Doesn't that sound like a poetry challenge, to write a poem based on those words? Or a logic problem? Or a philosophy problem? Maybe the shitgibbon IS a stable genius, we can't understand. Maybe dogs, with their heightened hearing, can get it.
I started this particular post with those particular words a month ago. Of course, by now, I have no clue what that was all about.
As sad as I am about my sister's passing, I admit to being even more worried about my mother's cough and the x-ray showing some lung abnormalities. Janet having a significant illness besides old age is not something I had reckoned with. She is so healthy in other ways, that I just never never never imagined the end might be nursing her through cancer or some such thing. Tomorrow, I can call to get her radiology appointment and we can go from there. But, as my dear nieces know, this waiting and wondering thing is so so hard.
Tolerate the uncertainty. That's what my first therapist, Peggy, said to me. Tolerate the tension of not knowing, not being resolved.
I have so many "unresolved" issues around me, mostly in the form of chores and unrealized projects. I am just trying to get Monsterwood done as that has a pretty clear end if I just put in the time. And so, back to that for awhile.
Monday Monday ...
Mom's cough seems to be worse, which might, paradoxically, (I think) be a good thing. I don't think lung cancer in an old person would move that fast. Her CT scan is scheduled for Thursday evening. When you are in this position, you think of .... Lost that one. .... oh, you look for reasons for it to be something else.
It's very isolating to be here alone, dealing with my emotions, her emotions and physicality, and, of course, my own struggles with depression. That I am not drinking anything, eating well, exercising, taking my meds and supplements and still I sink into death-contemplating despair is puzzling and even more depressing to me.
I am in a bit of a late night cycle again, which makes the mornings tough. Fortunately, our schedule is a bit looser today so I don't need to chase around Mom. Or not that much.
Butterscotch thinks she is my daemon. Or portable heater.
This is one of the new rose bushes I bought. (Not a picture of my actual plant.) Now, I am reconsidering planting them here at all as I don't know how long I will be here. I'd probably return them if I could.
Anyway, I ought to get dressed and get Mom to her lunch. It's very distressing to hear her coughing so much.
THE EDGES OF TIME
It is at the edges
that time thins.
Time which had been
dense and viscous
as amber suspending
intentions like bees
unseizes them. A
humming begins,
apparently coming
from stacks of
put-off things or
just in back. A
racket of claims now,
as time flattens. A
glittering fan of things
competing to happen,
brilliant and urgent
as fish when seas
retreat.
— Kay Ryan, THE BEST OF IT: NEW AND SELECTED POEMS, New York, Grove Press, 2010
Wow. That poem.
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