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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.