Sharkinalia

The

Elderly Care.

Returning from mushroom hunting (2 lbs, approx), i heard my mother saying something from the kitchen.
Muck boots, sweaty socks, clippers out of pocket, music awkwardly turned off on the phone, i tell her i could finally hear her, and did she need help?
Yes.
I ask, immediately? (I'm not insensitive, or maybe i really am, but i still had hat, sunglasses, reading glasses, fucken whistle, & head lamp to shove off. Still holding the pail of mushrooms.)
Yes.
I find her in a puddle of wine on the kitchen floor. She can't get up. She's wearing a sling on her left arm, & her right clavicle is dislocated. She's also wearing my black tee & only panties.
But it's waaaaay beyond that, right?
 I mean consistently helping a parent out of a demeaning position, literally.

I showed her ways I would get up from her positions, but she didn't have enough muscle strength to get up. Even with me lifting her (carefully, & only in certain, safe spots), she couldn't get up. I was going to describe how she finally did, but then i remembered she never did.
A towel sliding contest ensued. I had to keep her focus on her knees (forehead to knees, forehead to knees) because if i paused she would tip backwards or sideways. a weeblolo. or a life jacket that didn't fit.
 I was very afraid she'd smash her head against the million things hard in the this wonderful, but inappropriate house. But she didn't, not the brick & slate surround of the wood stove, the hard tile floor, nor the oak trimmed corners. Later, I was able to launch her up to her bed. Of course, she was puttering around, getting another glass of wine when i next went to the kitchen. She said, now she felt fine.

ATL @ Nite

damn me for not having a digital camera, save the lowqual one on my treo.
atlanta at night is like all tall cities, lovely with lights. tonight there is a fog. a building i don't know the name of has a glowing crown. a crafty beehive of laticed steel. and at night, it's lit from inside, an ember of amber. tonight the firelight is drawn out on fog. a rare courting ritual.
pix to come.
mild headache.

coda

i've toyed with a new handle, i've considered a new webbed log. but these things aren't meaningful enuf to justify the time involved. call me lazy. uncreative, both are right on, brother.
let me except my deep, dark ugly bits. let me make mockery of these shamble down justifications and ill excuses. they are me as much as the things i like about me. even when i can't remember what those things are.
The sound of fireworks reminds me that i'm not in iraq.

so as my boyfriend turns away, i reach for writing. the assuredity of formed, typed or written letters. created from brain to page in moments. i live between the spaces of text, within the chapters of fiction.

he, on the other hand, has grown weary of my tripe. the burrs, tartness, my inconstant but utter ennui, indifferent libido, chronic pain...oh, it's a nasty broth. it was my understanding, however, that he too, would, should love my leftovers and lackings.

that may simply be too much to ask from a man i can still respect.

when i write about it, there's only one thing to do. but one shouldn't always be hasty. longer looks allow for greater understanding. if one looks right and well, i suppose. "the right kind of eyes" and all that.

"Hope everything's awesome, cuz you are!"

Sharks win division.
Yup, everything's awesome.
and gettin better.

noble soul, ego -base.

saturday (caturday) i looked forward all week to sleeping in. i was up at 7.

the female finches found the thistle. (gosh o gee how happy i would be if i could only whithsle) i was worried i wouldn't get it up in time and they would go somewhere else. i assume they're purple, and my favourite, but i wouldn't mind some golds.
scrub jays and stellers. i think they found the suet.
it's been rain storm at night and frosty in the morn. but the juncos are chubby. i don't have my books and i haven't looked it up, if they have any juncos in michigan, these being oregon, of course. but some are ruddy and coal, others dusty. silly lil cross breeders. makin out with a robin.

i'm almost done with my chores. i feel eerily productive. the mad baker bought a washer and dryer. no mo' nanny's wash 'n dry. tho i did meet a nichiren buddhist there.
only in the youge.
"fly paper for freaks"

now i know it wasn't jist the addition of campbell, but who can argue with the sharks streak right now? chills. palpitations.
go, sharks, go

http://sci.tech-archive.net/pdf/Archive/sci.med.diseases.lyme/2005-08/msg00949.html

I laughed, it sounded like me.

i did not write about change. i talked about it in my head. that doesn't usually count.

most buddhists strive to negate the self, the small soul; working as i do does that for me. i am not, however, tapped into the divine. it's more like powerpoint & office two thosandfrigginseven.

fuck the ribbon.
i ranted about this. but it seems so damn geeky to post such thots. turn into an effin admin advice column.

saving the world one secretary at a time.


Most Importantly, Sharks #2 in the west! An amazing 7 point behind Detroit. I thot Big D was gunna kill everyone this year. Hahhhhhhhhh-sick Hahhhhhhh-sick