I Didn’t Sign On For This

Nine years ago when they started finding things in my body it was supposed to be a journey to find what was wrong, a mountain to climb, then back to life with new found information. It hasn’t turned out that way.

Wrestling with an unexpected disappointment, changes to our best-laid plans, can be a bigger struggle than any with another human.

We’re taught in this new sweeping belief that we can do anything we set out mind to regardless of our situation, that “there is no handicap but our own minds.” That’s a load of horseshit. I can not be an astronaut, though I wanted to be one as a little girl. Back then, girls weren’t astronauts and my teacher told me so. Then I became trouble in school (not because I couldn’t be an astronaut but because I was trouble in school) so today, at fifty-two, I can’t be one. No matter how I try, I can’t be tall. I could wear high heels but never be truly tall.

This isn’t going to be a get back to a life thing.

This is my life.

This is a very solitary, sobering thing. Don’t tell me the pat, pretty statement “The right person will come along.” There is no “right person” for people. We are the right people. Some of us just make that gamble and don’t win. We bet on the wrong horses every time because we have no instincts about the races. We choose the fixed ones. I have no desire to enter the track again. I made that decision a long time ago, long before this last relationship ever came close to ending.

The life involving illness is colored in every part down to even the most intimate detail. To become involved with someone would mean for them to somehow acclimate themselves to this and if it has been this hard for the one living it who can’t leave, how impossible is it for someone who can leave? I’ve had nine years to get comfy and can’t leave no matter how much I want to do so. Add to the equation the typical fifty-two years of scarring for a fifty-two-year-old woman. That’s baggage, baby. That’s typical with atypical, a tangled ball of “sally’s” as Scott and I would say back then.

He should be here making fun of me right now. I would do that for him. Then he would make fun of me for missing him in death. ( ‘I’m not here, I’m not feeling bad. God, don’t do memorials or anniversaries, that’s macabre and stupid.’ – Shut up, Scott, this is my meanderings and I’ll be maudlin if I want.)

Getting back to living as a sick person, to doctors appointments, waiting on test results, blood draws, imaging, working in what kind of facility takes what insurance or has the machines necessary, filling out forms… I dread it like I dread going into the MRI machine, with an absolute panic. That life is so cold, so lonely, so full of non-stop battles. I want to stay here in my trench, in my hole, my cave, where it’s quiet but I’ve been in here long enough. People have waited on me long enough. I need to go do this thing. I started this ball rolling and finally have people who will work with me.

I just want to formally voice my displeasure with the bill of goods I’ve been sold.


Strawberry (Everclear)

Never been here, never coming back
Never want to think about the things
That happened today
Want to lay down on the warm ground
I think I’m going to need a little time to myself

Don’t fall down now
You will never get up
Don’t fall down now

I ask you for a slow ride
Going nowhere
You look like Satan
You ask me if I want to get high
Couple of bags down in old town You tie your arm and
Ask me if I wanted to drive

Don’t fall down now
You will never get up
Don’t fall down now

Last thing I recall
I was in the air
I woke up on the street
Crawling with my strawberry burns
Ten long years in a straight line
They fall like water
Yes, I guess I fucked up again

Don’t fall down now
You will never get up
Don’t fall down now








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