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a moldy moths way to wards the light
Mar. 21st, 2003 11:13 pmAll good intentions, all sound sleep and all inspiration rolled over and died in a fog of steady never ending ache, confused and tired activity and general snarkyness caused by the former two during this last week.
My right side stopped working, the arm was not completely useless, but almost for many days, I couldn't turn my head and lost feeling in the hand and fingers. So I went to this merited chiropractor, a small grey eyed woman with that kind of southern accent that always give flashes of mixed memory-emotions inside. She rolled out her torture table and made me scream like a five year old girl, and actually brought tears to my eyes with that extremely unpleasant cracking that her brutal treatment on my spine and neck caused. After the torture session she fixed her grey stare on me and told me in her dry voice that two vertebrae were stuck and some muscles so swollen that some nerves were nudged in a most unpleasant way, and that this was probably partially psychologically initiated. So I told her about dads heart attack and those two nights of bad sleep and how the shit had started after that. She just nodded, this was obviously common ground for her, and then she set me up for two more torture sessions. This will be very costly and painful for me, but I have no other option...it actually helps, and I can't go around with a half working right side forever.
I feel like some kind of moldy old moth that's come out of the freak closet, staggering forward, dragging one dusty wing after me in a Quasimodo-like way. The merciless spring sun reveals my unpolished dirty boots and the holes in my clothes, all the grandeurs of entropy. The sky is so very empty and huge and blue, it feels as if it could just swallow me up any second. And everywhere around me there seem to be pretty people in love...where did they all come from?
This certainly is the fata morgana of transformation from a bad winter into an unknown spring territory that will reveal what's hidden beneath the snow.
My old man will have a bypass operation and I will go down south to visit him when that happens. He is home on leave now, and feels pretty good and stable, although very grumpy (due to the smoking restrictions), and occasionally also quite sentimental, which is even more scary, since it's so unknown to him previous from now...
I am actually slowly starting to feel better, and the following week I will try to finish all the things I didn't finish this week, including the chapter on the thesis.
I would like to thank you Chris, for your small morning letters. They were like a little crutch, a small but unexpected support in some otherwise completely grey days.
My right side stopped working, the arm was not completely useless, but almost for many days, I couldn't turn my head and lost feeling in the hand and fingers. So I went to this merited chiropractor, a small grey eyed woman with that kind of southern accent that always give flashes of mixed memory-emotions inside. She rolled out her torture table and made me scream like a five year old girl, and actually brought tears to my eyes with that extremely unpleasant cracking that her brutal treatment on my spine and neck caused. After the torture session she fixed her grey stare on me and told me in her dry voice that two vertebrae were stuck and some muscles so swollen that some nerves were nudged in a most unpleasant way, and that this was probably partially psychologically initiated. So I told her about dads heart attack and those two nights of bad sleep and how the shit had started after that. She just nodded, this was obviously common ground for her, and then she set me up for two more torture sessions. This will be very costly and painful for me, but I have no other option...it actually helps, and I can't go around with a half working right side forever.
I feel like some kind of moldy old moth that's come out of the freak closet, staggering forward, dragging one dusty wing after me in a Quasimodo-like way. The merciless spring sun reveals my unpolished dirty boots and the holes in my clothes, all the grandeurs of entropy. The sky is so very empty and huge and blue, it feels as if it could just swallow me up any second. And everywhere around me there seem to be pretty people in love...where did they all come from?
This certainly is the fata morgana of transformation from a bad winter into an unknown spring territory that will reveal what's hidden beneath the snow.
My old man will have a bypass operation and I will go down south to visit him when that happens. He is home on leave now, and feels pretty good and stable, although very grumpy (due to the smoking restrictions), and occasionally also quite sentimental, which is even more scary, since it's so unknown to him previous from now...
I am actually slowly starting to feel better, and the following week I will try to finish all the things I didn't finish this week, including the chapter on the thesis.
I would like to thank you Chris, for your small morning letters. They were like a little crutch, a small but unexpected support in some otherwise completely grey days.
