anudda day like no udda

here i sit, a familiar stance
every day another chance

today is the day for thanks and giving
no walking emotional planks
just glad to be living

rescinderella

she had reached that stage in life where what was written was writ, and what loomed ahead, ditto.

her life had been a combination of adult comfort and luxury, coupled with unresolved angst over childhood misery and pain. this duo ran her life, and those around her, at times, into the ground.

the uncertainty that coursed through her young years resulted in an inordinate need for control in the years that followed. she never really felt good, as herself, unaware that this unhappiness was heightened by the control issue.

she had children, stunted adults trapped in self loathing and fear.

one of her children became ill, stirring up a maelstrom within her. never able to identify, sort out, or admit culpability, this translated into extreme anxiety. it was the child she felt the most ambivalence towards, and treated the most harshly, at times like a servant; to carry her shopping bags or serve at her dinner parties. the one who watched her high end self expenditure, with the occasional bargain bone hurled in her direction.

lost in this swirl of feeling, the woman reached her hand up, to that child, to save her.

she said, she said

she sat looking out the window as the train jostled her along. trees, houses, people zipped past her view, as they had long before she rode this rail, and would long after she disembarked.

in her mind, she watched the world run by her, carrying designer bags, wearing impossibly high designer shoes, as she plodded along in her sensible sneakers, though, of late, these aforementioned had taken on a much more upscale quality.

she had spent her entire adult life getting by. paying bills, choosing between food and make up...skipping a trip to the supermarket so she could afford an afternoon of movie and lunch with some female acquaintances. she noted quite clearly to herself that the friend concept was not embedded in this equation.

as she shook along with the train, she felt the old simmering resentment...how her struggling and sacrifices should not have been necessary, as she was a member of a relatively affluent family. however, they gave what they gave, which helped keep her afloat, but without a martini.

she again tamped down this entitlement, turning her head toward the window. it was growing dark. soon, that which she passed would no longer be visible

they slept together so tightly knit
there could not be a better fit

she dreamed, she looked

she looked around at the space which had been her home for almost two years. she familiarized herself with every corner, every nuance of her husband's apartment.

it still did not seem real to her, the sort of pinchmyselfimdreaming reverie she had her entire life. although some of her furnishings were interspersed among his, this domicile still felt "not her own", but in a warm and comforting, i cant believe this happened to me, too good to be true way.

their whole courtship seemed like a dream. his goodness, kindness, acceptance of her as she was. hers of him... . their personalities flowed together softly, almost always parallel, on the same course, their hearts joined. hands held.

marriage only increased the joy they found in each other.

she did not want to lose this...this was a recurring theme for her innerdaylife. this time a reality nudged itself in the mix.

health, surgery. she had not yet left for the hospital but she focused intensely on coming home.

the only thing i know that is around the block
is the constant ticking of the clock

the old soldier

the old soldier walked into his war room. he closed the door gently, then hung his coat and hat on the bent coatrack, an act which he repeated for what felt like eons. the room was quiet. the chairs, once occupied by bristling minds and men, sat vacated around a stolid wooden table.

he looked around, listening to the shadows. he had lost this final battle. he had approached this battle like all the others, with a staunch acceptance of the possibility of defeat, and a faith in the possibility of victory.

he knew that this was not his time. there was no longer a place in the leadership pavillion for the ideologies he espoused. he knew this upon entering the warzone. and enter he did, shoulders back, head up, prepared to dodge everything "they" threw at him.

he reflected on his most worthy opponent. there was a glory in conceeding to this man, who might be able to change the country, as he himself had wanted to do.

in this proud surrender, he did not see defeat, just a new order, time for him to move on.

he sat in his chair, stained and worn from many skirmishes, hands clasped together, head down in prayer.

never show your feelings
keep to yourself your inner dealings

i need a place where i can cry
where noone has to ask me why
a place to hide where i feel safe
from all the hurts that cut and strafe

she walked briskly through the mist-laden air. the sky was an ambiguous color grey, not exactly clearing but no major storm clouds present, either, like the invader growing in her body... an unknown variable, degree of its danger not yet known nor manifested.

she lived in this ignorance is/is not bliss state, as the day of her surgery hovered ever closer.

she thought about the procedure and its consequences . what mysteries would be uncovered,
how this would change the daily routines of what she knew as her life.

her

her life in shallow breathing lives
each moment second whatever it gives
unsure of today
less sure of tomorrow
afraid of the past
just wanting to borrow

him

with his love his strength
he would go to any length
to comfort, make her feel
she can cope with the real
in his sleep as he holds her tight
arms around reining in her fright
each time she cries
he erases all lies
she asks herself what good
does she do for him
as the night gets cold
and the sky grows dim
for him it is all in the giving
to be together revel in the living

brrrrrrrrrrrr

how i would like a poultice
a cure for winter solstice
no ice, no snow, no rain
just summer over again

sir real

when he thought about it, which was not very often, the whole thing seemed surreal to him; how they met, reconnected years later, fell apart. he left it all in a comfortable haze, easily accessible , if he had a fit of nostalgia.

he figured that since he preferred his vivid fantasy life, this was the perfect resolution.

his past few years were filled with tangible, palpable loss. of people who had impacted on him
deeply, perhaps who were even partly responsible for the undeveloped, twisted nature of his soul. the rest, (as all of us who are at least partly adult know) is up to us. this is what eluded him.

it was as if he were waiting for the proverbial magic wand, which never seemed to wander his way. to sit passively, hoping that somehow things would transpire and lead him...

he waits

synderella syndrome

all her life like cinderella watching everybody dance
hiding under her umbrella wishing she would get a chance

trying to tame the anxiety
not knowing what's in front of me
the next weekend will be the last
before my surgery is passed

i want to stay
not go away

sundaze

it is sunday. we are doing what we usually do. beatles on the radio, sunday morning on the t.v. all this and a ribwarming bowl of oatmeal, fresh coffee, cookies, the newspaper.

life, how i love to be in it. this so simple yet profoundly beautiful morning routine.

tommy had a dream

at night when he hears his son loudly scream
tommy covers his own ears to still his dream
tommy, torn between anger and sadness
his life stuck in limbo from his sons cruel madness

spake sheare

what brake from yonder window lights?
it is i and i feel alright
this is intoxication time
so i will write this little rhyme
thoughts of pain and surgery
are for now afar from me

owed

an ode to the buzz
though my mind turns to fuzz
a strong liquid solution
restores my constitution

the red tape of infirmity

it is bad enough being ill. working 10 hours a day, dealing with what seems like terminal insomnia. then there is the voice mail, not returning your call world of dealing with people who either cannot, or chose not, to comprehend the skin you are jumping out of.

the simple act of setting up surgery dates and pre-op appointments, while juxtaposing work schedules has become brobdignagian in nature. you are given a date then it is changed by the doctor's office. when you leave a message for more information, such as what time is the surgery, and what is the pre-op schedule, the simple courtesy of a reply is denied.

everything is a battle, and my inner troops are severly depleted.

up

a friend reminded me to corral
the negative, save my morale
this i will try as it will keep
my mind from inward voyage deep
outside our heads a world goes by
to keep up with it i have to try

an attempt to elevate my mood
could not be sated, even with food
did not improve the blues i feel
the fear, the care i need to heal
im stuck so deep in this morass
pushed here by a disease so crass

grrrrrrrr

i am growling so hungry
i want food
after procedure comes breakfast
and a much better mood

prep

i sit, and sit, and sit. tomorrow is my colonoscopy. today is the day of the oh so joyful prep. i went to work until noon then headed home, empty of stomach, tired of all that "i am sick and it is annoying me" stuff. i have commenced drinking this vile concoction. now i wait for it to work its magic.

illness, its diagnosis, treatment, and how crappy the aforementioneds make you feel has a tendency to be quite all consuming. to avoid, or at least try to, avoid that pitfall, i strive to keep my normal routines...work, exercise, food and drink(well, not today) this white rabbit style ofbusyness sort of deflects the constant barbs of anxiety flung at me, by me.., my body.

how different my life has become, is still becoming. here i sit, focusing on every hopefully productive intestinal cramp. i am too congnizant of the body that contains me, and what is happening to it. it is no longer just skin encasing some mysterious working parts. it is not something that will never fail me, it is not a given, it is not infallible. it is not forever.

sunday

we spent the day together, in each others arms while in the same room or apart. we ate a late breakfast, while listening to the beatles...the fab four go nicely with coffee and lemon biscotti.

together we made a new eggplant recipe, which we will try out on my brother and his lovely bride. then we will saunter off to a favorite local restaurant, where we will dine on what will be my last solid meal until tuesday afternoon.

my oncologist/surgeon wants all bases covered, or uncovered more accurately, before diving into my ailing innards. so monday afternoon the dreaded drink for the tuesday morning colonoscopy.

friday morning the doctor performed an in office biopsy, which could be aptly described as an effective way to obtain information, true or otherwise...this hurt. but it needed to be done. my pulse was 90 and bp 140/80, a bit nervous, eh?

i am trying to stifle the underlying panic that is bubbling close to the surface.

middle age is not for the squeamish.