deloric's Journal

7:36am: deloric, you are a real influencer!

You can get card with your statistics here!

#2019

Yes, thanks to Tomas, mostly, on the comments front. Dear friends, all of you.

9:04am: Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday.
All the food, full bellies.

What I love most is that extended family gathering. The room full of people that I’ve been going to my whole life, these people who have watched me grow, once a year. I don’t know a lot of names, and that’s ok. I look around and can kind of tell who is who’s sibling, who’s child they were. Because we’re all blood, this gene pool. The kids I ran around with 20, 30 years ago? There they are, Adults. I track the memorable facial features.

Sitting in the room that was built for this purpose, the extension on the house to hold the thanksgiving crowd.
The generations.
Effie’s. Running around with my brothers kids. Little rugrats laughing and bringing joy.
Mine. Our young bodies. My beautiful cousins. Our careers and boyfriends. Fashionable clothes. Young and beautiful.
My parents. My aunts and uncles and all their cousins. They’re getting older... they’re responsible. They carry this thing. That is where I am going, my future, here in front of me. This is my blood, this is the way these genetics age. These are the deep family ties that I’ve been taught to value. They sit and tell stories of their childhoods, and our childhoods.
And the matriarchs.
Granny and her sister, auntie Tussie. They’re the only ones left from a big family, lots of siblings passed. My granny is the youngest one. They are old. Their bodies are not reliable. They hold so much knowledge and memory that will disappear when they pass. They sit and look over this house full of people and know that ... they birthed this family. Their mother birthed this family. This house full of love.
Someday if I’m lucky I’ll be in such a room with my siblings, our kids, and their kids, and one more generation of littles running around.

The traits and values that are in our blood. these are my people.
Granny’s parents came from Lithuania and Ukraine.
We’re hard workers. Our genetic line is strong.

...
It’s a good feeling of warmth and security to have this gathering in my life.

9:00am: Jeff is an intolerable asshole.

This relationship with blake feels like it’s in prison, where we can only communicate through the plexiglass and tapped phone line.

One of the things, my needs, in an intimate relationship, is somewhere to dump all my love. Dole it out, dote, say sweet things that pop into my brain. And I feel stifled.


Meanwhile I blocked jeffs phone number and he find a way to call me from a private number that I cannot block. He frustrates the fuck out of me.
I like Blake because he is good contrast. Not all men are narcissistic manipulative crying assholes like Jeff is. But the contrast is paler in prison.

On my drive into work I find myself screaming at full volume and cursing aloud, and making obscene gestures with my hands. When I am alone driving down the rural highway.


I am definitely unsettled.
I am uncomfortable.
I do not like where I am.

8:49pm: ::loudly::

I’m working very hard on this self compassion angle so I can find empathy for you two also!!!!

10:40am: An anniversary I Ching

The current state of things.

39 changing to 47


39. Trouble

Line 2:

The king's official causes trouble.
The trouble is not his personal intention.

Being given trouble by someone. This is not on purpose.

Line 3:

Going through trouble,
arriving at reversal.

Going through trouble to reverse the situation.

Line 4:

Going through trouble,
arriving at continuation.

Going through this trouble makes it possible to go on.



Hexagram is changing to:

47. Confined

Confined.
Progressing.
Persistence of a senior person brings good fortune.
Without fault.
There are words that are not honest.

Being confined. There is progress. An experienced person can turn this situation into good fortune. There was no mistake. This being entrapped will make one not be entirely honest to try to get out.


( InterpretationCollapse )

3:13pm: I have been talking to other people, rather than myself, which explains how quiet I’ve been here lately.

9:24pm: “ I see a star!!!
I’m going to wish on it
*whispering*
I wish for a pink unicorn with a pink pony”
-effie

3:02pm: I’m sad.
There’s something going on that I can’t put my finger on.

And I find myself cursing at seemingly random intervals... I get some dread feeling and escapes my lips a “mother fucker”, or “Jesus Christ”.

I am trying to be mindful of what it is that immediately preceded the outburst. What has my mind wandered to?
I often forget to watch it closely.

That dread feeling in the pit of my gut.
Nauseous.
Sad.
What is it?

8:02am: I
A pattern of small red circles on the floor.
Dried drops of blood. Mine.
(Embarrassing)
The color, the character of the splotch, its wavy edges and tiny specks between larger ones.
Red tinged with rusty brown.

The familiar way it cleans up.

I rushed with the knife, distracted and cutting a half rotten apple.
The blade bit into my finger.
The familiar pain of a blade through flesh, and the leaping of blood to the surface, escaping.
Rushed, no time to deal with it, i quick grabbed a paper towel and held it over the opening, pressing hard with my thumb over the slice on my forefinger. I finish cutting the Apple.
I apply a bandaid and slip out the door. Stashing the bloody knife, cutting board, in my office to wash later.

The familiar throb of sliced flesh.
Not uncomfortable.
Arrests my attention, sends my mind to memories. I wander, fantasy.

To bleed, now, is risky.
A danger to my health and recovery.
But the blood...
could almost be intoxicating.
Alluring, utmost.

This perversity.
Fascination.
Taboo.
Playing with fire.

1:45pm: “The one who bows and the one who is bowed to
Are both by nature empty.

Therefore the communication between them
Is inexpressibly perfect.”





.
.
.
Prednisone is making me constipated. Gut cramps.





.
.
.
If I did not have this love - I would become pent up with affection that is not doled out. I have love to give. It is only fitting I should have a lover.
Being single... my body would crave giving affections, with no release, but upon Effie. I have enough to give.





It feels good to be appreciated.

1:50am: The drive home was transcendental.
Curvy roads in deep fog; zero perspective or awareness of where I am in the big picture. But knowing without a doubt I’m on my way home.

Every moment enhabited by now.


Radio playing good tunes. Meshing.


A little leftover high.



Filled up on hugs and snuggles and feeling loved and loving and .

That one love; interbeing.



Having a purpose in life to bring joy and ease and love to other people when I can. To let that fill me, too. Mutually. Symbiotic; one.




This prednisone.
Heavily affects my experience of life and my person.

Noticing.




Keep breathing.

7:21pm: I kind of didn’t take my Rx the entire time I was in Michigan.

Is this my fault?
Shut those thoughts out.



Flaring.
Anemic.
News from the doctor.
Fuck it.

Part of me just wants to ignore the whole thing until it becomes a crisis.
Part of me always wants that.

But I don’t.

I jump through the hoops.

9:56am: this contrast often makes me feel lonely.
Lonesome, like withdrawals from a good thing.

7:42am: “Help”

...
“Help”

She calls out to me. Dark morning.
I’m in the hall with my cup of tea, reading in the light, on the couch there.

I don’t go immediately. Maybe she will fall back asleep. But the second call worries me and I go.
“You called for help?”
“I can’t sleep without a grown up”

And i crawl into bed beside her, propped up on a pillow against the wall. I finish my tea in the dark room beside her, her small legs twining with my own. I keep reading, glow of screen turned down dim.

Her small body, warm and sleeping, beside me.
In this rich, luxurious, warm new bed.
Like a hotel bed. Strange and comfortable.
———————-



I spent time adding new journals to my flist. Sometimes I trouble over time spent here, reading. Too much? A waste?
But it does not cause me anxiety, like faster forms of social media do. This is slow and easy, attentive, intentional. Something less superficial.
I removed some recently added and feel minor guilt. The reading... just, not enriching. I find myself skimming your journal instead of reading the words with interest... sorry.


—————


My body.
Sneezing and running, mucus drip.
But I feel fine.
Just producing this excess.
I hope it’s not contagious. I keep a tissue in my pocket. Don’t get worse, please.




.
.
.
Yesterday.

A bed delivery. Two angels in the rain. I help them put the frame together. Effie too.
Charity.

Effie says, completely unprompted: I’m ready to take a shower at your house now.

Oh; that was not in my plans, but this is not an opportunity to waste.
So we do.
She does.
I go with her.
Now the first time is done and the worry is gone. It’s fine.
I can bathe my child.
The hairbrushing is sweet when it’s not a fight.



And.
We drove Jesus to work. With Jeff too. We drove them both to work.
And we drove to medford to visit. To work?
Kids play. Getting on well. Parenting need decreased.
Help with a task.
Chit chat with a 7 (?) year old.
Hub bub, productivity, work getting done. Pleasantly.
I make lunch.
6 around a table, sharing food. Food from my hands.

What bliss. This is my bliss.
A feeling of family. Cherish.
(Am I the imposter?)

Deep breathe.
Back to earth.




Ed called me to say the river was agush.
Today I will try to go see it.
I anticipate the overwhelming feeling... some bliss on the horizon.

9:33pm: Sometimes you write a novel and lj goes and does a shitty thing and deletes it.

Its okay.

2:48pm: *in love*
*in love*
*in love*
Drowning.

6:58pm: Micro log.

Pick up effie from school.
“I want to go to a restaurant.”
Much deliberating. “What would you order there?” I ask. I prefer not to go. I’d rather make her order at home, save money.
She screams and cries and has trouble regulating her emotions. its hard to hear no.
We park.
I hold, she cries. I provoke, she laughs. Discharge that energy, mama.
She deep breaths, asks nicely, and tells me she wants chicken and fried rice.
Okay.
I have enough money.
There’s a place to walk to, two houses down, a Chinese restaurant. Old, from the days of gold mining.
Pleasant meal.
A good idea.
Their food, is not great.
But the atmosphere is.
And the service is.
I will likely continue eating there until I find something they make that I do like.
Pot stickers - no.
Sweet sour chicken - no.
Crab rangoon - no.
Beef and broccoli - no.
The fried rice is fine.
The wonton soup is good.
And the company was perfect.
$20.

A good night.
I thanked her.

8:44pm: deloric, you're really popular blogger!

You can get card with your statistics here!

#2018

Wowza

7:35am:

John Fahey and Me.

6:21am: I like myself today.
(Everyday?)
I tend to my well being. I tend to my face.

I hit snooze for 30 minutes and the first time it feels like my beds not even warmed up yet. Sleeping solo chilled.


Rapid readying; time to write? Unheard of.

Paul simon croons to me, makes it okay.

Life is full of delights.
A kalaidescope and child’s eyes.
A perfect hat for warm and sun and rain.
A poster (that won’t uncurl).
A candle molded into beauty.
Tea! Tea! The tea sings.
I delight in the bus.
I delight in the rain.
I delight in walking.

My delight on waking was delayed. I feel it now. Keeping company with the dark morning.



I paint my face to mold the day a different way.
I delight in my clothes. Soft, warm, braless, colors made for me.
I delight in my shoes, still existing on my feet, their days numbered.

I delight in my body.
The sleepy lines lingering around my eyes.
An absence of pain.
Fingers, responding as they should.
My butt for sitting; perfect.
My legs and ankles bend under me how I ask them to, folded compliantly, not uncomfortable.

I delight in this space.
Private.
Completely mine.
Greedy for it.
Grateful for it.
With phantoms of those I love around me. The presence of a memory.


And now I’ve remembered to brush my teeth. That oral massage, bristles on gums, fresh, fresh, clean.
Just.
Enough.
Time.
Before.
The.
Bus.



I delight in this mind.
All the gratitude.
May I someday find everything I need there.

7:29am: Ugh... joint pain.. and now I notice some weird rash on my legs and ankles..
>_< body why?

6:11am: Lots. So much. A busy mind, running all night with words and worries.
Waking up often.

Jeff got moved to ICU.
He was admitted to the hospital yesterday morning. He has some infection in his arm. They said, a worst case scenario is amputation. That would devastate him. There’s something wrong with his heart. His heart rate keeps dropping dangerously.
... a broken heart?
I am of course worried about him.
I went to visit him in the morning, yesterday. I was surprised to find him with a visitor already. A female. Some girl.
It ... reminded me... of all the times... I was that girl. Sitting with Jeff in the hospital. Sitting with jeff in the ER. Driving Jeff to the hospital. Calling an ambulance. Sitting with him through the night with a crick in my neck, waiting, waiting. And... there’s something... about... him being in that vulnerable position; it does something to a girl. Something like, commitment. I guess she drove him there, very very early in the morning. Something like a willingness to do anything, to drop boundaries, for someone that is ill and needs help.
...but...
it got old for me. A chore.
And. I am no longer responsible.
Maybe it was wrong of me to ever feel responsible in the first place.
Yesterday I found myself, multiple times, thinking... “he is not my responsibility.” “I’m not responsible anymore.” ..with great relief.
But I am still worried about him.
Thinking about him dying. And we’re no longer linked (we never were?). Like... his things.... are not my problem, are they? If he died? I have no rights over any of his things, I mean. Like... thats on his family to deal with.
Well.... maybe I would deal with it to the extent that I be a proxy for Effie. Because ... she is linked.
Look at me, wondering over his death, and the first thing I think about is his things??

He just texted me. “They have me hooked up to a defibrillator. It hurts when it goes off. I’m so scared.”
.... I texted him back.. “I’m scared too.”


.
.
.
I woke up in pain. This is unusual for me.
My forearms, wrists, and hands are very sore, like fatigue. A little swollen. And my shins or ankles.
I think.... its... lupus?
Or... maybe I just.. slept tight, with my hands balled up into fists and crammed at unnatural angles around my body. Like stress.
But it feels like more than that. Like. A lupus thing. That pain I escape so often, lucky me. But, I am still vulnerable.


“I need you to know something in case I die”




This is a funny situation. How much of an emergency is it? Because I’ve been there with him so many times, I’m so desensitized to it.
But...
He’s never been in ICU before.
He’s never been on a defibrillator before.
I’m trying to consider... when I should visit... If the worst happens, what will I feel guilty for not doing? And choose to do that.

I have a site visit scheduled with a landowner this mornings at 10. I don’t want to miss it.
I have that project due at the end of the month. Which means, due at the end of the week, because, I am leaving for vacation.

I am alarmed. Over jeff. over this pain in my body.



There’s other things.
I detailed my car yesterday. Vacuumed and armoralled. Took all the shit out (Effies toys and jackets, mostly). So, it feels nicer in there now. I’ve had the car a little over a year, so it seemed like... good reason to clean it deep.

And...
Effie and I went to the pottery painting shop. It was ... really fun. And pretty affordable. I painted a $4 leaf; they said its to be a magnet (will the provide the magnet?) and she painted a small airplane. Its a gift for jeff. She said, its so he remembers me when I’m away on the airplane. Sweet girl. Jeffs birthday is on Friday. We’ll celebrate birthday and Christmas, exchange gifts with effie.
...If he makes it.
If he survives this shit.
It is scary.



And effie had her first real sleepover. Her close friend Sonja. A birthday party sleepover, but just effie as guest. Not other kids too. She had a good time. I got a good report from Sonjas Ma, effie is always well behaved. When I got her back, she was in total meltdown mode. Very irritable. Little things making her very mad. I fed her. I gave her attention. I was patient. (Except when I wasn’t). I held boundaries, no hitting me, no spitting at me. And, the thing that probably helped the most. Rough housing. And getting her to laugh. Those are the most important tools in my parenting toolbox lately.
So I spent a long time with her, a few hours, just giving attention and rough physical touch. letting her overpower me. Overpowering her. Letting her get hurt and holding her close, only to begin again with more roughness. I let her sit on my lap for a long time, while she ate and dallied. Parenting.


And in the evening.
We made dinner together. Soup. I’m on a soup kick. Lentil soup. She helps me add ingredients and stir the pot. She helps me “pick over” the lentils. We eat a snack of apples and hummus while it cooks. I read her a story in the dining room while it cooks. Attentive. Trying.
I like this kitchen. I like this house. I like this life.
I didn’t realize the recipe called for a blender, until I read the last step in the cookbook. Oh. But, this house, has one. Perfect.

Serving.
Effie says.
It looks like Poop!
“What kind of poop?”
Animal food poop!
Hahahaha. Okay, darling.
And miraculously, she tried it. PARENTING WIN. Yes, this is the trend we want. Twice now, she’s tried the new thing and liked it. A few more times and it will be routine?? Try the new thing I helped mama make for dinner. Even when it looks like animal food poop.

And, the next thing I love about living here.... This responsibility to clean up, right away! Small messes cleaned often. And, effie helps. Effie helps! She washes the table and rinses the dishes I’ve washed. I’m trying to reinforce the clean up with the random treat reward. Not every time, just sometimes. Last night, the reward, was ..... A million kisses and thank yous, her giggling in my arms, trying to dodge a million kisses, as we walk up the stairs. Closeness, loving, pleasure, reinforced sharing chores.

And while we cooked!! We listened to Christmas music and sang. Who am I?! A woman that doesn’t live with Jeff anymore. I *can* listen to Christmas music and enjoy it. I learn small things about myself. Ways I’ve made myself small and don’t have to anymore.


What if he is dying?
We are all dying.
What if he dies? What will life be like? How will I help Effie? Surely he won’t die......


That happens to other people. Not us.


Jeff took her to see a live play of Willy Wonka. Effie enjoyed it very much. He said, he wants to get her in some drama program maybe. She might like it. I smile to myself when she talks about “Charlie Bucket”.


She is better off with us both.



This pain in my wrists. Tightness.
I got the second infusion, last Friday. I slept. I listened to music and half slept, half listened. Moody Blues.

I want to add more music to my iPod. I’m missing Neil Young, Paul Simon, Garfunkel too.

My mother in law asked, would we like to go to the neighbors place and do karaoke for Christmas Eve? YES. Yes. Yes. This is another thing that probably wouldn’t happen with Jeff.
But he doesn’t have to die for it...
I sing Jingle Bell Rock in the kitchen, and dance around, with good smells, and effie.


I guess. This news, this event, with Jeff, is affecting me more than I thought. .... ICU... Its never been this serious before. What is going on?
(...a broken heart...)

He said he didn’t want effie to see him in the hospital. He didn’t even want me to tell her. He said, “effie thinks people die in hospitals. Because of grandma.” Yeah... grandma died. In Hopsice. “Did she think I was going to die, when I went for my infusions?” “Yes, and grandpop too.” Oh. Fuck. What if he dies?
I am scared.



There’s not much morning left.

8:39am: Bundled up against the cold for a sunrise sky. Hot tea, hot oatmeal, blanket, perfect.
The clouds move faintly, almost dizzying to focus on, a small continuous motion, imperceptibly slow.

All the sudden that bright globe peeks above the mountains.
What a thing! To live in a place with such a view as that.
Cloudy, makes the sun ... something I can look at, for a short time. It’s mottled like the moon but never waxes or wanes.

And in a matter of minutes that globe rises above the mountains and disappears completely, save its light, behind the clouds.

“My mind is a clear blue sky”

Good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning.
All this treasure.

...........
I want a golden, fat, laughing Buddha.

...............
I slept good. Warm. Without waking. Cozy.
I roused, hitting snooze.
Flooded with memories.
Oh; bliss.
Is this a dream?
I start the day in pleasure; moan and cry out.


Looking forward to everything this day has to bring.
May there be fish.

Maybe I’ll bring my small vial of dead coho. Effie is inifinitely interested in them; maybe other children will be too.


And this season of gift giving...
And I wish I was better at mailing letters. I used to be good, i can be again, its merely effort. Ands it’s pleasurable, in every way.

.
.
.
Vonnegut:
“And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.” A man without country

And I do, Vonnegut, I do, I do, at random moments in my life when I am filled with delight. I say to myself. If this isn’t nice, dont know what is. And I grin. Like in a shared shower, a new experience, infintely better than i imagined.

Maybe a library trip today; books and writing. Not rushing the day when she can tolerate chapter books instead of picture books. Cultivating that day, so when the time comes she will find great pleasure there, and allow me to dote that upon her.
I remember my own mother, reading to my brothers and I at bedtime. Narnia, the entire series, narnia at night. I was too young, but my brotheres weren’t, and I still reaped the benefit.


And now its time to go pick that child up from her fathers house and start the day again.

7:06am: Oh my.
These headphones are a new experience of music.
More depth than I’ve heard before.
In the old songs near, dear to my heart.

This is love. In stereo.
.... it makes me want to get high.



Jefferson Airplane were gods.

6:27am: It’s cold.
This room is cold.

I didnt sleep well.
I woke often, looking to my watch, is it time to get up? No. Back to sleep, hoping for dreams of him.
They did not come.

WHen it was finally time to get up, I couldn’t.
Too cold.
No bus to catch, I’m driving. No urgency to rise.
Not good.
I’ve squandered my morning hours, now.

I left the heat on higher all night. It kicked on a few times. I sit up to peek at the glowing red temperature. It just feels cold. The heat doesnt make it over to my corner where I lay. It doesn’t feel any warmer than when I left it off.

Difficult.
No rhythm.
Arhythmic.

And I miss her.
Aching.
We are separate.

Joy comes and joy goes.
I am blue, now.
Blue with lonesome, blue with cold.
This trajectory, life never stops, never slows.

The calendar turns and I fulfill obligations as they come. Less than present.


If I could have anything now, what would it be?
WHat do I prefer over this?
....warmth.
Motivation.
A spring in my step.
Mostly just... warmth.


Text me, he says.
In the morning.
Parallels.. I always would hand write a morning note. I prefer hand writing to texting. Proximity.



I’ll try my hand at weatherproofing.
I’ll cover the windows in plastic film, and I purchased heavy curtains to further contain the cold from creeping in.
Make do.


What is this life.