possibility.

I wanted to give you all a short update on my health. A lot has happened over the past few weeks, and I haven't shared any of it; I've been focusing on living in those in-between moments instead, the ones that have nothing to do with my body and how it feels. So to make a very long story short: Found a wonderful doctor, one who has experienced the exact type of problem that I've had for so long (bonus!), had 15 steroid shots put into the muscles around my shoulders and neck, and now I'll be going back tomorrow for another injection in my spine, one that will help with the slight bulge I have in one disc and the arthritis (I'm actually 80) that I have in several. I'm not all that apprehensive over the actual procedure...I'm more concerned with how I'll feel afterward. The last round wasn't a picnic; I was extremely nauseated and achy for several days.

I've reached that point where I'm willing to try anything, just to see. And if it causes suffering, then...so be it. Suffering is something I'm well acquainted with. It passes. I'm not a hard-ass by any means, but I've learned that much about pain, that it will eventually move on, or morph into something else.

The thing is--and I'm trying and failing to not get ahead of myself here--is that this could be the thing. The thing that finally helps enough to get me back to the person I remember being.

Maybe I could dance again one day. I almost can't fathom it. It's too much.

Calm, calm, calm. I know. I have stocked up on oatmeal and broth and bananas and prayers. I'm waiting.

xo

strappy.

My husband got me a new pair of sandals.

big.

weekending.

1. a tiny bouquet from Hayden.
2. the ever-changing windowsill installation.
3. a surprise while watering plants.
4. a date with Picasso.
5. Hayden's smoothie of choice: blueberry and banana.
6. the Batman.

pair of flowers.

wild tulip and sun rose; pencil and watercolor on cold-pressed paper

I've abandoned the typical chores today, favoring instead pulling weeds and painting. My mind is full of frustration and questions that can't be answered due to the events in Boston. When everything else is a terrible mess, we can choose to create something beautiful. We're given that much power.

healing in the sunlight.

I spent most of today, my birthday, out in the sun with my husband. It was enough for me.

breathing underwater.

I promised I'd write a little about my recent life, only now I sit here not knowing what to say. This happens to me a lot. I keep stumbling over myself, realizing that nothing much new ever happens to me, and so then feeling like I have nothing to talk to people about. I suppose--really--I'm feeling bleak and insecure. I am also searching for the light like a woman possessed, anywhere I can find it, to combat the bleak and the insecure. Music, food, poetry, painting, exercise, blogs, my family, my friends.

I guess this is the business of life, isn't it? To keep all your invisible pathways and windows flung open so that the light can get in. I know this and still I shut them, shut down. I go to bed. I sit and stare out the window, not-seeing what I could see and un-knowing what I know.

Could I talk to you about my health problems? I could, maybe even should, but I don't want to. They bore me. I'm getting really fed up with this trend in my life, that the only "events" are terrible ones involving my ridiculous excuse for a body. I am fed up with myself. I almost--and I know it's melodramatic, but bear with me--feel like this, the me that all can see, is not really me. Like I've been reincarnated into this defective husk as punishment for previous sins in previous lives. I feel there is so much left inside of me and worry that it will never, ever be allowed to show.

Right now there is a lot of doing what needs done. I feed my family and get on the elliptical and take my bath. I write out my meager budget and try to paint or scribble a poem. I go outside and look at birds. I pray. I feel all the pain and the aching of my body throughout and in between and I lock myself in the bathroom and cry, sobbing the silent sobs of a person so filled with grief that they can't make a sound. And then I wash my face and reapply my mascara and go on to the next thing that needs done.

I can't think about the future anymore.