Becoming

Becoming

Making my way towards me, even when it scares me. Even when it takes me out later and farther than I’m comfortable going.

Making my way toward myself with each step away from the paths I’m accustomed to wandering. Even when it means getting a little lost, feeling a little frightened, being unsure.

Making my way towards that woman standing in the shadows, the one with the fire burning in her eyes, the one with electricity humming along her skin, the one with mighty wings beating between her shoulders, the one with too many ideas singing in her mind desperate to find words to make their way out, the one I remember dreaming about becoming.

Making my way towards myself.

#closertocrazy

#becomingme

#mylifeinwords #lebanesegirl

#growingintome

To hell with perspective

So let’s recap today, shall we?

I went for a glorious swim in the ocean to ease my leg pain where I discovered that I had lost the diamond in my engagement ring. I calmed down and reminded myself that of all the things that can happen in the world…yadda yadda yadda…perspective…blah blah blah. Then I drove home where I somehow managed to break a tooth. In HALF. So I’m sitting here with dental wax clumped over my damn half-tooth and saying to myself that STILL of all the things that can happen in the world…yadda yadda yadda…perspective…blah f*cking hell blah blah f*cking hell blah.

#wtfkindofday #imalldoneplease

#asunsexyaspossible

Moving through the hours

Today I moved my body through the hours on the power of my will and my stubbornness alone. I shoved discomfort to the back of my brain and I dragged my feet into each new place. I smiled and smiled and bent my thoughts outward towards the people around me, and searched for any way to help, to ease, to temper, to lift, to listen, to lighten, to hold space because those very actions are the only ones that seem to distract me far from my mutinous body.

It’s time again, I know, to come in from the Cold War I’ve waged with my doctors, and to make time for the long overdue injections into the base of my spine again.

For the past four to five years they have been the only remedy to ease the inflammation that refuses to stay away very long, and plays havoc with my legs and feet. I’m not one to like down time that isn’t on a beach. Time that for me is suspended in my bed battling nausea and pain while my system reboots and my coordination returns.

I lost so much of the Fall and Winter to pain and immobility that I am loathe to give up even one day more to this foolish body and it’s foolishness. I want to swim and walk and breathe by the sea every moment I can while the weather obliges. I want it take care of my babies on my unit and pace the halls keeping watch over them while they rest.

I want to move through the hours like I’m gliding. I want to come home each day and have enough energy to walk with my dogs, run until my heart starts to fly, wander around my yard with my husband and note every new thing in our gardens.

I do not want to lay still. I want to move through the hours on my own terms. I do not want my body to dictate to my spirit the when’s and how’s it may soar. But I have to make time for healing to happen. It’s a lesson I have to learn again every time. To be still when I do not want to be still. To let the world spin while I sleep. To start over when I am able to move, slowly and steadily until I am able to spin freely along with the rest of the world. But just you wait and watch how I will spin…

Rage against the remote

I tried. I honestly tried. I punched buttons, and punched buttons, and punched buttons, aiming high and low and waving the thing around in the air above my head like a magic wand. I pushed multiple buttons at the same time in an effort to attempt the whole control/alt/delete wizardry on the television set via the remote control.

It’s nuanced secrets eluded me. It’s mysterious and titillating entertainments remained hidden beyond a veil of confounding technology, and my experts and guides in this matter, to a one, were all away for the night.

I glared at the wretched thing in my hand and shook it violently as though perhaps it simply needed its memory jogged in order to work. It didn’t work. The battery casing slipped free and it’s contents flew far and wide, dragging with them a string of obscenities from my lips as if they were caught in the same net.

The dark screen mocked me. It’s portal through the ether to sitcoms and action adventure remained closed to me. Damnit.

All around me beckoned stacks and piles and baskets and shelves of books I’ve adored, books I bought simply because they were so beautiful, books I’ve wanted to dive into but couldn’t find the time, and books I’ve bought because someone somewhere loved it, was transformed by it, was discomforted by it, was broken open by it and I absolutely had to experience that too. So I bought them and stacked them and piled them and tucked them near soft spots and good lights in the hopes of finding myself alone with them.

This was my chance. I dropped the remains of the remote on a table, piled my hair on top of my head to keep its unruly locks away from my face, and slipped my glasses on reaching for the closest book.

The Girl Who Drank The Moon….

*sigh…..the gorgeous words spread wide, the smell of ink and paper and dust. I sank back into the corner of the couch and pulled pillows around me to prop my arms as I read. Geeked out in splendor. The tyranny of the remote was no more.

So I said to myself…

So I was thinking to myself “Self, you know what a small, echoing space filled with children really needs? RECORDERS FOR EVERYONE.”

But then I said to myself “Self, if you give every kid in that unit a recorder to play, it’s possible it will be a race to see which of your co-workers kills you first, and by what painful method they will bring about your demise.”

And then I put the recorders back on the display and said to myself “Self, I choose LIFE.”

And I walked away and bought a big bag of candy instead.

#howtolosefriendsandalienatepeople #recordersmakemyearsbleed #nothankyouichooselife

The keeper of things

I am the keeper of things.

I am the wimpy assed, scardy cat, holder of the bags at amusement parks. Every group needs and has one of us. In fact, the world as we know it depends on us.

We are very important to the community. We keep phones dry and wallets from getting lost, backpacks close, and other items of great import. All hail the bag holders of the world!!!!

Somewhere quiet and soft

Loud. It’s so loud. All around me it’s so damn LOUD. All the time. No quiet, no hushed voices, only children talking or yelling as though a field separates each of them and me.

A cacophony of voices calls my name constantly from every direction as I try to type quick notes, hold two thoughts together and attempt to make comprehendible statements that others will read later.

“Ellie I need you!”

“Ellie when will you be done?”

“Ellie, are you gonna play with me?”

“Ellie you said you were almost done!”

“ELLIE!”

“Ellie can you open my bathroom?”

“Ellie can I have a snack?”

“ELLIE I LOST MY SPECIAL NOTEBOOK!”

“Ellie I need to show you something!”

“Ellie he’s saying bad words at me again!”

“ELLIE YOU SAID YOU WERE ALMOST DONE!”

I answered every question gently and patiently while I typed, assuring everyone I would get, do, find, watch, help, listen, take care of, and play as soon as I finished .

One of my teammates kept laughing and saying all anyone ever hears on the unit is a chorus or “ELLIE!S”, and how it drives them crazy when the kids pepper them the same way they pepper me, and how am I always so calm and sweet and smiling when they know a thundering headache pounds just beneath the surface, waiting to break like a wave?

I explained that years and years of

“MOM!MOMINEEDYOU!MOM!HESBOTHERINGMEMOM!MOMHESTOUCHINGME!MOMINEEDFOOD!MOMINEEDTOBEWIPED!MOMEATCHME!MOM!!!”

have made me almost bulletproof.

Almost….. I dream longingly of someplace that is quiet and soft. All I have to do is to hold on just a little longer. Long enough to melt into my couch, stuff ear plugs in my ears and pull a mask over my eyes and pretend three dogs aren’t jumping and barking on top of me, excitedly waiting to walk in the thousand degree heat of the afternoon. Five minutes.

Five minutes alone to sleep and recharge. I only need five minutes somewhere quiet and soft. Ok. Maybe ten. Or twenty. I’ll just slip into something comfy. Half an hour tops. I swear.

Let’s be honest and just call it a night!