not-quite Journaling, 33
deep in the hearth,
in wild bursts of color.
4/7/2022: The weather is… wet, too chilly for outside gardening. But Ms. Amaryllis keeps things interesting—the mother plant and all of her offspring (I’ve been propagating) are blooming. And they’re doing it about 2 weeks apart, which means that I’ll have something bright and warm to look forward to (even if the weather is gloomy and the oral surgeon is planning tooth torture).
4/9/2022: Living with a collection of chronic illnesses makes everything harder, including relationships. I’ve heard heartbreaking stories--lovers who tire of caregiving and want out, lovers who stop seeing lovers as such and spend their time trying to “fix” them… I tell my Piano Man just how special he is, because he always sees me as I am: a strong, wild, sexy, witchy woman who happens to live with a chronic illness (or 3). My Piano Man shakes his head, and says, “That’s what people do when they love another.” I kiss him, and thank the universe for my good fortune.
4/21/2022: I slept through the night for the first time since the 6th. My body isn’t as healthy as it can get (not yet), but I can breathe… I don’t cough the moment I try to talk or eat or lie down, my eyes aren’t inflamed, I can taste my food, my chest doesn’t hurt, colorful fluids are no longer coming out of places one doesn’t even want to imagine, I can do some cleaning (and gardening!), and I have the time (and strength) to share my words, read your words, spell some healing.
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #23: Write Your Medicine.