About Me

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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Saturday, February 20, 2010

house of pain

insidiousness is the migraine.

it swirls throughout the head; an uncontrollable tornado that decimates the strong.

awake from dusk 'til dawn; desperate for unvisited relief. i twitch and writhe, a demon possessed. clinging to the life raft of an all too brief respite. the welcome ebb of throbbing pangs underscored by the insistent, returning flow of unspeakable misery.

cerebral, searing knives on an unforgiving mission.

["gimme shelter"]

a slice of humble pie inflicted upon the strongest souls. trapped in a locked metal cage; this key tossed far away into the vast desert sand...


hysterical digging; a sandstorm incurred; nails broken by pebbles and sand. horizontal rest impossible. my head filled with blood; my neck dense like desert stones.

["reel me in and cut my throat"]

but with clinging droplets upon my chin; i sigh. gazing within; profound reflection.

oh, how breathy waves through the trees stir wonder within...

meant to be on this path; my universal destiny. pain and suffering - pervasive. oh, how i long for my vanished dreams; a pain free, graceful existence.

a weakened body; but a soaring soul. will you come with me to my mountainous peaks that inspire? swim with me down the river of babylon. compassion paddles this boat; navigating the waves that drown; conquering the rapids...

["ye-eah we wept, when we remembered zion"]

and each day, i breathe in and out, in and out. in and out.

and with deep breaths and open hands; i hold my heart close and attempt to smile.

go forth and endeavor. with a body still mine.

still mine.

Friday, February 19, 2010

grace under fire

what a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man...

the last time i was at the gym, i watched this man struggle over to his car. he shuffled with a walker and his cankles were larger than my thighs. but he showed up. he made the effort. it took him, conservatively, 10 minutes to reach his his car. i watched him in awe; amazed by his fortitude.

and so i wondered. amazed by the indolence of folk. if this guy can show up; why can't others?

what is his story? in the club of the chronically ill? i often feel alone; scared and overwhelmed; but in watching this man struggle, i felt a connection. a partner in crime. my peep.

does he feel my frustrations? bound by physical limitations?

perhaps past behaviors led him to this point. imbalanced actions he now regrets. but, i'm one to talk. a pill-popping, deeply depressed woman, i navigate this ship of fools-and barely.

who are your heroes? the ones who fill your eyes with stars; striking your soul ablaze? i have always struggled with this answer, for i have always come up short.

society has it's own ideas, of which i care very little. the oh, so very north american accomplishments, that have an appropriate place, but serve up empty calories for the soul.

and so this guy. his gym visit a leaden albatross he tossed off with the grace of a feathery boa, showed me the milky way...

and with the shy smile he sent my way, i found my first hero.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

and the nominees are...

15 years ago, i lived the alternate universe i referenced in my last post (“requiem for a dream”). i was on a tv series, engaged to the love of my life and, surpassing every other blessing, i was strong, fit and healthy. unchained. health was a gift i blissfully took for granted. yup. although i have taken medication, every day, twice a day, for nearly 28 years, there was a period when it became as rote as pouring a daily cup of java.

there was no wrong side of the bed for me. go. go. go.

feet up on desk, phone cord twirled between fingers, i glanced down and giggled with my friend, m. it was 3 pm, and i was still wearing my pajamas. a rare “off” day; breezy, lazy. delicious. “oh, i love pajama days!”, m exclaimed.

[“ah, the times, how they are a changin’ ”]

yesterday, i racked up another notch in a seemingly, unending parade of pajama days.

[f “the pajama game”; the only musical i can relate to is “les miserables”]

it’s a good day now when i’m up, dressed, have made the bed with potential for more. i know it and k knows it. “oh, you’re still in your pajamas”, poking his head in between shoots. his voice dropped. and so did my heart.

can getting dressed be perceived as an accomplishment? my inability to achieve it felt like a wet blanket thrown over a smoldering fire. sizzling embers smothered; wafting away into thin tufts of smoke…

[“cough, cough”]

irritatingly swollen, dragging a leaden heart, i picked a fight and we went our separate ways; albeit not exactly across town. more like across the house.

and then i saw it. a pile of folded laundry.

yesterday, the academy award nominations were announced. unsurprisingly, mo’nique was nominated for her astounding performance in “precious”. strange delight. for not only has k taken her headshots, but shot her wedding a few years back. then, surprisingly, there’s jeremy renner. nominated for best actor, he continually impressed me in my acting class. always solid. big on risks and truth.

and both, genuine, lovely souls.

so in a bizarre twist, the academy awards were personalized. and due to my uninvited, early pseudo-retirement from the biz, my mind flittered to that “wow” place. “why not me?”.


what is that saying? “how do you make god laugh? make a plan?”. whatever you believe in, if you are fortunate enough to have lived to age 41, it’s a safe bet you’ve had a couple of dreams turned nightmare; the odd hope or two, dashed.

there’s a reason I never learned to drive standard. because shifting gears is hard. and because I never had to learn. but when you, not so suddenly, find yourself in a place, endless miles away from where you set out to be, you look for the cliff notes.

but this crash course in “how to deal”, does not come cheap. or easy. or quick.

fits and starts.

[“it stalled in fourth!”]

yeah, this achy-breaky heart cracked open. and fell water droplets as notes. my off-key wailings surely comedic, as I threw myself into k’s arms. but soon, this foot- stomping, blubbery lass was a puddle of giggles and sighs. and like the flick of a dying zippo, my hot envy was gone. puft.

for that pile of folded laundry was surely something more.

the deterioration of my kidney seems to parallel the erosion of my capabilities. and one of the final places from whence I drag some self-esteem is domesticity. the shopping and the cleaning and the cooking.

and the laundry.

so when k folded the laundry in 2 seconds flat, it stirred in me those voices we repel. “god, you can’t even do THAT?”… “loser”…”pull yourself together”…

but he was only trying to help. knowing it was pajama day 236, the last thing he was trying to do, was downsize my currently abbreviated skill set. he was trying to help. to give me relief, aid, understanding.

prized gifts, these treasures of the heart.

and like a golden mirage, that pile of folded laundry shimmered into a little, gold man.

my very own academy award.

Monday, February 1, 2010

you've really got a hold on me