August 2nd, 2003

Nescafe rabbit

No symbol, for you alone

And I can sit here in the middle of the night and stare at the debris of my life, the hubris of ownership, and wonder. A Palm Pilot that only works once every memory reset; an inbox full of messages wanting to sell me pills and potions to make my penis grow; women who want to cheat or fuck; mortgage rates at a new low. Girls. Money. Drugs and high living, all the things that make for the picture of a good life.
I have an empty cradle for Taika; she's in a pocket somewhere. I have a bag of random shit that the drug reps handed out at the conference - pens and papers and stress balls and kleenex and books and mugs and all the shit downstairs that means nothing at all to me. It's in a bag, in an empty front room of a house, on a street, in a city. Just-some-stuff.

And she says to me, she says maybe you've got to step back and just let the things he says roll off. And I says to her that I can't do that, because he owns part of my heart, and nothing he says will ever be simple to me.

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Nescafe rabbit

I met a man who wasn't there...

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I posted last night, and within a few moments I had a page on Arcana. "Are you all right?" I'll be honest, and you know who you are, I've heard a lot of people talk a lot of shit about you over the years, and wonder why I wouldn't join in. And this is why. You couldn't solve my problems for me, but you could try, and you could offer to listen, and ask questions that I had to answer, and even though it might not have seemed like it, it helped.
And you're right, and he said the same thing, we do need to sit down and talk like we used to.
It meant a lot to me, and it made a difference.

I'm okay this morning, for everyone who wondered, although it's really this afternoon by now. I remembered Darius, and I did my bleeding with my words alone, and I woke Angel all the way up when I went to bed, and he held me and hushed me and kissed the last of the hurt away.
And stirring somewhere in my heart and soul I feel seeds of poetry taking root, as they have not in so very very long. Maybe I will write today, O Best Beloved, and maybe I will not, but I can feel the tendrils of words sprouting and spreading, and it feels good.

Was cleaning out my mailbox when I came across something my mother sent me in September of 2001, in my first year of med school. She'll be embarrassed now, but that's okay. She showed pictures of me reading in the bathtub to my boyfriends when I was dating.
Here's my wonderful limerick I wrote......

I have a daughter named Nykki
Who never sees anything icky
She goes now to med school
And thinks that it is really cool
So soon she can help people who are sicky.

Isn't that just great? :)

I love you too, Mom.
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