It’s late again, and here I am. Me and the laptop, my constant companion over this year of flux, and even it can’t escape the winds of change (unwrapped software haunts from the kitchen table).
There is a need to be here tonight.
The picture at the top of this blog feels unsatisfactory in the current moment. Too corny. Too literal. Too expected. It’s trying too hard to be a motivational poster: “Perseverance!” “Courage!” “Determination!” Or maybe it’s that I’m trying too hard to be a motivational poser.
The whities are up to 63%, but a strange rash has appeared in many random, irrational places. And yes, having an itchy bum is hard to accept or understand. Just sayin’. Also, it seems that the itch has traveled to my throat alongside a minor case of the sniffles. Drowned in honey ginger tea, this afternoon I watched one of my “Planet Earth” DVDs. Perhaps, I thought, watching that piranha feeding frenzy will inspire my whities to pep up and restore normalcy to my poor, little bum. Okay, I didn’t actually think that…
This week I have to go on Evil P everyday instead of every second day, then at the end of the week, I have to tell my doctor if the rash is still there. Then I go back for blood tests on Monday. I’m still off the Big M. I just missed my fourth dose.
Blah, blah, blah.
Tonight, I went out for dinner with one of my keepers to one of my favourite restaurants. I used to go there all the time when I was in high school and university, but I hadn’t been there recently. It’s small; boxes of incense on sale by the doorway, silver and blue stars draped around a large, potted tree, swirling downwards from the ceiling, resting beneath the glass tabletops. Huge block mounts of old-style constellation maps and diagrams on walls with silver framed mirrors. Silvered branches sharing vases with singular green stems, a large, white blossom at the top . Tealights. A transparent, white cloth hangs between our table and the next. The intimate murmurs of conversation rush in and out of the spaces between our forks, the distance between our plates.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this, except for that it felt good to be there… even though it was a place I’d been before.
We shall not stop our exploring
And at the end of our exploring
we shall arrive where we started.
and know the place for the first time.
Lisa Ray posted this poem by T.S. Elliot on her blog. I came across it tonight after lying across my couch writing my first journal entry in two months. My last two lines read: “I need to explore. The “finding” is secondary.”
I guess I could probably make my own special motivational poster line:
“You don’t need all of your white blood cells to do it.”