and zip out. Easy cheezy. Yea!
Then to see my dentist. What a hoot she is. Just making sure things are ok because I lost a little filling and I don't want to go to Mexico if there is work to be done. She reassured me, and she'll fix it in a couple weeks. She is always so BIG with her hand gestures, and words, and expressions. I suggested that she might want to come observe surgery with me and she was so very excited at the prospect. I kind of got a little lost in her parking garage trying to find my car. Had to just laugh at myself. I mean, really, I can find my way all over Houston, but lose my car in a garage. I found it...eventually.
I'm trying to find Astros jerseys. I guess Hunter Pence doesn't have an official jersey out yet. I found a kid's XL tshirt for me. It'll do until I find something else. The guy working the counter at Sports Authority wasn't so helpful.
Me: "I'm wondering when you might have Hunter Pence jerseys available."
Him: "Who?"
Me: "Hunter Pence, he plays for the Astros???"
Him: "What's he play?"
Me: "Center field. Really?"
Him: "What's his name?"
Me: "Hey, thanks anyway."
Sports Authority, rriiight.
Next was DSW. That's shoes. Ok. For me, it's like a bakery when I'm on a strict diet. I tried on the Laurens, and bought the keds, on sale for $15. I might as well have smelled chocolate and had sugar free gum. Damn those Laurens looked good.
I ducked into The Container Store. That's got to be one of the silliest stores I've ever seen. Who needs all that stuff? A person can buy a special canvas pocketed container to hang on the front door to make sure he doesn't forget to take things with him when he leaves his place in the morning. For the low, low price of $12.99. Or, he could do it my way. Set things on the corner of the table by the door. Sheesh!
Somewhere in between all that I stopped by my car dealer and my guy says he can fix my broken mirror for less than a hundred bucks. Cool. And Central Market helped me stock up on fresh veggies and fruit.
Oh, and Harry? Lovely, lovely music all morning long. Voice so smooth and lyrics so open and romantic. His music is all someone sappy like me could possibly hope for. I'm a big fan of Wednesdays such as this. I sailed through my morning. And I took that beast off my hip. I started checking for pages every 15 minutes or so. That way, I was in charge.
First, let me digress. I want to join the ranks of those who are speaking out in scorn and disdain of the evil monster dubbed "BlackBerry". The vile creature has been vibrating at me all day. I've attempted to set the profile (whatever the hell that is) so that the little beast will not notify me of new emails, only pages. But nooooo! It won't obey me. It has it's own agenda, which I believe is to remind me each 3 or 4 minutes that I am a slave to the State of Texas. Prior to receiving this 5 by 8 centimeter piece of potential rancor, I considered myself a mere employee of the former Republic. Yuch, yuch, yuch.
So, back to Wednesday. I drove over to the Galleria area first thing this morning. Needed to pick up W's mail. I'm so glad there are quick ways around 610 traffic. It was just zip in, and zip out. Easy cheezy. Yea!
Then to see my dentist. What a hoot she is. Just making sure things are ok because I lost a little filling and I don't want to go to Mexico if there is work to be done. She reassured me, and she'll fix it in a couple weeks. She is always so BIG with her hand gestures, and words, and expressions. I suggested that she might want to come observe surgery with me and she was so very excited at the prospect. I kind of got a little lost in her parking garage trying to find my car. Had to just laugh at myself. I mean, really, I can find my way all over Houston, but lose my car in a garage. I found it...eventually.
I'm trying to find Astros jerseys. I guess Hunter Pence doesn't have an official jersey out yet. I found a kid's XL tshirt for me. It'll do until I find something else. The guy working the counter at Sports Authority wasn't so helpful.
Me: "I'm wondering when you might have Hunter Pence jerseys available."
Him: "Who?"
Me: "Hunter Pence, he plays for the Astros???"
Him: "What's he play?"
Me: "Center field. Really?"
Him: "What's his name?"
Me: "Hey, thanks anyway."
Sports Authority, rriiight.
Next was DSW. That's shoes. Ok. For me, it's like a bakery when I'm on a strict diet. I tried on the Laurens, and bought the keds, on sale for $15. I might as well have smelled chocolate and had sugar free gum. Damn those Laurens looked good.
I ducked into The Container Store. That's got to be one of the silliest stores I've ever seen. Who needs all that stuff? A person can buy a special canvas pocketed container to hang on the front door to make sure he doesn't forget to take things with him when he leaves his place in the morning. For the low, low price of $12.99. Or, he could do it my way. Set things on the corner of the table by the door. Sheesh!
Somewhere in between all that I stopped by my car dealer and my guy says he can fix my broken mirror for less than a hundred bucks. Cool. And Central Market helped me stock up on fresh veggies and fruit.
Oh, and Harry? Lovely, lovely music all morning long. Voice so smooth and lyrics so open and romantic. His music is all someone sappy like me could possibly hope for. I'm a big fan of Wednesdays such as this. I sailed through my morning. And I took that beast off my hip. I started checking for pages every 15 minutes or so. That way, I was in charge.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Hours Gone but Not Lost
One down, I'm not sure how many more to go. I think there are ten or twelve. I'm working on the illustrations for a children's book. I decided to try this myself. Why not? I've surprised myself in other arenas lately.
Researching the paper, selecting the paints and brushes was fun. I wasn't completely lost, but it's outside my normal realm of daily activity, so it was interesting and just scientific enough to fool me into thinking I was using parts of my brain that are used to getting a workout. Then I sat down at my kitchen table last night with my supplies spread out before me. Oh!My!God! What the hell was I thinking?
I zenned those thoughts away from me, gave them a nudge with the psychic back of my hand and simply started. I painted many, many rosebuds...some soft, some bright. Then I had it. One large free form flower with a single leaf. I'm not even sure if an adult would call it a rosebud. But I think a child will believe it when he or she sees it. And that is what I want. I want a child to believe it.
What I believe after spending time with those rosebuds is that time can become suspended in the pursuit of art. I've experienced it with writing, and with music, and now with this lovely thing called "belief in oneself while one paints".
Researching the paper, selecting the paints and brushes was fun. I wasn't completely lost, but it's outside my normal realm of daily activity, so it was interesting and just scientific enough to fool me into thinking I was using parts of my brain that are used to getting a workout. Then I sat down at my kitchen table last night with my supplies spread out before me. Oh!My!God! What the hell was I thinking?
I zenned those thoughts away from me, gave them a nudge with the psychic back of my hand and simply started. I painted many, many rosebuds...some soft, some bright. Then I had it. One large free form flower with a single leaf. I'm not even sure if an adult would call it a rosebud. But I think a child will believe it when he or she sees it. And that is what I want. I want a child to believe it.
What I believe after spending time with those rosebuds is that time can become suspended in the pursuit of art. I've experienced it with writing, and with music, and now with this lovely thing called "belief in oneself while one paints".
Monday, June 25, 2007
My Time, Our Time
He's off to another world today. At least it seems like it. We've been apart almost as much as we've been together, since we've been together. But when we're together, it's dedicated time. I used to smirk at the phrase, "quality time". Now I understand. Now I get it.
This weekend I called myself a Texan, a Houstonian. As I move away from being a Kansan, I wonder if I am leaving behind my whirlwind patterns. Am I allowing myself to finally relax? There is no longer the need to be a tornado, to spin through a room, picking up, organizing, fixing, checking.
I am four years away from my old life, five years out of my old shell, fifteen years free from my old walls. The thing is, I do not want to measure my life in years backward anymore. I am now breathing one breath in, one breath out. This day is mine. This moment is ours to seize and to spend with all the vigor and joy we can possibly manage. And with each breath, I smell the freshness of the days to come, the quality of my life, my time.
One day...one day I will again measure my life backward. Possibly from this day. Possibly from the day that I put down in words that the Kansas tornado is now simply breathing and living in Texas, one day at a time. I am living quality Texas time, appreciating the time that I spend alone, and with him.
This weekend I called myself a Texan, a Houstonian. As I move away from being a Kansan, I wonder if I am leaving behind my whirlwind patterns. Am I allowing myself to finally relax? There is no longer the need to be a tornado, to spin through a room, picking up, organizing, fixing, checking.
I am four years away from my old life, five years out of my old shell, fifteen years free from my old walls. The thing is, I do not want to measure my life in years backward anymore. I am now breathing one breath in, one breath out. This day is mine. This moment is ours to seize and to spend with all the vigor and joy we can possibly manage. And with each breath, I smell the freshness of the days to come, the quality of my life, my time.
One day...one day I will again measure my life backward. Possibly from this day. Possibly from the day that I put down in words that the Kansas tornado is now simply breathing and living in Texas, one day at a time. I am living quality Texas time, appreciating the time that I spend alone, and with him.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Mothers' Day Revisited
Time spent with two very special young people in a car today inspired me to pull out this piece. It's from Mothers Day 2007. I'm getting a little different perspective about kids right now. Being 47 and spending time around two little ones who aren't my own is certainly different than being in my early 20's and having all that responsibility...but I'm smiling a lot. And there are new lessons to be learned, I'm sure.
When The Student is Ready...
...the teacher appears, or so the saying goes. Mothers' Day came and went without much fanfare this year. I had my yearly "discussion" with my mom. She's not living anymore. I have this little talk with her each year. I like to think she's listening. I thank her for her sacrifices and let her know I'm still pretty pissed off, but working through it. I am now only about as bitter as the best chocolate, not so much like wild onions dug up in the back yard in early June.
Mother's Day was very difficult for a few years and then a good friend pointed out that I should maybe get my act together and think about the fact that my kids might want to celebrate me, of all things. He said I might want to quit wallowing in my own sorrow long enough to realize that I was still a mom, that the holiday was going to go on whether I wanted it to or not, and that I was depriving my children of the chance to be truly appreciated for their efforts. Talk about a harsh dose of reality. And a much needed one, at that.
My children are grown. I did not get to see them this year, but they called on the phone. In fact, both of them called earlier in the week, and mentioned that they would talk to me Sunday. I miss them. Of course I wish we could be together on Mothers' Day, but it is what it is. They are out living their dreams and I am thrilled for them.
Watching them grow into their dreams is so exciting for me. Here are a few of the lessons I've learned from them. They are great teachers.
Take a chance. Grab it, run with it, believe in your own strengths.
Make introductions, and don't forget to include yourself.
Give a second chance.
A dog makes a wonderful pillow.
Tea parties don't have to be elaborate, but the imagination should be.
A drive in a car can be a good time to talk, or a better time to be quiet, together.
Privacy is a thing to be respected.
The moment when you reach the arc...at the top of the swing is the best.
Moms can pitch, and sons want us to.
When The Student is Ready...
...the teacher appears, or so the saying goes. Mothers' Day came and went without much fanfare this year. I had my yearly "discussion" with my mom. She's not living anymore. I have this little talk with her each year. I like to think she's listening. I thank her for her sacrifices and let her know I'm still pretty pissed off, but working through it. I am now only about as bitter as the best chocolate, not so much like wild onions dug up in the back yard in early June.
Mother's Day was very difficult for a few years and then a good friend pointed out that I should maybe get my act together and think about the fact that my kids might want to celebrate me, of all things. He said I might want to quit wallowing in my own sorrow long enough to realize that I was still a mom, that the holiday was going to go on whether I wanted it to or not, and that I was depriving my children of the chance to be truly appreciated for their efforts. Talk about a harsh dose of reality. And a much needed one, at that.
My children are grown. I did not get to see them this year, but they called on the phone. In fact, both of them called earlier in the week, and mentioned that they would talk to me Sunday. I miss them. Of course I wish we could be together on Mothers' Day, but it is what it is. They are out living their dreams and I am thrilled for them.
Watching them grow into their dreams is so exciting for me. Here are a few of the lessons I've learned from them. They are great teachers.
Take a chance. Grab it, run with it, believe in your own strengths.
Make introductions, and don't forget to include yourself.
Give a second chance.
A dog makes a wonderful pillow.
Tea parties don't have to be elaborate, but the imagination should be.
A drive in a car can be a good time to talk, or a better time to be quiet, together.
Privacy is a thing to be respected.
The moment when you reach the arc...at the top of the swing is the best.
Moms can pitch, and sons want us to.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Where I Sit
I work in an office of women. Right, I'm not there so often. We're each, in our own time, off to the operating room or the clinic, but on rare occasions, we end up at our desks at the same time...all six of us. Our ages range from late 20's to late 50's. We've come to know each other quite well over the last year. That's when we underwent the most recent addition to our team.
Lately, some of the women in our office have been faced with incredibly difficult life challenges. Family issues are causing strife and pain. Those of us who are sitting in a comfortable place on any given day are doing our best, between patient phone calls and paperwork, to listen and show support.
I'm at one of those stages (blessed? lucky?) where things are going very well. I'm entirely aware of my circumstances. My children are healthy and seem to be doing quite well in school. I'm healthy and happy. My father is good. No problem looms so large as to cause me undue stress at this moment on my timeline. In fact things are going so well that one woman in my office accused me of living a "Golden Life". And she said it with a tinge of (my perception) bitterness, quickly followed by a laugh. I didn't quite know how to take that at first. But I am thankful, indeed.
I introspect. To the point of perseveration at times. But focusing on the good is OK, I suppose. The counterpoint is unthinkable.
In cleaning out the closets of my previous blog, I came across this entry from January. Seems that this feeling I have is not a flash in the pan. Thank God. Thank God.
Looking Back
1/29/2007 5:58:50 PM
Living in a state of peace and calm as I never would have imagined twenty, ten...even five years ago, I had to remind myself not to take it all for granted this morning. The temptation is strong to simply live in the moment. "Why look back?, Why not just accept things as wonderful and move on?" I came from a place of chaos, of disorder. It is almost as if another woman stepped in and took the place of me. She grew up and filled my shoes while I was busy scrambling to survive.
But I know. I know that this is not a fairy tale. This change has been born of mistakes and the sort of gut work that demands evaluation. That, and something else. For what gift is blind growth? I can not make an assumption of random benevolence. I believe there has been a partnership at work, shaping my past, my present and my future.
Examination of my steps, with acknowledgement of choices, mishaps and yes...I will admit it...at times dumb luck, with my responses to the same, may determine an even more satisfying horizon that I can only begin to allow myself to imagine.
Lately, some of the women in our office have been faced with incredibly difficult life challenges. Family issues are causing strife and pain. Those of us who are sitting in a comfortable place on any given day are doing our best, between patient phone calls and paperwork, to listen and show support.
I'm at one of those stages (blessed? lucky?) where things are going very well. I'm entirely aware of my circumstances. My children are healthy and seem to be doing quite well in school. I'm healthy and happy. My father is good. No problem looms so large as to cause me undue stress at this moment on my timeline. In fact things are going so well that one woman in my office accused me of living a "Golden Life". And she said it with a tinge of (my perception) bitterness, quickly followed by a laugh. I didn't quite know how to take that at first. But I am thankful, indeed.
I introspect. To the point of perseveration at times. But focusing on the good is OK, I suppose. The counterpoint is unthinkable.
In cleaning out the closets of my previous blog, I came across this entry from January. Seems that this feeling I have is not a flash in the pan. Thank God. Thank God.
Looking Back
1/29/2007 5:58:50 PM
Living in a state of peace and calm as I never would have imagined twenty, ten...even five years ago, I had to remind myself not to take it all for granted this morning. The temptation is strong to simply live in the moment. "Why look back?, Why not just accept things as wonderful and move on?" I came from a place of chaos, of disorder. It is almost as if another woman stepped in and took the place of me. She grew up and filled my shoes while I was busy scrambling to survive.
But I know. I know that this is not a fairy tale. This change has been born of mistakes and the sort of gut work that demands evaluation. That, and something else. For what gift is blind growth? I can not make an assumption of random benevolence. I believe there has been a partnership at work, shaping my past, my present and my future.
Examination of my steps, with acknowledgement of choices, mishaps and yes...I will admit it...at times dumb luck, with my responses to the same, may determine an even more satisfying horizon that I can only begin to allow myself to imagine.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Changes in Attitude
If you're an HC friend, and you've done your detective work, you've found me here. THIS is my goodbye post. I'm outta there. If I love you, you know it. We've undoubtedly already exchanged phone numbers or emails, so we'll keep in touch that way. If we haven't, and you think we should have, let me know through a comment here, and we'll figure it out.
I've copied all my favorite pieces and I will probably post some of them here. I'd like to get some other feedback and I want to expand my writing. I'm excited about all the changes in my life.
I'll see you around. M
I've copied all my favorite pieces and I will probably post some of them here. I'd like to get some other feedback and I want to expand my writing. I'm excited about all the changes in my life.
I'll see you around. M
Dumbstruck
What needs to be said,
Sits behind my eyes.
It betrays me to others
With silent revelation.
What needs to be said,
Steals into my room while I sleep,
Then storms through my slumber
With unexpected fierceness.
What needs to be said,
Impedes my very speech.
Words stick in my throat.
I am dumbstruck.
3/05/07
Sits behind my eyes.
It betrays me to others
With silent revelation.
What needs to be said,
Steals into my room while I sleep,
Then storms through my slumber
With unexpected fierceness.
What needs to be said,
Impedes my very speech.
Words stick in my throat.
I am dumbstruck.
3/05/07
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
And...
And in this word is forward.
And in this word is trust.
And in this word inclusion.
And in this word is us.
And in this word lies healing.
And in this word is care.
And in this word is mentor.
And in this word some dare.
And in this word is teacher.
And in this word is truth.
And in this word is father.
And in this word wait youth.
And in this word no limits.
And in this word move on.
And in this word more hope springs.
And in this word new dawn.
For W. H. June 17, 2007
And in this word is trust.
And in this word inclusion.
And in this word is us.
And in this word lies healing.
And in this word is care.
And in this word is mentor.
And in this word some dare.
And in this word is teacher.
And in this word is truth.
And in this word is father.
And in this word wait youth.
And in this word no limits.
And in this word move on.
And in this word more hope springs.
And in this word new dawn.
For W. H. June 17, 2007
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