Alone again in a doctor's office, the nurse says to me, he'll be in shortly. This room has a large window with cracked blinds which I appreciate because many of these rooms are internal boxes with no natural light. I'm anxious to see this doctor: this doctor who a couple weeks ago saved my life.... Continue Reading →
in orbit, still. wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I truly hope you’re well. I hope you can exhale here and there. And I hope that you’re being extra gentle with yourself.
Much love from a year-old blog,
It’s 3:30 in the afternoon on a clear, late-spring day in Texas which means that it’s painfully bright outside. That’s not to say I’m not grateful for the sunshine, but it’s times like this I wish I’d just go ahead and get myself some prescription sunglasses. In quarantine, I have yet to wear my contacts and I don’t intend to start unless I absolutely have to. The problem with having shaky hands is that even mundane tasks like putting in your contacts are often frustrating enough to set your mood up to be annoyed and grumpy for the rest of the day.
I’m outside tinkering in my garden which is already yielding the best tomato crop I’ve ever, ever had. From between the leaves that I’m pruning, I look over at my sweet donkeys three on the other side of the fence and let out a sigh of silly relief…
View original post 1,117 more words
It’s pouring for the third day in a row and I’ve had to venture out into it vehicularly to attend a doctor’s appointment in a city south of here. I’m a confident, careful, and (probably overly) defensive driver, so freeways in a storm don’t typically make me nervous but a few miles ago, I hit... Continue Reading →
The methodical practice ofPatience as a perpetualPatient of unpaved pathsOnly (maybe) psuedo-exploredOff the main bodies of rare diseaseIs a skill I've sought elsewhereIn much pleasurable ways. Though I suppose it's throughThorns, muck, and solitudeThat patience gains a differentPersona; a parental, oldWise one in the woods withStrength not in spite of butBecause of broken branches.
One year later and everything’s just as weird. Indeed, what a time to be human.
I sincerely hope that you and yours are hanging in there as best you can. Please know that you are so very loved.
It’s mid afternoon. I haven’t seen a cloud all day beyond the tree’s spring leaves which are in bright, juicy bloom. In a shady spot beneath the flitting birds and green-oh-so-green canopy of my backyard rainforest, I rock gently side to side on my hammock. I’ve been in this spot for nearly an hour staring either up into the blue patches between the leaves or past my feet into the green movements of fresh, sweet-smelling growth. Before this, I laid in bed with the window wide open and my laptop in my lap upon which there was a halfway composed email that I kept forgetting how to finish. There too I stared blankly either out the window or at the screen with a blinking cursor.
Everything is weird. Everything. And it occurs to me that in the overdrive of the weirded-out-ness, it’s easy to just overheat and shutdown. The ole…
View original post 1,048 more words