I have a cold. I am not the only one though both Sam and Isadora have colds as well. The last few days I have been sticking to yoga-type workouts. I have also been taking naps! Usually I don’t nap because it ruins my sleep. I have been sleeping heavily both during my naps and at night and I am still feeling exhausted! The cold part of the cold hasn’t been so bad actually very minimal congestion and runnage. It is mostly extreme fatigue, fever (very persistent), and body pain. For me the body pain is in the hips down to the knees and the thoracic spine. For Sam it seems to be all over particularly in the neck. His cold started with a migraine. Isadora’s also started with a headache. She doesn’t seem to have body pain though and has more congestion/leakage (not much fever either). I have had tension in my head but nothing I would call a headache. I am also ravenously hungry, for some reason whenever I get sick my body wants to gorge.
If spring fever is what I think it might be then I also have that (I have had it for several weeks now). I am so restless. I am itching for warm, sunny days. I am not really enjoying my usual hobbies or maybe it is more accurate to say that I can’t focus on them long enough to enjoy them. I have been reading A LOT because of the commute to work and the long wait for the bus. My eyes are exhausted as a result. That coupled with my desperation for the great outdoors has made writing very challenging. I have been meditating though, also pretty unfocused but I have managed some successful visualizations. I am working on building an internal sanctuary.
Oh and I got hair cut to shoulder length! Yes I finally got it cut. I am not sure how I felt about the actual hairdresser, there was no connection and there were some issues with communication. She also seemed uneasy about working with my hair (I am looking for someone who is confident and can offer suggestions.). I came in with a lot of hair. My hair was waist-length. Sam made the appointment for me using a phone app. The result, she was rushed on time because the standard slot was not sufficient. When I was there she answered the phone (I gathered that someone was trying to book an appointment) and she asked them with this really desperate voice while glancing over at me “Do you have super long, extremely thick hair?” I feel pretty bad about it because I think if they had known about my hair previously they would have given me a longer time slot. She thinned my hair so it wouldn’t be so big but it is still big. She didn’t have time to dry it so she never got to see the finished product so to speak.
I forgot how hysterically curly my hair can be when short but I appreciate the liveliness of having curls. My head definitely feels lighter and it so much better lying down without that knot at the base of my head from the ponytail I had to wear all the time. I was wearing my hair up most of the time when it was long because otherwise it was getting in the way too much (I couldn’t exercise, eat, work, or even ride on the bus because it would get caught in other people’s things). I even slept with it because my hair was reaching out and suffocating Sam during the night. I can still put it in a ponytail, it is short and chunky haha I wouldn’t say there is a lot of style to the cut though and I was hoping for a bit of style. I am pretty happy about having went through with it though because man I needed it. I am hoping the breakage will grow out better now. Long hair can be very beautiful but I just wasn’t managing it very well. I don’t really look older or younger!
Today I have spent most of my time in the bathroom. Suffice to say I’ve felt better. I am not sure if I have a virus/parasite/bacterial infection/absence of vital digestive flora/food allergy or if I’ve developed IBS. I am contemplating going to the doctor as I have had this problem on and off for almost 8 months. And no I haven’t lost any weight, in fact, this year I’ve put on weight!!! I used to have a very slim waist line but now I find my midsection is very strait and sometimes painfully bloated/hard.
I’ve had a hard time concentrating and find that when I write my ideas are being cut off before they can fully develop. I am not sure if it’s the physical strain of my illness and the resulting seizures or if it is a more insidious psychological issue. It’s like every one of my muses has undergone elective amputation. Each time I regard them I sense that something essential is missing. Perhaps they are simply unformed or disfigured such that I cannot decipher their orientation or intentions? I don’t have enough wool to make a sweater or even a sensible pair of gloves. My head is tragically, disconcertingly overflowing with amorphous microscopic fibers. I am proud of the writing I’ve done and more so of my commitment and discipline but I can’t help but feel that there is, inherent in my work, some unforgivable vacancy.
In the past year I have learned so much about myself and I have found a contentment which I had not previously known but there is still within me a fatal disconnect. My brain is full of dark rooms and faulty fuses. It seems to me that every thought/sentiment is a pair of nylon stockings ripping on ingress. I am exhausted and motivated at the same time. I am producing but not to whatever, most likely nonsensical, standard I’ve set.
The sky is heavy and disconsolate. My mood is adapting the template of my western window. Isadora is recovering from illness, while I am proliferate with minutiae. Technically I should be in therapy but I have a stomach virus and thus am reluctant to travel. Which is just as well because I am not in the mood to talk. I just want to be alone with my unfinished thoughts. This morning Sam woke me up with a flurry of kisses. Apparently we both had dreams that the other had left and for equally stupid reasons. How I love that man!
Speaking of dreams I had one recently that is representative of a chronic theme. I was waiting at the bus stop with a group of strangers. The wait was a long one, 31 minutes, but there was no alternative because I didn’t know the way to my destination. As I was waiting I noticed an older man out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing sunglasses but I could tell from his body language that he was agitated. He began pacing and muttering under his breath. I couldn’t make out his words but their nature reflected a growing hostility. He took out a knife and I sank deeper into the glass cubicle, frightened for my life and the well-being of the faceless strangers that barricaded me unaware. I saw a tram barreling toward the station. This was a rural area so there were no tracks. Everything went black, I felt myself being jostled by the crowd. When I regained my vision I was inside of the tram tied to a seat but the cabin was empty save for a female driver, the old man, and another person. Although the other person was a prominent and active character I cannot remember anything about them including their gender. The female driver was manic. She was either on drugs or in the throws of a full blown psychotic episode.
The road ahead was serpentine. The hills would have been impossible for a vehicle to traverse. The tram didn’t stop for lights, for signs, for traffic, for pedestrians and nothing opposed or slowed its trajectory. I sensed my stop was approaching and I begged them to let me off but they kept going. I remember watching helplessly as miles and hours passed. I was growing increasingly panicked. I had no money, no cell phone, no recollection of addresses or phone numbers. I couldn’t remember the way back, the tram had taken so many inexplicable turns and detours. I couldn’t even remember the name of the city I wished to return to. I knew only that I desperately wanted to be with my family but that I had no way of reaching them.
In other dreams I sometimes manage to get a hold of Sam but he never seems concerned and never provides me with the information or the means to return. In still other incarnations of the dream I am traveling with Sam. I arrive at a logical destination, usually at the home of one of my parents, and then Sam leaves. I have no money to return home and no identification. I end up trapped. In the dreams where I am confined to my mother’s house it is less scary but the sadness is just as intense. At my father’s house I have to contend with abuse as he tries to reenact our childhood roles. I feel an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Often my father appears reformed when in Sam’s presence but degrades in his absence. Sometimes I do not even recognize the man as my father until after Sam leaves. Quite obviously I don’t feel in control of my life. Every now and then I make a breakthrough, I conquer the dragon, but always there are more dragons and bigger dragons with which I must contend. I worry that I might choose the wrong path or the wrong means. I worry that I might run out of time, that my loved ones will give up while I am in the process and I’ll end up trapped in a situation too horrible to contemplate. I daresay I am also a little afraid of myself.
Mute. Vulnerable Given to collapse. My heart lies diminished. Having peeled back too many scars, too many layers I am raw, besmirched, and not yet itchy. There is no comfort in expectation. In the opposition of neurons corrosively overburdened. I think too much. I succumb too easily to lawless sleep. To anti-realities and dissociations. Hours pass more quickly than minutes. Minutes are impatient. Minutes add up but hours reduce. It’s a long time waiting for the sun to drop. Waiting for my responsibilities to undress and settle serenely into the arms of a generous lover.
I am exhausted. Minutiae are threatening mutiny. I scurry, kaleidoscopic, through rooms on the verge of collapse. The Gilings are on the rise. I’ve arrested the latest pathogen and all I really want is to lie on the sofa with a swatch of velvet thrown over my icy limbs. I want to dream, idle dreams, that require neither compliance nor consummation.