of course, like any self respecting technophiles, we immediately googled the date.
bette davis' birthday.
a self-professed rejector of lame-ass platitudes like "everything happens for a reason!", "it's meant to be!", and "that's a sign!"; i was reluctantly excited...
"all about eve" (1950) sits solidly atop my list of all time fave flicks. the acting; pure brilliance, the costumes; perfection and the script; sublime. lending ear to its musicality is akin to being serenaded by yo yo ma on the cello, while pavarotti coos from the great beyond. a linguistic symphony that slays me every time.
christmas comes early this year. but for me, a mere tolerator of christmas, it's always conditional. picture it: a giant, shiny red box; silver bow perched atop; under a glittering christmas tree. with one, clean rip, a kidney is revealed; batteries included and a picture perfect mirage complete. but april is not christmas time. and mirages evaporate as quickly as a child's interest in their new toys. and inevitably, you are left with mounds of crumpled paper, discarded ribbon and pine needles scattered wildly throughout the once aesthetically pleasing portrait.
[what a f@*#ing mess!]
anything worthwhile is borne of hard work, and anything that lands in your lap should raise suspicion...(are you listening charlie sheen?)
so now i have to fight.
april 5th is in 25 days. 600 hours. 36,000 minutes. or 2,160,000 seconds away.
[but who's counting?]
and in the meantime, i must do a little dance called dialysis...
back in the days of my youth, vigor and the ability to consume entire pints of haagen dazs in a single bound, i worked on a canadian tv series called "liberty street". how fab was our makeup artist, s.? with a judgmental tilt of his head, and scrutinizing arch of his brow he actually had the nerve to broach the subject of my unibrow.
i was in love.
[hey, it's hard to reject the hairy, bohemian, viking legacy i've been born into. all the plucking and sucking, tanning and bleaching, injecting and dyeing...it just ain't my bag, baby...]
but, he was on a mission. and after a painful odyssey through tweezerdom ("this one's paying rent!"), his masterpiece was complete. and with a artist's eye, he preened and squinted only to pronounce me like a "young bette davis"...
look, i know i'm no hollywood star, nor do i even vaguely resemble one. but, when i look into her eyes, i'm reminded of the glamor of a healthy life, unabashed ambition, relentless energy and the beauty of someone riding their passion full steed.
but, i'm also reminded of all my deprivation and simultaneously ache for the day it might all return.
i miss good food. i miss running. i miss my husband. i miss my friends. i miss traveling. and i miss dancing.
[god, i miss dancing.]
music is my biggest turn on. it unleashes me from this physical prison and i can fly unchained. spinning memories of empowerment, as the bass thumps in time with my toxic bloodstream. emotive, transportive. when i fall, (the killers, arcade fire, radiohead, kasabian, white lies) the blush of new love is hard core, and it takes me places i can't go anymore.
[i'm pretty sure there's no dance floor in the cedars' dialysis unit.]
it's a funny thing, coming face to face with your greatest fear. i thought finding a baby tarantula in my kitchen sink was bad. but, dialysis...
my magical friend, m. and i, caught b-flo (that's brandon flowers to you wannabes) at the beautiful wiltern theatre in l.a. a few months ago. he nailed an amazing cover of "bette davis eyes"; and of course, in my heart-pounding, crush-fogged, intoxicated state (or was that vodka intoxicated state?), it felt like a personal serenade. look, i still have half a brain, and i know that wasn't the case; but how thrilling is that quiver; that drench of emotion when a song cuts you to the core?
you either get it, or you don't. and i do.
"she'll turn the music on you
you won't have to think twice,
she's pure as new york snow
she's got bette davis eyes"...
i want me back. so it looks like i have a choice.
dialysis or bust.
but bust is not a word in my vocabulary.
[nor, apparently, is it a part of my anatomy...]
creatinine: 5.3 (0.5-1.4)
CO2: 14 (35-45)
phosphorus: 6.5 (2.4-4.1)
potassium: 5.0 (3.5-5.0)
[please. come, hold my hand.]
"fasten your seatbelts...it's going to be a bumpy night!"