Monthly Archives: February 2012

So we went to Nashville again today, to take James to the heart guy, who says that he will need a pacemaker, most likely, at some point, but not at this point. He will be stress tested yearly, and monitored closely. And we will see. Unless he has the genetic defect, which we will know in four more weeks, which will mean other things. We will see what we see when we see it. We are in a holding pattern. So.

I am tired. This whole thing took the whole day. I missed tonight’s class. I am tired and out of focus. Annette is in the hospital, having had a successful surgery, but seriously I just want everything to get back to normal, whatever that is.

I haven’t written a lick, not a thing, not at all. Maybe this extra Seroquel has taken all my words away. Maybe my oily brain will not offer up its secrets. Maybe I will become so balanced that no words will ever, ever come. Maybe I will never write again. I am tired. There is nothing to report. I am without form and void and there is no God moving in me. The face of my waters has nary a ripple of breath across it. There are no tears, no valleys of snow, no whispers, no secrets. No miracles. Not today.

Maybe tomorrow will be different, but just now I am stuck in this day, in this holding pattern. I am running out of fuel but there’s no place to land. My skin is stretched tight on my bones. Nothing doing, there is nothing doing at all.

~r.

So I have avoided writing, I think. In any case, I haven’t written anything to post. Sometimes I will start a post, and then discard it, but I haven’t even done that. I still haven’t reread the writing I did over the weekend. I think I’m afraid to. Or something. Someone is keeping secrets.

So, I went back to the crazy doctor yesterday and I think I may end up loving him. First of all, my cholesterol—263, which isn’t that bad considering the fact that my HDL (good cholesterol) is 70. The doctor thinks that I can work it out with diet, which is just what I wanted to hear. So, oatmeal for breakfast this morning. I must avoid the carbs that I crave, that make me crazy—chips, bread, white potatoes, white rice. Period. It’s going to be hard. I also need to eat more often, which I know. I know, I know, I know. Years ago when I dropped a lot of weight I ate all the time, little baggies of food everywhere. And I limited the carbs. And I worked out almost every day. I know what I NEED to do, but doing it is hard. But now, if I can make this about the cholesterol instead of just about losing weight, maybe it will be easier.

But it’s all very complicated. My hormones are out of whack. My testosterone is high, one type of estrogen is high and he wants an ultrasound of my ovaries. He says that all that can directly affect the weight problem. But it’s even more complicated than that.

I have a genetic mutation on the MTHFR gene, or something like that. All these genetic terms are new to me. Anyhow, I got two bad copies of it and this whole thing explains so much. First of all, I read yesterday that 98% of autistic children have this mutation. So, there’s James. This mutation is associated with schizophrenia. There’s my brother. And, you guessed it, it’s associated with bipolar disorder. Talk about a bunch of mixed up genes. Of course, I knew this in my bones, that all of this is genetic in its nature, in its Southern gothic fuckupedness. I KNEW it. The doctor wants me to map out a family tree for him to look at.

So the upshot is that he can treat this mutation with a B vitamin, which is prescription, which should take my functioning (something about enzymes) from 30% to 100%. He says that this should help, not hurt, my creativity. We will see what we see. I pick up the medicine today, along with a prescription of fish oil, which is only $50 for a three month supply. Buying it from the doctor’s office, or the drug store, it works out to about $100 a month, so I’m going with the prescription. I think the doctor would rather that I still bought it from him (PURE brand, his price is better than what we would pay online) but I’m going this route instead.

Another thing he wants me to do is take vitamin D, 10,000 i.u. daily, which seems excessive, but that’s what he wants me to do because I was a little low. He wants me back on iron because although my hemoglobin was okay, my iron stores were low, so I’m back on that. The good, good news was that my glucose was very, very normal—89—which is the thing that is most likely adversely affected by the Geodon. So.

The doctor said that I can use the South Beach Diet as a guide, but I’m not doing anything that says I can’t eat corn and bananas. Or pineapple. Sorry, folks. I will simply do what my instincts tell me, and really put forth an effort and we will see what we see. I bought this little thing called ProGym, which is a resistance tube package, which kicked me really good yesterday. This is some toning that I can do at home and it will be really, really good for my knees. My right knee has been better, but still bothering me.

This morning I went back to the doctor for injections for my bursitis. I really hope it works because it HURT.

I may pull out the writing today. Or I may not. It’s Friday. I can do anything I want.

~r.

So I was up early, 6:45 central time, and into the shower. Then coffee, then a catnap before breakfast. Then grits WITHOUT butter, and toast WITHOUT butter, an orange, more coffee. Then we did a write. Then we read writes. Then I had a cigarette. Then we did another write. I feel somewhat disconnected today. And I’m so tired because I DID NOT sleep well. I think I will go nap now.

One could lose one’s mind at times like this. All this meditation thing is so very alien to my very nature. I learn through writing and through SPEAKING and hearing myself talking. That’s why the idea of losing my hearing is so devastating to me. I cannot imagine not being able to hear myself. How would I know I existed? In this process, you share what you read, but no one is allowed to comment, no one can say anything. Even talking amongst yourselves is frowned upon. I CAN’T STAND IT!!

But in spite of myself, I am learning things about myself, which is why I’m here. After my second write, I was deeply surprised, which fits with all the things that have been going on in my life lately. I’ll tell you what though. I am going to hang out a shingle and have a writing retreat of my own—I would be very good at this sort of thing.

For supper, they had roasted up half a butternut squash for me and the other vegan. There was broccoli and quinoa and salad and rolls. For dessert, they baked me an apple. I put sugar on it and the Lord said that it was good. The nice lady prepared a bag of ice for my knee, and gave me some soy milk for my coffee. It’s unsweetened, which will be perfect. I am going to ask these kind nuns if I can come back up here and be in silence. I want to see if I will lose my mind. I wonder if I could go for twenty-four hours. I asked this pretty girl if she wanted a glass of wine, but she laughed and passed. I may ask the leader if she wants some. I have a lot to share. It has stopped snowing. My left sinus is fretting. I wonder if I’ll sleep tonight, without a fan. I have been taking Seroquel as per the doctor’s instructions and have been sleeping like a baby, and waking up just fine. The night before last, I dreamed that I was cheating on Dale, as I often dream and it always makes me feel so guilty. Anyhow, in this dream, I was very sorry and was telling Dale how sorry I was and how I only wanted to marry someone else if I could still be married to him, when I started saying, “I have dreamed this so many times and maybe this is a dream, too. Maybe I will wake up and this will all have been a dream, but it feels so real that that can’t be true.” When I woke up after dreaming that, I had the heeby-jeebies. A cruel twist on lucid dreaming.

Now it’s time to have a smoke and drink more wine.

~r.

I have arrived. My room has two twin beds, both with white coverlets. There is an ugly, 1970s yellow chair for sitting. There is a desk area. I don’t have wireless in my room, and my cell phone doesn’t work here. It is snowing outside. Surely I will be the only smoker. A nice woman just gave me a can for my butts, a big silver can with sand in the bottom. I have already broken into my wine. I brought two bottles with me. I cannot call Dale and feel weird about this. I am full of silence and expectation. I am eager and aware.

This weekend, many things will happen. My brain will open and spill its secrets. I am fat and dressed in brown and black with many a ruffle. I feel pretty and afraid. I am eager for what comes next. Surely something worthwhile will be revealed. I will probably cry. Jesus may fill up my chest with his fingers. God may batter me senseless. My heart may break open.

I will update all the time. I will reach out with my hands. I will embrace everything.

~r.

So I slept late, not wanting to get up and cook breakfast, not wanting to be disturbed. Now I’m awake and have finished the reading in preparation for the retreat. Now I must wait until it’s time to leave, I must move through these moments. I must wait and be quiet. I hate waiting and I hate being quiet and I will probably hate this retreat. Well, no, not really. It will be quiet time to write, a whole lot of writing, by hand. I feel a cramp already.

I have studied the book and pretty much understand the practice. While this is not something I see myself doing on a regular basis, at least not with the structure that they require—music, candle, quiet space (where would I do this?), I think that I will get a lot out of this weekend. I just hope I don’t cry uncontrollably, I just hope I don’t know any of the others.

I will arm myself with smokes and a box of wine. This is probably not permitted, but I don’t care. It’s Friday. I will do what I want. I hope the food is good. I told them I was vegan and they said no problem, whatever that means. Maybe they are all vegan.

Damn it I hate waiting so much. I can’t leave until three. It’s one. Damn. I just went and did some stuff. Now it’s 1:26. 3:00 may never, ever come. This may be the day that the hands stop moving forever. I may never get into my car and drive up the big mountain. My book my never get published, I may forever be seeking a book of poems to call my own. I may struggle forever up the mounting wave. But no, I am going to eat the lotus. I am full of fire. Now it’s all going to come pouring out.

~r.

I am on fire and full of icicles. Last night was my brain on God, my brain snapping and popping and God wrapped all around my body and me up at two in the morning making art out of pain. I have written a new thing, maybe prose poems, maybe fictions, maybe light out of darkness. I am swollen with love. I live inside a star and in the mornings the birds bring me food and I eat it in large gulps. They are white birds with silver wings and my hair is long and red full of curls.

Today I went to a faculty meeting and felt official and dull and full of paper clips and stapled memos. This evening I went to India Mahal with husband and friends and lived an art-directed episode of my life at Rick and Terri’s house drinking red wine from stemmed glasses. There is a red couch there and an angel in the window blowing on a trumpet.

I think if I try hard enough, and hold my breath long enough, I will turn the color of violets and kneel in prayer. I am full of Jesus, of body and blood. This is my chest flailed open and full of stars. I am exactly five feet five and one half inches tall. I have a queen-sized bed and a comforter the color of taupe with little flowers spread all over it. Maybe tonight sleep will come sweet on sweetness full of cookies and cream.

I called my shrinkette today and left a message. She called back and left a message. She thinks I should take more Seroquel to manage this hypomania. I didn’t get a chance to tell her about my vegetable love. I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I’m really an out of work dancer standing on point. I do not feel the need for the pills tonight because I am calm as a silver lake.

This year I will travel many places and write many wonderful things. I will be a better-than-ever teacher and almost cry many times but not quite. When I wash dishes I will wait for my chest to fill with light. At some point I will walk to a place and walk back again and again. Now I am going to sleep.

~r.