The rooms

She sits on the cold, uneven, pebbled floor looking up at the curved, winding, beautiful cliched staircase. Not able to get up the stairs she's searched all the bottom floor. Through the long, narrow hallways which seem more like strangely familiar passageways she finds so many doors. Each doorway holds magic. All different colors & tones & decorated in styles all their own. She used to take photographs of doors all around the world, & somewhere lost in an obscure mislabeled box the remaining ones are framed & unloved. Her search for an opening is exhausting, as she has to stop every 3-5 minutes to sit & rest. In the old days those passageways would have been scavenged in minutes-not hours. Each door has a unique doorknob...some ornate, some simple letting the door itself be the star, some a repurposed item like an old chalice. She keeps reaching for a camera that no longer is there, trying now to memorize the details in hopes of dreaming of them later for pain control. Trying so hard to create or grow a photographic memory, her brain gets foggy from the search, the turning of locked handles, & the endless sitting down & standing up. The final passageway brings her back to the side of the staircase, & she realizes there is one final door. She hears something inside, & after turning the handle & being met with continued resistance, she looks through a storybook keyhole. It is the only thing adorning this plain door-so unlike the others, yet the peeping keyhole makes up for the lack of character. She knocks, puts her ear to the surface, & looks through the keyhole. She can't make out much as it is getting darker, but through the room's window there's a bit of light & she sees a cat stretch, yawn, & go back to sleep after a hostile look in her noise filled existence. She gives up, goes back to the stairway landing, collapses gently on the tiny little rocks & wonders what to do next.

 

Tangled up layers of a person

It is hard to know when I see myself which parts have been there all along, which are just coming out, & which are just the way my persona & body & soul are coping. I wrote this earlier tonight, as the house was getting ready to be shown to sell. Me behind the filth, the perceived anger, the not included in decision making then when I get 'angry' what you see. Me behind the 'how can you live like this?' me behind the purposeful lives of my siblings & their families. Me behind the failure. The pain. The searching. The lost. The forgone conclusion.

 

Missing House

Yesterday I went to the neuro. After running the tests 3 times & my proteins being slightly elevated I have for now (again) been ruled out MS-wise. Of course we were thrilled, & after the dr gave me 2 shots in the sciatic nerve & pinched nerve. I was really hurting-I hadn't realized that for me/a fibro person, the spinal tap took a lot more out of me than I thought. Our cable went out, & sadly I missed the series finale of House. Look, I know his character was an ass, yet I grew to love him. Better or worse parts of how he acts reflects me sometimes. I guess having the world see how chronic pain can change you helps me cope somehow. I love & will miss how he, as well as my real doctors see me as a pattern & puzzle for good-not something to chuck out & refer endlessly to other drs to get me out of their offices. Being dismissed because you are too complicated is a special kind of rejection hell. This pic & poem (instant poetry gives you 35+ words & you make something with it) was taken tonight, after I slept about 19 hours. Enjoy & excuse the crazy. :)

 

The Windy Shadows

As I watched the 2nd to last 'House' last night, I realized we actually have more in common than just chronic pain. & dependence on meds. & grouchy attitudes at certain times. ;) I love mysteries & puzzles as much as his character, but of course in different ways. I've always loved mysteries-I think my love for the Mystery Machine & the gang from Scooby Doo started it, & I have never looked back. At least 85% of my books I own or borrow from our incredible library (which lends loads of ebooks!) are mysteries. My dad & I share that, & our many tv shows we both love involve mystery, & we always put in our bets of who we think did it early in the episodes. My art, photography, & poetry involves a huge amount of abstract mystery. I enjoy the word play & working with word combos that involve a ton of deducing skills. As I've gotten to be a human puzzle & try to put together the unique pieces of my illnesses, I've gleaned skills. Anything I read, watch, even hear I use as tips or tricks in coping. Some are as simple as focusing on an intense film & others are borrowing survival skills from survivors & detectives. As I watched the really brilliant PBS 'Sherlock' tv series last night I felt it so much-I had a fever & was all covered up, watching the pair of them on the moors looking for a giant hound & having all the lights off I felt like I had the perfect mystery combo. Sick girl, puzzling story, windy shadows, cat knocking over a glass & scaring me to death (as the horror movie cliche goes) as I huddled under blankets watching Baskerville hounds. I recently got all the Sherlock stories for 99 cents, & am also reading at least 4-6 other mystery thrillers as well, & gaining every bit of wit & wisdom to take away with me on this insane journey.