i'm a wimp
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Gepost op:14 februari 2020 12:38 pm
Laatste update:18 april 2024 11:43 am 69006 Bezichtigingen
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being I pain slut and a masochist, plus a mother....as well has having broken many bones, I thought I was good with pain.
I have met my match.
her name is Michelle, she's 4'11" with a cherubic face a voice that never changes, never smiles and has no affect.... no matter what she is doing to me.
she calls herself a physical therapist. I call her the bitch from hell. not out loud though because she terrifies me.
she is not the least bit interested in me, my pain level or perhpas anything happening in my world. she sets me up and immediately walks away to play on her computer. is this normal ?
so 'im doing a set of ten and this lovely PT man comes over and says gently - mind if I correct your form, it will feel better and get you the result you need. he does after I tell him of a prior injury that restricts the movement of my left arm. and immediately I can feel the stretch i'm supposed to feel and not the pain I was feeling. as he is doing this she miraculously reappears. and with glaring eyes. sys oh yes, much better...do ten more I want to bite her leg.
at the end of a weary 45 minutes, she sits me down to pedal a machine with my arm and lovely man comes over to her says something and she moves to adjust the resistance to a far lighter one. I have to do two minutes forward and two minutes back...I start to cry . seriously. this is a torture. and now two days later my arm is still in pain.
I thought I was good with pain. pfft.
I hear him say as I leave, she should never have gone on that machine. and Michelle the Maniac shrugs.
My BFF and I have already figured out where to hide the body. but we need somebody strong to dig the hole......anyone?
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kafka
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Gepost op:20 november 2019 1:52 pm
Laatste update:25 november 2019 9:04 am 69872 Bezichtigingen
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When he was 40, the renown Bohemian novelist and short story writer FRANZ KAFKA (83–24), who never married and had no children, was strolling through Steglitz Park in Berlin, when he chanced upon a young crying her eyes because she had lost her favorite doll. She and Kafka looked for the doll without success. Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would look again.
The next day, when they still had not found the doll, Kafka gave the a letter "written" by the doll said, “Please do not cry. I have gone on a trip see the world. I'm going write you about adventures."
Thus began a story continued the end of Kafka’s life.
When they would meet, Kafka read aloud his carefully composed letters of adventures and conversations about the beloved doll, which the found enchanting. Finally, Kafka read her a letter of the story brought the doll back Berlin, and he then gave her a doll he had purchased. "This does not look all doll," she said. Kafka handed her another letter explained, " trips, they have changed ." The hugged the new doll and took it home with her. A year later, Kafka died.
Many years later, the now grown-up found a letter tucked into an unnoticed crevice in the doll. The tiny letter, signed by Kafka, said, “Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way."
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Margaret
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Gepost op:7 oktober 2019 2:28 pm
Laatste update:28 oktober 2019 3:56 pm 67039 Bezichtigingen
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She was not a pretty little thing. She was all arms and legs and sharp corners. She ran fast and stopped with a bump. Her mind was filled with the books she ate, she traveled further in an afternoon than most travel all their lives and only her ’s insistent voice could bring her home again. But, her best friend was a pretty little girl, and gentle. One who kept her from straying too far too fast and who she loved with all her heart because she could see that her friend was angel kissed.
In the summer when her friend was ill and could not play outside at all but had to stay in bed and not move, each day she would wrap up a present from the her day and walk over to the house and her friend’s red eyed would her to the room that smelled of medicine and no air and she would sit and her unwrap the mangled paper . Her friend would place the precious gift in a wooden box along with all the others after peering at it closely and asking many questions. They were allowed minutes and she had to wear a mask. Her friend called her my lone ranger.
day, her would not let her in. The doctor was there and so she sat on the steps, picking a scab until it began to bleed. When the old man came out he sat down next to her opening his bag and cleaned her leg planting a bandage over the silly little cut. He told her what was making her friend sick and how her visits were a good thing . He thanked her for her . He asked if she could find a stone so perfect that it would lift the pain from her friend’s heart.
She ran off to the woods where she was not supposed to go ever alone, but where else to find a stone so perfect, so glorious. She scoured the earth digging under leaves, came home late, dirty. Her was so angry with her she didn’t even ask what she’d been doing just set her in the tub and talked at her until her eyes closed.
The next day she was to stay in….allowed only to visit her friend and return immediately after. As she walked the short distance, her hands empty for the first day since her friend had been ill, she wept. A squirrel chittered at her, she looked up. He was annoyed as though she’d happened on a nest , yet she couldn’t see one. Her temper flared and she reached down to pick up a pebble to toss at him. In her hand was a piece of rose quartz, not perfect but pink like her friend’s cheeks used to be. She ran.
Up the front stairs, past the , up to her fremd and trembling placed it into her hand.
She placed it in her hand and her friend gasped. It’s a heart, she said. my new heart. She reached behind her for a book and pushed the pages faster and faster until there it was, the picture of a heart., an anatomical heart. the shape of the stone. The two sat staring.
It’s my new heart.
Now if this was a fairy tale, all manner of magical things would happen. Instead she stuck it under her pillow . and life dragged along.
it took six more months before her friend would be able to leave her bed. On the day she was allowed her first walk, the stone went into her pocket. The friends walked to the tree where the squirrel was still chattering and sat down on the small stone wall surrounding the neighbor’s property. They talked about , well, everything. The neighbor who did not enjoy the sight of people sitting on his wall came out with his cane to shoo the children away until he saw her blond curls and quietly went back inside, watching from his window to make sure they were both safe.
Eventually, the mother came looking for them. It’s enough for today she said. and stole her from her friend.
Until the next day and the next day after that. Each day walking a bit further. Each day feeling a bit more filled with life.
And every day she ran from school to see her, with a hastily wrapped piece of the real world but none so perfect as her heart.
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time will tell
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Gepost op:28 september 2019 12:23 pm
Laatste update:25 november 2019 9:05 am 67110 Bezichtigingen
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In my thirst for action I did something I am not sure was a good thing….time will tell.
Time will tell.
I suppose time will tell us many things. For me it has convinced that doing the right thing is a solitary career, one that cannot be undertaken with the expectation that others will support it. And that being alone is not the same as being lonely. Having even one person who calls out your name in whatever fashion is often enough to continue whatever battle you are fighting.
Death has done more for than most of life’s sorrows. It digs so much deeper with its talons. reminds of us the passion we may have let wither. Slams us with our own mortality. And leaves us hunched with loss. And yet it tenderly , achingly shows us love.
I am filled with such melancholy as I watch my country these days. And yet these young people who are trying so hard to save it fills me with such joy. I remember that fierce fire in my own belly in the 60’s when we were demonstrating against the war. The feeling of being part of something that mattered, passion……….
Since forever, we have not stopped being in the business of war. The corporate business of war. The corporate business of killing for profit and media.
HA. I guess, I’ve talked myself right out of feeling guilty.
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do you believe in magic
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Gepost op:29 augustus 2019 2:01 pm
Laatste update:28 oktober 2019 3:48 pm 71728 Bezichtigingen
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Sand shifting under your toes as the ocean pulls you deeper, the sun settling diamonds on the tips of the waves
Lying deep in summer fields, as Dragon clouds chase across cerulean skies, the scent of fecundity everywhere.
Trees dancing in the wind before the rain falls, birds gone quiet, waiting. The feel of the air building to a crescendo.
The loosening in your body , that little flip in your stomach, the undeniable need to look behind you.
A moment. All it takes is a moment
We are magical.
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illumination of love
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Gepost op:12 augustus 2019 2:53 pm
Laatste update:28 oktober 2019 3:45 pm 67482 Bezichtigingen
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From Beloved. Sixo speaking of the woman he loved.
"She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. "
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chickens ain't just chickens
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Gepost op:5 augustus 2019 2:51 pm
Laatste update:5 augustus 2019 2:53 pm 67716 Bezichtigingen
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I spent some time with Tickles and she kick started a whole new area of research and effort for me and the team i'm working with. right now we are graphing the areas without ICE interference and cross referencing large corporate entities nearby.
interesting.
Tickles is smart chick.
and our government is pretty damn sleazy.
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13
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ooh what's all this then
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Gepost op:25 juni 2019 11:30 am
Laatste update:18 april 2024 11:43 am 67906 Bezichtigingen
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seems I have a weird little health problem will need some attention so i'm off to be poked and prodded. keep a good thought and if you are a person who prays or chants or does whatever, I wouldn't mind some of any of wending my way.
funny how life decides to just give a nudge when you're feeling a bit settled in again. of a hey missy, don't go feeling like everything's ducks.....keep paying attention case the world does indeed blow up. lol.
once we're all sorted, i'll be back. just need to limit my time to my political stuff and this crapola……
best to all and have a grand old summer.
oui or we or me.
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satori
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Gepost op:20 juni 2019 4:01 pm
Laatste update:23 juli 2019 2:43 pm 68183 Bezichtigingen
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Hey ladies, where y'all goin'?
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Gepost op:17 april 2019 2:22 pm
Laatste update:29 april 2019 5:16 pm 70015 Bezichtigingen
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Today on FB , there was a video of a bunch of little girls all gussied up with sunglasses and coverups over their bathing suits, strutting down a hotel corridor. I loved their sass. One was wearing a tutu. All of them wore sunglasses. They struck poses all the way down the hallway, whipping off their glasses, shoulders and hips jutting. Damn.
Remember when you were that unselfconscious.? When yourself was just so utterly perfect that you could sweep through a hotel lobby on the way to the pool and the world would turn and smile, maybe even applaud? I do, I remember that.
When you could run forever, when trees were places you sat in to read, when a slip of a moon made your stomach tumble, when your skin smelled of sunshine, dirt, orange popsicles. Orange was the only color I ate.
My neighbors to the left have three children. They are all very intelligent, incredibly articulate. The family came home while the grandparents went back to Haiti to run their mission there. My bedroom window is next to their backyard. I spy on them. Last summer the oldest son decided to cut lawns for money, the middle child started her own baking company. The baby is now 4. We had discussions about contracts, due dates, accounts payable. I look forward to what they will do a full year later.
Now that the little guy has learned to stand up to his big brother, I overheard this the other day
Big: give it to me
Little: it’s mine
Big: I said give it to me
Little: You are not a good brother to me
Big: give it to me
Little: that means you should be
Big: snatches whatever it is
Little: I’m telling Papa
Big: tattle tale
Little: thief
Who has kids that talk like that? My neighbors do. I wanted to tell Sam but I just couldn’t. who wants to be the old lady next door who snoops, right? And the daughter, she’s a warrior, I have seen her fall off her bike, say “ow” in this nonchalant voice and take off running at full speed so she won’t miss out on something that could be happening.
I love the noise they make. It brings such life through my window.
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