how very complicated
my health problem
turned out to be
each step is syncopated
taking pieces out of me

tomorrow 845 am i will be sitting at the doctor's office, my husband holding my hand, my mother in transit. i will not be alone physically but illness is the most isolating of experiences. a good support system, which my husband is, makes life with its bumpy road more than manageable, but the fear is uniquely my own.

i am blessed that i have a man as good as my husband. my biggest fear is that somehow, due to this infirmity, i will lose him. the palbability of this fear, coupled with the abject dread of this as yet unidentified ailment...

i have experienced ALONE, the no phone calls, no social plans. walking my route, a watcher not a doer, tickets for the theatre, never in the cast...always in the shadows.

i had ventured out. in doing so i met my fella. how good, decent and loving he turned out to be was and is a total surprise. a chance well taken

the clock ticks as the AOL blog closing closes in. i have had my blog and its faithful readers .......
a long time....i hope that those good people follow me from the soon to be extinct AOL journal to this site... it will be exciting to experience a new readership as well.

my life has had its moments. writing, editing, reviewing my feelings, all have helped enormously in the sorting out, stepping away process. it has allowed some much needed objectivity in. hopefully some growth has followed.

at this new juncture, i tremble at the feet of change. health issues have taken up alot of my awake(which is most of the)time. i work a precarious balance of innerlife, homelife, joblife, at the same time trying to keep my fears at bay. and bay they do, at the sun, at the moon....just at.

the wind

i am sitting here, wind dancing outside my window, trees keeping step...i am quaking here, really, as soon i will know what my illness is, with all its ramifications. the wind sounds soft and gentle.

i struggle not to jump ahead, to how this will change my life, how bad it could be, what will i lose? the unknown is beyond stressful and terrifying. but will the known be worse? in my layperson merck manual persona, i identifed the 11 out of 10 symptoms that i have of this disease.

i keep mantra-ing both the doctors...especially the second one whose "if it is the worst case scenario it is unbelievably early" statement. unbelievably early is what this cancer needs to be eradicated. i repeat to myself benign benign B9 B9, as if somehow this 6 centimeter invader can hear me. well attitude is everything, so it is said in the 21st century.

i still hear the wind, i never want to stop hearing the wind

swan song to aol off to google,what the hell

the clock is ticking
this blog is going
off to google
my heart is slowing
just hope you dont
abandon your search
and go to google
my heart besmirch
i do not want to make this move
but no choice given stay in the groove
a week from today
this will be far away

der-election of duty

i have been on this planet for quite some time, and in that span have witnessed many politcal contests. they varied in intensity, issues, personages. none were pretty, some more vicious than others, but somehow, world and national events figured into the equation.

this one, not. this is about age, race, gender, social class, acquaintances, verbiage. these are the things our more than "four fathers" wished to avoid. they envisioned a nation of ideas, ideals, the pursuit of freedom, prosperity...a place in a world far larger than the one we now reside in.

we members of the baby boomer fraternity have been fortunate enough to see america at its height, and now have the dubious distinction of watching it slide down, as mimicked by the mercurial dow.

we stand at the polls forced to choose between a stubborn loose cannon, and a one dimensional wordsmith. one may push the red button, the other the red credo.

i did not sign on for this, nor did most americans...torn between the mindless villification of one man, and the blind adulation of another

i write this blog because i can

i write this blog for my need to be heard
to be remembered for a good written word
to feel connected not be apart
to fill the void
inside my heart

an invite to all ye from AOL

wishful thinking i am indeed
that my stuff on blogger.com
you will read
if on google you decide to sign
you'll see many blogs
including mine
looking forward to seeing you then
"my heart" on google
by fayely10

?

who is she this frightened child
outwardly tame inside running wild
life to her is a state of peril
wanting in yet remaining feral

angst iety

an ode to my anxiety
with or without sobriety
inside me lurking
wanting out
this frightened child
who needs to shout
to rant to rave
to somehow shake
the fears and woes
that make her quake
however hard her way to vent
all that anger time misspent

something burrowed someone blue

i have spent the last few weeks in a race against my fears, anxiety on the rail. apprehension ahead by a nose. indulging my inner white rabbit behaviors. aimlessly, or aimfully, busy busy busy...

last night all that i have tried so hard to bury deep unearthed itself. the reality of what i am facing, the known and the unknown, stared right at me. i could not look, nor run, away. i cried for the first time since this nasty health episode began...the pandora's box sprang wide open, its snakes wriggling out. i fell asleep, the lid again closed, but not all the occupants went back inside. i could hear a faint hiss.

today i sit, drained. lost. sad. the rustlings of depression quite palpable.

as i sit and ponder my fate
hoping it is not too late
psychobabble live for each day
wanting the future
is my health in the way?

someone old something new

i remember only too well how i felt when aol sent notice that they were closing out their journal service....in my usual fashion, i panicked...what would happen to all my years of writing that aol was so cavalierly doing away with...throwing into the garbage can....

the instructions arrived and i just stared at them, deer in the headlights style, my level of anxiety escalating.

i tried, i failed...don't believe in that old adage that trying means you did not fail, i failed, period.
days passed, efforts thwarted by some process i did not understand.

the light went on...i successfully transferred one of my blogs to this service. after several exercises in futility, i gave up trying to transfer the other. instead, i spent hours cutting and pasting preferred entries, or posts in blogger.comese, from this vanquished journal onto these pages...my poor husband felt neglected...let it be noted that inspite of my monomaniacal pursuit, our dinner was delicious...well, edible anyway and we both lived to tell.

change can be good change can be bad, change can be none of the above...but change is always change and always inevitable.

a metaphor for life and hope
though for a few days there
i felt like a dope

please excuse the somewhat chaotic appearance of this new blog. i am importing entries from an old aol blog that could not be transferred.

there is no monotony
in my cacaphony

here i sit i try to stay fit
every day passes same old shit
as i get older i do not get bolder
still need to have that sane
one man strong shoulder

at work i find myself marvelling and wistfully envying the youth so brazenly worn by my coworkers. it is not just the greater amount of energy they possess, it is the time...time to live, time to correct, time to not make mistakes. i marvel at the mindset of those still in their twenties, and cannot help but observe the tone that changes in those who are in their thirties or teetering on the brink.
i am faustian in my hopeless desire to grab the clock and cajole, or if need be, force those hands to turn backwards....i ache for the self confidence that, it i had had it years ago, perhaps i would be the voice on countless cds, the symbol of humane action perhaps.
but i am, and grateful to be such, but i am as i have, and have not, done.

i find

maybe it is being all too aware of the transient nature of my existence,but whatever it is, i find my self cherishing on the most profound level, every object within eyeshot, buses driving loudly ..
....,faces rushing by, trees aching to bloom...there is a heightened sense of the electricity that is life.
and an overwhelming dread of the inevitable empty that we all will be part of...my eyes thirst for all they see...as if engulfing visual images may grant some sort of immortality.
even the depressions...symptoms, albeit unpleasant, of life.

i've landed on an empty rock
no beach, no sounds
no seagull flock
the wind is broken
loud and harsh
my life a token
on this marsh

i have been a woman who has never had children. i have managed to exist in an oblique fashion with this for most of my failed reproductive years. reminders of my non fecundity are legion. today i went to a baby shower, my first actually, as my friends were either single or not producing children for whatever reason. i felt as if i were on the outside, looking in...but this time the shade was partially pulled down, as if to say...you can peek in but only so far....
the warmth the party guests had for each other, that warmth that comes with prolonged acquaintanceship and consanguinuity, things that i am no part of...
it was like live theater, and i, an invisible audience.
the need to feel a part of something...not diminished by time or emotional exhaustion.
a child inside me running...away, toward....just aimlessly running, never stopped nor stopping...

it's friday night i feel alright
my hair's a mess
i'm quite a sight
as i exercise patterns past
wondering if my new life will last
when the rug sprawling under my feet will call
as i tumble, take a fall
no answers given
panic driven

the trial of denial and forgiveness

'as i sing i hear her voice
her sad song tones
as i rejoice
i never heard her lovely voice
when i was young and had a choice
the life she never had a chance to lead
i lost in my emotional greed
she died with all ears around unhearing
alone as her darkness was nearing
can i myself learn to forgive
to tell her i love her though she no longer live
although too late to say goodbye
and to ashamed to sit and cry

to my grandmother may her peace be found

another dragging week is drawing to a close. the stifling boredom of my 9-5 work week will soon be replaced by the encapsulated two day living that is the weekend.
this is how all living things live, in ways that correspond to their needs. it is all about making a living, be it in twisted steel spires or on the savannah, everyone has to eat,rest between kills, reproduce, establish a territory and do whatever it takes to protect it.
whether clad in brooks brothers or fur and claw, all creatures must venture out or die, some dying as they do so.
we humans mistakenly perceive that the complexities of our survival render us superior. where is there any superiority in corporate backbiting, betrayal? where is there superiority in mass annihilations of habitat and those we perceive as different,,,ergo a threat to our own fragile existence. passing emotions and people around as cavalierly as passing a joint.

the miraculous power of the little white lie

i have this title floating around....the miraculous power, or maybe, the miraculous healing of the little white lie...the words just dance when i hear them inwardly or outwardly...i have been mulling them about for at least a week..the problem is filling in the giant blank that follows this title....
i think about my mother, in her early 80's, body stricken with various age related maladies....eyes dark and twinkling, the mischevious, rebellious little girl trapped in the twisted wreckage of life and age.
i think of both of the above, what was and is my mother and what isnt yet the story behind the title
i have begun a subtle, empathetic secret voyage, with the mother i never really knew, who never really knew, nor accepted, me...but how does one ever accept someone they have relegated to a stranger, bound by their own controlling notions, blind to what is standing in front of them

the subtle joy of inebriation
the run away of intoxication
the welcome dullness it has made
on life's unending
too sharp blade

here i sit for all its worth
between self loathing
and self worth
talents real and dreams perceived
its not too late
to be received

the morning after the night before
he sleeps i listen while he snores
words were spoken feelings torn
i lie here tired, lost and worn
another day will soon play out
outside i smile inside i pout

integrity and its fragile maintenance

i recently stood at a crossroads both worn and unfamiliar. i made a spur of the moment(albeit long simmering) decision to express my discontent toward someone who's behavior has been insidious and hurtful. her reaction was one of hurt, her response, defensive. a few minutes later, i approached her and apologized.
this juxtaposition of maintaining my integrity, ergo to earn the respect for others, versus keeping quiet, in order to avoid conflict and disapproval, has tormented me my entire life. i spent years taking all types of emotional abuse and nonsense...which has taken an enormous chunk out of an already moth-eaten self esteem.
each time i take this necessary step, i do not get more acclimated to the process, but it has become much easier in its execution.

the fallout remains to be experienced

the little terrier in the cage

she walked into the animal shelter. she knew that she could not take a pet home but needed to connect with something living. she strolled through the various rooms, trying to remain detached while passing the eager, plaintive faces looking back at her,.
she entered a room with larger cages. an employee of the shelter approached her. he asked her what type of dog she was interested in. she replied that she really liked shepherd mixes but at this time was not in a position to adopt one.
he advised her just to at least look at the little terrier mix in the next pen. she approached the enclosure and was greeted by a sad, shaggy grey face looking at her in an almost beseeching way.
she bent down, making clicking sounds. the little dogs ears suddenly perked up, his demeanor completely changing. the droopy face was awash with excitement. she remained at the cage for what seemed at once forever, and at the same time, not enough.
the shelter employee approached her again, as he watched her interacting with the dog. he asked her if she was interested in adopting him. she slowly turned around, her depression becoming once again a dark cloak around her. under her breath she barely muttered that she lived in a no pet building, trying to hide from the disappointment on his face as she responded.
she hastily left the shelter.
years passed, some shrouded. the homeless terrier remained in a cage deep within her, the door ajar.

to my mother

alone in her room she started to cry
as her husband watched his old friends die
she felt his pain when he was near
but when he was not her biggest fear
the years they spent what they went through
would soon be gone as if noone knew

wisdom and the ever present anxiety

this is a double edged contradiction, time earned wisdom and time worn stress management. i know how to recognize the little gnat stings of the "small stuff. i can prioritize based on the if its not life or death, its not life or death philosophy, and conduct my life accordingly.
where it gets dicey is in the accumulated wear and tear of daily stress, that which is internalized and not immediately felt. i spend most weekends juxtaposing much needed downtime with the chores that cannot be completed during the week.
i get home from work tense and frazzled. i exercise almost immediately in order to dull the edge.. afterwards its time to prepare dinner. the edge is not as sharp, but it is still there. i do not phone friends anymore, as i often did when i was younger. i seek brain quiet, peace from the external, which is within my control.
sleep is a precious, hard to reach commodity. only on weekend do i manage to capture that which is so elusive to me during the week.
the 9 to 5 in the mid to late 50s takes a lot more ouf of me, especially since this is not a passion or career, it is strictly for economic survival...no glory no goodness.
just the thought of entertaining creates anxiety. it did so when i was young, but with youth comes an internal energy reserve, the bounce backedness that seeps out insidiously as greater knowledge and wisdom, seep in.
frayed and fatigued is what i have become.

life mismanagement 101..i

skip through life smiling though feeling half hearted, occasionally bending down to pick up whatever real or imagined impediment i find along the way. there are times however, when i stumble, falling on reality.
the reality is that, at 56, i am exactly where i was at 35...except with cellulite and wrinkles as souvenirs. dead end job scenario, but at this age with much less reserve to handle the stress and frustration, magnified by the no way out situation i am in.
at this stage of life, feeling crappy is much more intense and greater in frequency than in the 30s and 40s. not being able to stay home when feeling ill is just a cruel reminder of the rampant mismanagement which characterizes my tenure so far on this sometimes disagreeable planet.
i long to have the option to retire, knowing that i would only be able to stay home and "do nothing" for a short while...it is all about options, choices, not being forced...freedom from being trapped in this assembly line like lift style...same #$@# every day......

once you get past the initial shock of can i help you miss becoming can i help you maam, you might actually find some distink-t(and i mean stink) advantages to being an older woman. these are some i have experienced:
doors being held open for me(please note the slightly pitying look on the openers face, perhaps associating me with some long last graaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand mama.
seats on buses sometimes being vacated(except by men of certain chauvinist ilk who would not even get their arses up for americas top model)
today a young man placed an obstruction by the elevator door to keep the elevator on the floor while he dropped something off. i rushed to the elevator and the young fella went oops and removed the impediment. probably thought i was running late for the funeral home or the plastic surgeon.
then what was once perceived as not cute and obnoxious(as in being too smart for your age) is now considered to be something miraculous( as in how can someone that old be that smart?)
other erratic behaviors once frowned upon are now regarded with tolerance...the temper tantrum once attributed to pms and not tolerated is now attributed to the ravages of age.
it is as if to say much less is expected us....poor souls....they should only know...this is their future and it is grim

the malignancy of distrust

it can be said that relationships are like bathroom tiles. well grouted with trust, water damage will not occur. if there are fault lines within the system, torrential ourpourings are inevitable.
these cracks are not always blatant. most are invisible to the naked eye, doing their work. insidiously.. they can appear at any time, and if not addresssed, the cumulative result is disaster. it is much harder to repair major leaks than minor trickles.
the challenge is to accept that these flaws exist and confront them head on, not waiting until that which is amassed becomes irreparable. in order to do so, one must take a long look at the big picture and ones culpability, or lack of it, in each situation.
middle age is all the rage
never thought i'd see this stage
wisdom without the strength to use it
what else is new
we all go through it

the glory and the game

the cool spring air was tingling with anticipation. women in statement hats milled about. the crowd watched, in silent union, as the horses paraded proudly to the starting gate.
i was in the kitchcn, watching this annual spectacle, as usual wishing i was part of, not apart from it
annoumcers picked their favorites, as cameras scanned the audience.
in a time frame that was at once far too short yet seemed forever, the long awaited outcome.....
a big brown stalward colt triumphed, a fiery filly fell.
perhaps it was inbreeding, the nature of the track..or just being amongst the boys.
this filly had heart and she ran it out.. im sure it will be said that she died doing what she loved,, and would have wanted it this way....we cannot presume to place human interpretations on equine emotions.
but she had heart, and i suspect ran even better as her fragile ankles began to fail....
there is a lesson here, after i stop crying, perhaps i will find it

b daze

b'daze
what is it about birthdays? they are just another facet of a contrived system of keeping time...juxtaposing years as some sort of standard...all that said, i have the nasty habit, year after year, of making a fuss over mine and those of the people i love.
this year is no exception...i started making noise about this one late last month,. making sure anyone within earshot would have no excuse to forget it....yep fifty six with cake and ail....
when we are young, birthdays represent gifts and attention. as we get more chronologically mature, in the 20s and 30s, it represents more gifts and attention, this time on a more costly and lavish scale...
the big four-oh and birthdays turn into milestones, some of which we have stubbed our toes on.
the 50's...middle aged crisis and estrogen withdrawal...birthdays being reminders of dreams not chased, or those chased, not realized...wrinkles, sagging...the depravity of gravity.
my parents are in their 80's. birthdays are quite a two sided rapier...they represent the frightening descent their bodies are suffering, the inevitable direction they are heading...and they are milestones of survival....over kids, financial woes, health woes, ecah other...all the projectiles that life throws.
i revel in each day i have the luxury of two living parents...and each day i have the luxury of....especially now, as i have been blessed with a wonderful man to share life with. someone who loves ME, not his expectations or illusions about, ME...a friend, a partner...
every day when i wake up, i look at his face, still not believing this has happened to me.still in the pinch me im dreaming phase....wishing we met years before, holding onto every moment.
at the risk of sounding old fashioned and beyond corny, this relationship has made me appreciate every facet of living, the trees, the seasons...sights and scents...music...these for granted experiences now have an almost dayglow quality to them.
tomorrow i turn a year older. interesting phrase...turn a year older...this is not a turn, rather it is a one way street from which there is only one exit...i am learning that the trip is everything...that every day is a destination reached.

frustration nation
today the sky is bursting with sunshine, the temperature is on a definite upswing. i, on the other hand, am still feeling the chilly clouds. a perceived slight has sent me inward, pulling far away from the people around me.
sometimes it is good to withdraw...the proverbial cave is not for men only.. women need to heal, too. shutting out all periphery except that which is necessary to function(as i am at my desk at work so got to stay somewhat in this world) seems to naturally mend those broken inner fences(and defenses).
it all gets down to middlangst...when more time is behind than is in front...shouldacouldawoulda-itis...i know intellectually that this is a total waste of energy and priceless time....the distance between intellect and feelings is so hard to bridge.

the politics of chronology
being 18 thru 25, young, energetic, filled with ideals...ideals about a world you know nothing about. fresh from college perhaps, a recent escapee from your parents home...the world is a new place, filled with opportunities and mystery.
thirty and a tad wiser, bills, you are a parent, responsibility....now the world has a different hue than that rose colored adventure you thought it would be.
yes i was 18...and wanted to vote, yes i was 21 and did not....
here i sit, 56....lived through korea(in utero),viet nam, kuwait and now the irag fiasco. yep i would like leader..but what all this seasoning and wrinkles have taught me is that character is what should lead...not pretty,, empty rhetoric delivered in an empassioned way...
proof, someone who has definitive ideals and has lived by them..aka john mccain.
\yes he has the scary pit bull tenacity and a temper too. but he has lived in knowledge, not words carefully crafted by a wily speech maker.
he is the real deal.
this is not about race or gender...this is about the very survival of america

does anybody read this?
my ideas i commit to poems or prose
is anyone reading heaven knows

she placed her face upon the glass
watching the people inside pass
smiling, laughing, walking around
as her spirits ran aground

its a another day in pair of dice
i rolled them once, i rolled them twice
which way they fall may not suffice
just having them is sometimes nice

the greatest generation
the greatest generation did not know about cell phones. they did not know about email. nor did they know the meaning of bling and probably would not have appreciated the concept. not when they were 20 somethings, digging through dirt, dodging bullets, just trying to stay alive, for reasons some understood and some didn't.
they fought on enemy soil. far from home. far from the comforts they so desperately needed. with men barely they knew, against those they didnt. each second brought terrors, that thanks to them, we have not yet had to comprehend.
their time is almost over, one by one, they leave this earth, each of us their living legacy.
but will we forget? because we were not encased in their mud, drowned in their pain?

shoulda coulda wouldavillle
the air is stale but never still

i drink so i dont care
anyhow anywhere
i drink so i dont feel
so i dont know what is real

where is that little 18 year old running around in my head? she is not in the mirror, she is not in the bed, all her energy vanished with naivete, why did she have to go away? with all the knowledge, experience, i could have used, but had no sense. now i am older, old yes to some, trying to shoulder, not to be glum.
problems to work on, wounds that are sutured, much more behind me than in the future.
tomorrow i'll rise if i am lucky, trying to smile, hopefully plucky

how confounded by the world am i
sometimes i question why i try
things that happen no explain
enough to drive myself insane
people kill without a reason
one bad look the cause for treason
in the name of deity
wipiing out the you and me
who can stop i cannot tell
hurry or else all will fell
like the trees in nuclear winter
left alone a naked splinter

a dissertation on being mature
does it exist i am not sure
with their families or old school clique
behavior reverts back and oh so quick
roles people played re-acted out
did they forget what life's about

merry comes and goes, but eating and drinking are forever

oh would i love to be
filthy rich and twenty three
i would spend my days in frolic
as a part time alcoholic
use every second that i can
working full time on my tan
not a worry not a care
except for the roots of my young hair
not a spider vein in sight
staying up and partying all night
but im locked up in that cage
known as female middle age

sometimes i have trouble writing
but what is it i am fighting?

how do you see me
what is in your eyes
do you want to kiss me
what is the surprise?

want to hear laughter
the happy ever after
so tired of hearing pain
over and over again

she watches him as he sits, reading his paper, head resting in his hand. she sees him as someone trying...to live a life, to make another life with her, the woman he is with.
she wonders if the women before her share their bed, when he touches her, as he dreams. she wonders how much of his mind they occupy, in his private moments, what regrets, grief he still experiences.
and what of his heart?. are they still there too, shoving her into a little chamber?
she thinks about men in general, are they all from the steven stills love the one your with school of living? and if so, as long as it works for them, that is ok.
but what of the "one your with" , me, she asks herself. where do i fit in, or do i? am i just a little bandaid on a big wound that has not healed?
will i ever occupy the center chamber?:will i ever feel i do, if i did?

jealousy is such a vile emotion
with the power of a toxic potion
it eats up your life every day
pushing aside only the good in its way
all consuming until nothing is left
on the sidewalk alone and bereft

he writes the poems because he holds my hand
he has given me a home
and he understands

should i count my wrinkles before they hatch
of hatch my wrinkles before the count
such a predicament i am in
as the lines and creases mount

how hard i have struggled to import his text
the entire process has left me vexed
but now it seems i have succeeded
although some valium i needed:)

i sit in fear of what will be

what is wrong

what will become of me

which is worse i shudder to think

the suspense of this

will it make me sink

or will the known trump

that which is not

here i sit thick in the plot

LET US HOPE THE BAILOUT PLAN OF CHOICE

WILL REALLY HELP, NOT MAKE MATTERS WOICE