Eyes Big as Whole Notes with so Much to Say

Some nights are like this in Suwanee, Georgia. Feet, ottoman. I can still smell my physical therapist's perfume. I've changed my clothes. She must be on my skin somewhere. I think she must have been black Irish by her claddagh ring and her dark hair and eyes a complicated shade of green shot through with milk chocolate, radiating. She's lovely. And helpful. Apparently, Chris nailed it with the scapular winging as the source of the problem. I've already been doing things that will help correct the shoulder. And rowing is great for it. Thank fuck. I am prepared to follow instructions and get back to the gym in 6-8 weeks.

Then it was off to a whole other kind of doctor to have my face injected full of neurotoxin. There are a few blood spots and my forehead looks as if it may sprout horns at any second from the two injection points near my hairline. Vanity. I didn't even flinch. I usually don't. I cannot say the same thing for Monday, when I arched off the table during the insertion of my IUD. Fuck that. It's awful.

So now I'm sitting upright until bedtime so I don't fuck up my face. I am vain, what? In a few days, M80 won't even know when I'm pissed at him until I speak. High school reunion is coming up, followed by the annual music pilgrimage, face gotta look good. The physical therapist said I was strong and the doctor shooting up my face says my skin looks great. Even after trying to die of covid. It was bullshit, but he was sweet. A retired Navy doctor? I don't even know. But he thought I was cute. A poor man's Sean Connery.

I am still recovering from the plague. I think it's less intense than previous. I'm just tired. I mean, sleeping like the dead. Which I guess is a good thing? I can't eat because nothing smells or tastes right. Can I keep that for a couple months? That's great for cutting weight. I've lost nine pounds. Dropped the holiday weight. And the afternoon nap. Which I did not require today. So that's a sign of healing. It is 7:15pm and I'm ready to throw in the towel though, so maybe not.

I accidentally made a beer slushy. Forgot that I stuck it in the freezer because the teenager can't be trusted not to clean out the beer crisper. So I'm waiting for it to melt while I write. Damn kids, can't have nothing nice. I love him. I think he's here, but maybe not? He's having an episode and I haven't seen him since Monday, even if I heard the shower and found the clip from the bag of chips he absconded with. I guess that might be the one upside to Dirtbag: a mind like his and a dog the boy loves.

I am tired. But I am happy. I am peaceful in my soul. It's quiet in my mind. And that is rare. I have tasks for the weekend if I'm feeling well enough, but no big plans. And that's okay. I've been burning the candle at both ends for a few weeks. I may even find time to paint. I miss the smell of linseed oil. I miss what comes off the brush by the end of the day. The surprise. Painting and my own mouth.

I'll go to bed early. And that's good. And rare. And tomorrow is Friday, my favorite day of the week. I was born on a Friday. Born for the weekend. Hits different closing in on 40. That's okay. I have so many heroes to look to, hanging on the rail well past 60. And maybe someone to go to the shows with me. Many someones. I am one lucky girl.

So I sit quietly in a clean, warm house, happy. Content. I think I can stay this way for a long, long time at this very moment. I have to remember this feeling. Hang on to it. And some nights are like this in Suwanee, Georgia.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We Traveled Nationwide, Til We Settled Here on the East Side

Image
I am not supposed to consider my sleep as a factor in not feeling well. I keep having to remind myself of that. I'm entering my fourth week of mild,  self-controlled sleep deprivation, prescribed and overseen by a sleep psychologist. I woke up this morning feeling like I have the flu. I've had a headache for two days, I'm nauseated, I feel woozy. I slept through my alarm this morning. That has not happened in over a decade. I feel like I got good and drunk last night and have had about four drinks total in the past week. When she told me that we're doing at least another week, I didn't cry. I haven't cried yet. I do have a giant lump in my throat because all I want to do right now is crawl back in bed after a cup of coffee and my ADHD medications. Good news is that we always talk in the morning, so I'll have plenty of time to get this particular thing out of my system before bedtime. She says that's important. So much of what our appointments include is ...
Read more

Don't Forget the Key's Under the Mat

Image
It’s been the same every year on this day. I never can believe that he’s as old as he is. It’s his last real milestone to adulthood. He’s 21 today. In fifteen minutes, to be exact. The only one I have and I always knew he’d be the only one. As much as I always loved him, it wasn’t fair to even try to love someone else that much. I just don’t think I could. He’s been my favorite person since the moment he started being his own person. My baby, my buddy, my biggest fan, my confidante, my partner in crime, my adventure accomplice, my concert companion, my ride-or-die, my travel copilot, my best friend. We talk almost every day. My heart hopes it will always be that way, but my mind knows that I shouldn’t expect him to live his life for me. He’s out on his own now. People have asked me if that hurts. It’s two things. I miss him. Lord, do I miss him. I didn’t bake him a cake for the first time in his life this year. That breaks my heart more than I can find words to tell. I bought the ingre...
Read more

Don't Chase That Carrot Til it Makes You Sick

Image
I can't remember the last time I sat down to write. It's not that I'm uninspired or that I have writer's block or whatever. I have not had time to sit without my usual guilt. I sit here now with "clean out bedroom drawers" written in ink pen on my palm like a '90s phone number. I miss this. The time sitting still, a Tropicalia at my right hand, two in. James McMurtry in my ears, wondering if in a few weeks, I should buy one ticket or two. My God, I'm happy. I guess the time has come to share the news. I'll be a proper Athenian in a week and sixteen hours. I never thought in a million years that I'd own anything. It makes way more sense than I ever thought it would. I always said that with Gabe grown, I'd do this. I'd buy a condo in a city somewhere that I could walk or bike or ride a bus anywhere I wanted to be. Nowhere up North. I get cold. Nowhere out of the country, I have a criminal record, you know. And that seriously limits my opt...
Read more