fear abounds

Fear abounds as I wait and see, see and wait and what I see I do not want nor need, but was I expecting it yes, but not yesterday and certainly not today.

I am throwing clots, blood clots and the pain I am trying desperately to control as I know that IF the bleeding does not stop,my last chapter is being written or is shortly forthcoming. My hope is the bleeding stops.

Meanwhile, I am wound up tight as a yo yo every time I use the bathroom or am forced to use it, afraid to see what I already know, the bleeding continues. No carrying, no lifting, no pushing, no pulling until further notice so my father mentioned, well you can kick (referring to my taking out of the trash). My mother screams today about the corn I did not eat two nights ago that she made, that someone else could have eaten. EAT it, I am bleeding and corn is the last substance I want to put through and inflamed system from esophagus to anus.

I slowly rock back and forth on the bed, grimacing as I fold my hands across my belly, sobbing and hoping. Dr. V arrives Tuesday so they have already told me to prepare for acute respite care, facility still pending and yes, I am bringing Ashley Marie.

Fentanyl, it is time to change my patches...the pain will dull and possibly I can close my eyes and get some rest, well needed rest for my body and my mind as I fight like any warrior would a battle, out manned and outgunned but certainly knowledgeable and with the conviction to defeat that which I embrace, my disease process...

I do not understand nor can I begin to comprehend how I can ask someone to sit down at their convenience so I can explain how and why my feelings are being hurt. Instead of their showing (no eye contact just a raising voice that continues to rise in volume and anger) any type of compassion or understanding, I hear laughter from the distance and I am told 'you need to change your feelings'.

In all of my years of existence and many in therapy to understand why and what makes me...me, I was always taught that IF you use feeling words you immediately take someone of the defense and prevent them from being hurt in return as well as making them understand what you are trying to say...YOU HURT MY FEELINGS is a power statement that is filled with beauty, now based upon my feelings NOT supposed to be hurting as they are to be changed, I can only shake my head and let the tears roll down my eyes and know that I am residing in the wrong situation altogether.

If I only kept count of the times I am told, 'you're weird' I would be a wealthy man on a yacht sailing the seas from port to port until I found the perfect spot made up of crimsons and yellow hues with a touch of ultramarine and cobalt blue and a small drop of veridian green, the dolphins jumping beside me as I swim with them my yacht anchored, my cold spirits chilling on ice on the black sand beaches that appear untouched by human hands or feet.

Today, much older and wiser, I am once again treated like that 13 or 14 year old and it is affecting my last chapter, my final journey on this plane. And my only option, 'change your feelings'.

I will continue to smell flowers and remain in silence as my words have no importance, my feelings even less.

monday 23. 07

I am back into a routine of sorts, same as it always was as the talking heads used to sing to me. My time away from Texas did me a world of good. The clocks ticked and tocked and before I was ready, it was time to return to that which is not mine. A place to stay but not a home, at least not my home. The clock has now slowed and I find myself reflecting, very high 'highs' and reflections on a time that is difficult to describe in words and sentences.

I felt freedom and found myself looking over my shoulder, wired together like some broken bird's wing wired together to heal and be loved, if only for several weeks. The feelings were intense, the laughter plenty. Interesting neighbors, healthy food, good 'spirits', cheap cigarettes, great company, silence and talking until throats were sore. No specific plans were made other than the want and need to get away, to relax, to rest, to socialize with some I know well and others I felt I knew from descriptive adjectives that gave me a starting point to converse or simply listen.

Bargain shopping and Cadavers, family loss, screaming kids, a near miscarriage, a domestic dispute that led one to the big house, another shouting 'stupid nigger' to her own people as if it were common place, fireworks, college missionaries, Jehovah Witnesses, monsoon rains, thunder and sky to ground lightening, hell's kitchen, waterbugs and Florida roaches, swans and cranes, geckos, palm trees, humidity, sweltering heat, central air, painting and writing (mostly writing of the manifesto), cocktail parties, 'yes pleases', heaps of garbage, the mysterious smell of cat piss, dive bars, over priced bistros, Starbucks, Publix, dirty laundry, fireworks from all four directions and plenty of pushers of street drugs. I was told to tell them I was on probation and that one word, probation, kept the riff raff away with the exception of a schizophrenic mere acquaintance of Joseph that 'popped' in after she was told bluntly by Joseph, 'you are not welcome today, tomorrow, next week or yesterday. What part do you not understand?' She failed to listen and cared less, knocking on windows at 1 am, 5 am and plenty of drive byes that she admitted through one of her hundreds of text messages.

I felt her negative energy upon first glance and she proved me right upon first sentence but I guess when you tell a stranger how crazy you are, you have written on the wall. She did just that and changed from pen to marker until the ink went dry and the wall paint was muddy...

My luggage was lost in the DFW airport for 4 hours so Thursday's travel day was extended as 'going to bed early' was the plan Wednesday night. Plans often are thrown out the window when you know life changes before your eyes and you do not want to leave and wish time would freeze in the moment, many moments of pure bliss, vegetarian food and a kitchen that smelled like a kitchen should (the aroma enticing), dirty martini's and bottles of olives, incense, lavender oil, patchouli, art supplies, fedoras, pens that wrote in straight lines, burned cd's, friendly sales people, nebulizers, oxygen, sirens and ethnic varieties. I took deep breaths and was able to breathe, to feel wanted, to feel good, to know what was real and what was of no interest to me and others for that matter.

It was all the above and so much more. It was friendship and it was pure. It was pleasure and relaxing and comical. Conversation after conversation and there was always something to say, to add, to listen to something or someone, to understand and process, to explain and to let go completely and to feel safe. It was F L A and I loved it, everything etched as memory for future reference and added hope. It was energy that was shared, it simply was and it felt beautiful.

good people(s)

FLA hospice RN Summer and EricMatthew, Susanne and Joseph

Matthew and Susanne

ichelle and her pooch

fourth of july

gator bate

eric and joseph