I always had a thing for water-colored eyes

I feel good. Okay, so this is comparatively. I slept all last night,
drawing all the good energy I could from friends and F, who
hasn’t left my side in the three days that this has been
vibrating. Biofeedback, my spiritual kicking of the pain demon that was
perched on chest–these are all  nice little tools that seemed to
have worked in the time being. Also– I am doing Noni shooters like
there is no tomorrow, too. It’s a magical elixer of the gods. Today I
can walk, I can laugh, I can cough without sparking some splinter shoot
of pain down the left-side of my chest. It’s probably my scoliosis and
rib shift screwing the whole balance of my body off. Another thing that
I have always realized: I am truly not at peace unless I am in control.
And when you have heart disease, this isn’t an easy task. You take your
medicine, but it seems that there’s always a frosty hand clenching your
throat tight, cutting off all of the oxygen to your brain. I didn’t go
to the ER last night because I was afraid they would yell at me for not
taking one of my medicines (it’s expensive and my health insurance for
medicine was very delayed). If I even feel a smidgeon of this garbage
again, I am on a train to the hospital. F them. They aren’t giving
me free medicine. I have every right to go, despite everything.

I wonder if this is the kind of shit that’s gonna happen until I really
get it, I mean really believe it. I mean, yes, I do know that I am
okay, and that I will be okay, and I do know that I haven’t partaken of
the jewels that life offers, mostly because it’s a decision I made to
be a martyr. Yeah, I am that old school kind. I have always done this. I mean it
goes back to even when I meet people for the first time, I always
expect that they won’t remember me. So I don’t acknowledge them the
second time, for fear of being stupid. Now, yeah, I’m a tall girl who
is pretty striking, dripping in tattoos all over my arms and my back,
and I expect that people forget me. I have always been the one to take
last, and to take care of as much as I can while I have the powers
to–the funny thing is I am rarely in a good position to be taking care
of people around me. And it can be traced back to childhood in some
ways–I do for others what someone forgot to do for me. Not
because anyone was bad, but because they didn’t seem to know.
Kind of forgetting the whole point of the nurture thing.

I really want to go out dancing, at this moment.

But–oh the paintings. My mind was on fire last night, slideshowing a
sick display of paintings across my visual plane. About this, and just
general illustration of grand ideas. I should be writing illustrated
books, and no, not all comic books. Some children’s books, because my
mind is like an untapped eight year old’s when I get into my day
dreaming phase, where my paintings are usually stabbing me in the face.
Look at me, paint me, you bitch.  I have written most of them
down, but I can even remember some of the rolodexing of say, even 1996
that I need to notate. They keep spinning, the images, and they have
not only haunted my dreams, but my physical space as well.

eee–eee–eee. My fingers are numb. Like purple numb. I keep having to
correct this since I have wiley dead frozen fingers that keep getting
in the way.

Ugh. I miss driving. Crossing over the roads, each bump a reminder. My
floor littered with styrofoam coffee cups, empty packs of cigarettes.
Comps thrown haphazardly around, the back seat covered in tshirts, cds.
I have only felt truly free when I was-without responsibility, and even
shaming some of those. We would drive on and on, taking note of the
diners, taking note of other drivers. Sunglassed and glossy, we would
drive without regard, complete abandon to the direction we were
heading. It was the experience, the journey that made it worthwhile.

Now I sit within a clean glass box. Can’t get to me, nuh-uh. If I had a
car right now, I’d be dangerous. I’d drive to Colorado, to Arizona, to
Cali, to see Rob and Ms Bea, and little Arielle. I would probably never
come back.

Road trip. I need one to finally leave my dusted skeletons here once and for all.

Calgon it, baby. Someone save me. I’ve done a shitty job trying to do it myself.

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