insomnia

Posting pictures and digging around for music that will pull me up out of the pits from the misery of some Uighur men....

I should be in bed.

when you aren't brave enough to retire

today i learned about blogging pervy words

It gets you linked by perv bots and so people who like to look at smut will click into your blog. Pervs need the help as badly as anyone else I guess, but what an ignominious distinction! I talk about a really unpervy dream but it somehow alerts them. At least they think it's excellent. That's nice... even from porn hounds.

a lot of it is the stiffness in the fabric of conditions

I'm not finding the openings for manifestation of positive intent. Karma isn't lightening enough for movement. Or, another way of saying it is I am not lightening enough for movement. I weigh nothing when my head is in the right place. A great deal of this has been the trouble with my thyroid gland, and that is on its way to being alleviated.

Just today my mom handed me a circular from the local hospital's wellness program that said "Is it menopause or your thyroid?" and listed all the things to watch for. Now they tell me! I'm glad they're onto the problem out there, but I really, really, really wish they'd have mentioned it five years ago, when these awful symptoms started getting darn irksome on up into darn scary. People can DIE from this stuff you know. We might not even know if the problems with my gait and the leg cramping was from the myelopathy or the freaking near-zero Vitamin D in my blood.

I gotta be glad in any case because I'd be in a wheelchair right now from the fender bender with Mom last summer if not for my spine surgery, but I'm really bummed about these years with my brain fog and horrifying lack of pep enough to even go to the store until it was go or starve.

I'm a damn maniac who goes dreamy about the prospect of spending weeks in the driving winter rains reforesting cutover timberlands. I miss it so badly, I can't begin to express it.

No kidding. I'm not letting the doctors shrug it off until this is completely diagnosed and treated. Sitting in my house a befogged and listless wreck is NOT better than being dead.

loves

Gorgeous....

i sleep in the orchid room

...and the moon pokes through the slats in the blinds. Woozily gazing through flickering lids, my heart flies through the slats to the musical cosmos and I kiss that moon on my way by.

Poppa vacuums on Thursdays while Mom's at the grocery store, and so yesterday, as always when I'm here, I went out into the back yard to escape the nerve-blasting offense to my system that is the all-American vacuum cleaner. For some reason he won't acknowledge, he felt it had to be done again this morning at 7:38am. It's obvious that he thought Mom was at the grocery store instead of in the bathroom, and it was Thursday afternoon all over again for him this morning. I stood, blearier than you even want to think about next to the coffee machine, Zenning away all the hate juice such racket harks up, and Mom said, "I can't believe you didn't leap up screaming at him!" I couldn't say, because he was right there, no, Mom, I can't scream at him when he is confused.

We sat in the living room with our coffee while Mom pored over her morning paper in the kitchen. Poppa was explaining to me that the doctor wants him to come in for a consultation, the date for which is forever escaping him, and that's the one where they tell you how much time you have left before you go get to see what's on the other side. I told him that even if his polycystic kidneys completely shut down, there are kidney dialysis machines they give you to use at home, and they wouldn't be telling him when his number will be up. This reminded him of the onetime neighbor with the same problem, which reminded him of the guy's really sweet wife, which made him start crying for a moment.

My father has been a paragon of the proverbial rock my whole life. The safety zone from whom competence and decisiveness unerringly preëmpts anything like dithering or emoting or tears. I once had to bring him home from a procedure where they had to knock him out. He was unsteady from the anesthesia and it almost made my blood vessels evaporate to see him like that. It's going to be like that from now on.

Beautiful moon, beautiful moon, you will be my father too soon.

just a snippet

Seems to me Dashiell Hammett wrote about right now a long time ago, I think, the book was called Red Harvest. Stone cold criminals at all levels of government. One man came in and brought it all down. Damn, I wish Hammett were still alive.

Back to bed now. Gotta get in Goldie and drive soon enough....