Bits and pieces taken out

7 hours until i get picked up to go to the hospital for surgery.
9 hours until i go under

i'm not nervous - it's a relatively routine operation, and i have (apparently) one of the best GI surgeons in the lower mainland doing it.

and i've made friends with most of the nurses both in the ER and in the regular ward.

i don't know any in day surgery though...but still. i'm no stranger to this hospital.

hell, i have the iv in from this morning's trip to the er. they let me keep it in - covered it with gauze and netted dressing so i could come home with it. that way i don't have to get poked again tomorrow, which is great because i'm running out of viable veins in my arms. my left arm is out completely due to an iv infection. my right hand's last viable vein was used this morning. and they tend to only ever be able to find one vein in my right forearm and it's an awkward one to do.

i'm not nervous.

but i'm nervous. i'm nervous that i'll have forgotten to bring something they needed me to bring (although i'm 99.9% sure i haven't). i'm nervous that something will happen out of my control and i won't be able to have the surgery tomorrow and will have to wait wait wait. i'm nervous there will be complications (hey, i'm the girl that if something *could* happen to, it will). i'm nervous i'll wake up with a migraine and they won't be able to give me any iv drugs for it because i'm already going under two hours later. i'm nervous that they will put me on Cipro, even though my red wristband and chart tell them not to due to allergies (they did that this last trip in but i caught it i n time simply by asking what it was she was hooking me up to.)

i've taken my meds, i've brushed my teeth, i've put together my bag o' stuff to take with me (only one day's worth, no biggie).

i am looking forward to the end of the "Surprise!! Gallbladder attack!" pain and vomiting.

i am not looking forward to the feeling of total lack of control and panic that comes with general anesthetic (for me, anyway).

i am not looking forward to waking up to pain pain pain pain where's the drug button.

my side is dully throbbing with a mournful doomed tone.

more pieces of me coming out.

more empty room inside.

more scars.
more tears.
more

please let my body do well tomorrow. please let the surgical team be rested. please let them remember my allergy. please.

Writing Happy

I've often wondered why I can't seem to write "happy". I've often heard people say "Write what you know" and I find it so sad that I don't know *real* happy. It is also often said that writing your woes can be cathartic - just get it out of you. The irony, for me, is that I write 'my sad' and I end up more sad. It doesn't take the weight off my mind. It doesn't really add anything either...but staying in a 'mind rut' just isn't fun.

Outwardly, I can be smiley and upbeat and 'yay', but as soon as I am home alone, that all fades away. I can't seem to hold on to "happy" for very long. The world is Happy's partner, and I am but the fling.

And that fact alone adds to "my sad."

I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...

-Tears for Fears

Being alone together

I don't remember when I wrote this, but I think it was sometime in 2008...I found it on a page in a notebook I remember buying at Aberdeen Mall in Richmond.

Jigaloo and I had gone there to meet Mish and enjoy the delight that is Beard Papas. After enjoying the light, sweet, cool cream surrounded by puffy pastry perfection, we strolled through the mall, looking in the different shops. We stopped in at a stationery/papergoods store and it caught my eye. It was only a couple of dollars, so I bought it to use as a journal of sorts. As what happens most of the time with me, there are only a few pages written on. Three, but one has writing front and back.

Anyway, this is what I wrote one morning:

On a lonely day I sit at home wrapped up in the heavy mantle of a misty morning...or is it night? I can't recall the chirping of birds to make me think daylight...but there are still the apartment building noises above and beside me. A reminder that I am not the last on earth , but surrounded by solitary others. It makes me wonder why the lonely don't seek out others. We prefer to sit and mope, waiting for someone else to take it up.

Not so much a poem...but the demons need to spew

My life sucks.
Ok, maybe not compared to a lot of people's lives
but it still fucking sucks

it's unfair of me to make the following comparisons but fuck it all this is MY demon
this is MY space
and if you don't like it
LEAVE.

know what? I had a bunch of stuff written out and I deleted it.
know why? Cos it's stupid.
everyone has their shit to deal with.
everyone feels like this from time to time

but seriously? my life has sucked more than is measurable.
it sucks more than a starving infant at it's mothers breast
being two strides from first place, only to cramp up
it sucks more than a Humboldt squid sucks onto it's writhing prey

30 years alive and breathing
1980 - 1988ish : can't remember much of crappy, but then I was a kid, oblivious to the world outside my dollhouse and puppy dog

1989 - 1991 : the coming of the realisation that my life was not 'normal' - my family, my home, my world was significantly skewed.

1992 : my world spun out, careened into the galaxy and crashed somewhere past Orion's Belt

1992 - 1996 the wonder years of teen angst. I spent mine seeking solace in something that may or may not exist, but even if it does...i dunno how much work he's really putting into his project

1996 - 1999 : realised slowly but surely the hypocrisy of what i had spent so long devoting myself to. felt lost all over again,

2000 - 2006 : oh the downward spiral - not just a NIN album. Had some great times, but they were counterbalanced and sometimes tipped way out of reach by the bad shit.

2007 : my life spins out, quietly but quickly. taped myself up with life's cello tape, and put on a brave new face. then life said "Hah. Right. Not so fast there, Missy. Here's a BIG OL' CHRISTMAS GIFT FROM UNCLE OVARIAN TUMOR! Let's open it to see if it's CANCER!! WOO!!!" Thankfully Life decided to spare me the Big C, but it was NOT the kind of xmas gift you want anyway.

2008 - 2009 : no huge medical issues, but lord (see years 1992-99) knows the financial troubles of being on disability and making 3/4 of what 'poverty line' is set at means i have virtually no life, and my newest clothing item is a pair of PJs bought for $16 at Wal*Mart, that I only bought cos I needed a 'costume' for hallowe'en....ah yes, the cop-out "baby" costume.

2010 has just started and lucky me - I have a GALLBLADDER infection!! Yippee! More surgery! But I get to WAIT this time, because the damn thing is too big and infected to remove safely, but not big and infected enough to warrant emergency surgery, so what happens? I get to go on a week of IV antibiotic treatment! Me and my uber thin, blow-out veins! A normal IV is lucky to last about a day in me. Toss in shit loads of hardcore drugs? BLOW OUT PARTY!! Yes, I had not one, not two, not three, not four...but FIVE!! FIVE GLORIOUS STABS OF HOLLOW TUBES SHOVED INTO MY SKIN!!! Oh, and the first antibiotic they tried? Turns out, I'm allergic. Yup, oh the glorious feeling of that wonderful find! Almost as wonderful as when they opened a tomb in Egypt thinking they found a 2nd Tut haul, but when the wall came down it was the last resting place of ancient Egypt's chamber pot museum. Shit from Khafre to Cleopatra.

Think that was it? HELL NO. Two weeks after being discharged (still waiting for surgery) I land myself back in there. Four IVs this time 'round. Two attempts that didn't make it. The last two blow outs are still giving me problems...ohyaymaybetheyareinfectedheylet'sgowaitatthewalkinclinicforhourstofindout!!

Fuck.

Seriously.

Life? I'm sick of your shit. I can't walk away from you (ok, technically I guess I *could* but i am NOT LETTING YOU WIN THAT WAY) so let's call a truce, mkay? You quit fucking with me, and I'll....uh...fuck I don't know. Just stop fucking with me, please?

If someone gave me a box with a big red button and said "Your life can be normal - no more medical shit, no more personal life bull, just nice and normal....all you have to do is push this button. The catch is, though, if you push it someone, somewhere in the world will die. You won't know who they are, but your pushing of that button will cause them to die" - fuck yah I'd push it.

The 90minutes of my chick flick life is almost up. Where's my happily ever after?

Inside is a pain
Literal
Crushing
Nauseating
Alive

It keeps me from sleeping
To simply lay
Peaceful
Would be heaven

I cannot even touch it
Stroke it
Soothe it

It hides under my ribs
Evil
Taunting
Reaching around and kicking me in the back

All consuming,
The pain sneaks in
Just when I start to feel normal
And reminds me I am not

Soon enough I shall have my revenge
I shall lay on a slab
A bright light shining over me
And a team of skilled assassins
Will carve the pain out
And slice it thin
And I shall be free.

Untitled from a series for a certain person

My tender pink flesh
Will long for the softness of
Your warm tongue's caress

Never again to
Feel your body pressed against
My own. Hands grasping

Skin and hair and sheets,
Mouths searching for each other
In the hot darkness

Of your silent room.
No one needs to know of our
Secret pleasures there

And it begins

And here shall my selves be given license to spew.

They will dredge up their pasts.
There will be epiphanies.
There will be refutations.
They will soothe themselves with the knowledge that their secrets are no more.

Whatever happens is real. There are no lies here.

Only angels, demons, sirens and succubi.