the shower after days sick
Sep. 14th, 2007 12:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ffloit should be a poem
from the stepping in, whereby
you say it's time, through
all its moments, the kind
you need not try at all
to be right there in, altogether
in the dried-sweat altogether
the first touch coats the crown
and drapes frazzled strings into
a smooth, fresh sheet that
then guides the renewer down to
shoulders, down arms and back,
and now you're encompassed,
now there's heat outside coming in,
not the other way around, now
the poisonous essence of your very self
you were stuck cooking in for days of hours and hours
is catching this gravity bus, absconding into this
embrace of survival, this time you want to linger in, after all,
leaving you, huzzah, something like as you once were
it feels good
something feels good
and when it's done, and you step out,
the air is your friend again
= ~ = ~ =
Alright, that was pretty off-the-cuff, but I did it without "water," so that's something. [edited a bit later]
Indeed, it's back-to-life time. I'm a little stunned, as one can be, but I'm here. I can use CPAP now. I'm on a lot less caffeine than usual. It's a Thursday night. I do have to think a little to know the day of the week.
Watched a movie adaptation of a Hemingway story: Under My Skin. I'm in the U section of the library's DVD collection---also in the house are Undercover Brother and Unforgiven. The "Big" movie festival has also begun; more on that later, no doubt.
You know what you do lose with aging? You lose the ability to blow old people away with how you know, even though you're quite young, that they're people like you and you're people like them. It's good to reach across generations in both directions, but I used to get quite a kick out of being wet behind the ears and being onto that thing, and seeing the light go on in some older-than-my-folks adult when I had the courage of that conviction, and that person recognized it, and knew too. Made me special. Didn't take a genius to see how few of my contemporaries had a sense of that little secret. (Yeah, maybe they just didn't care, but let's say they didn't know.)
It is a little surprising how more older people don't seem to know it. I know we oldsters (I'll be an oldster for this one) can have our shoulder chips, and there are things about older that young young can't know, but the magic secret is still the magic secret. And, at least in this culture, it's practically a defiant thing to claim that, to live it.
Okay. I can handle one day at MR, then two more off. Right? So what if I'm still coughing a little phlegm here and there. If the germaphobes can't take it, that's their problem. Or maybe Pam will tell me I should go home.
I do think I have to start the mental gears shifting now, before bed. Otherwise it'll be too much of a shock to my system, to be suddenly in morning and back in regular weekday life.
I need a new default avatar. Er, icon. Suggestions, anyone?
from the stepping in, whereby
you say it's time, through
all its moments, the kind
you need not try at all
to be right there in, altogether
in the dried-sweat altogether
the first touch coats the crown
and drapes frazzled strings into
a smooth, fresh sheet that
then guides the renewer down to
shoulders, down arms and back,
and now you're encompassed,
now there's heat outside coming in,
not the other way around, now
the poisonous essence of your very self
you were stuck cooking in for days of hours and hours
is catching this gravity bus, absconding into this
embrace of survival, this time you want to linger in, after all,
leaving you, huzzah, something like as you once were
it feels good
something feels good
and when it's done, and you step out,
the air is your friend again
= ~ = ~ =
Alright, that was pretty off-the-cuff, but I did it without "water," so that's something. [edited a bit later]
Indeed, it's back-to-life time. I'm a little stunned, as one can be, but I'm here. I can use CPAP now. I'm on a lot less caffeine than usual. It's a Thursday night. I do have to think a little to know the day of the week.
Watched a movie adaptation of a Hemingway story: Under My Skin. I'm in the U section of the library's DVD collection---also in the house are Undercover Brother and Unforgiven. The "Big" movie festival has also begun; more on that later, no doubt.
You know what you do lose with aging? You lose the ability to blow old people away with how you know, even though you're quite young, that they're people like you and you're people like them. It's good to reach across generations in both directions, but I used to get quite a kick out of being wet behind the ears and being onto that thing, and seeing the light go on in some older-than-my-folks adult when I had the courage of that conviction, and that person recognized it, and knew too. Made me special. Didn't take a genius to see how few of my contemporaries had a sense of that little secret. (Yeah, maybe they just didn't care, but let's say they didn't know.)
It is a little surprising how more older people don't seem to know it. I know we oldsters (I'll be an oldster for this one) can have our shoulder chips, and there are things about older that young young can't know, but the magic secret is still the magic secret. And, at least in this culture, it's practically a defiant thing to claim that, to live it.
Okay. I can handle one day at MR, then two more off. Right? So what if I'm still coughing a little phlegm here and there. If the germaphobes can't take it, that's their problem. Or maybe Pam will tell me I should go home.
I do think I have to start the mental gears shifting now, before bed. Otherwise it'll be too much of a shock to my system, to be suddenly in morning and back in regular weekday life.
I need a new default avatar. Er, icon. Suggestions, anyone?
