This is my Blogproject. Sit down, stay awhile. Feed the fish, and read some art.
If you like what you see or have any questions or critiques, please let me know.
Yours, Truly.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010


You scare me.

It could be the smells... The rubbing alcohol and floor cleaner with overtures of too many unhappy faces... and the occasional whiff of vomit. When I get a needle, or a new medication in my IV, I can smell it, no matter how many times your minions tell me I'm imagining it. In the emergency waiting room I smell fear. Tears and sweat and utter despair. 40 people in front of me having their worst day, and the smell follows me.

And the worst of all is the sickly sweet and insidious smell of the rubber when you come to try 50 times to take my blood. It smells like vanilla that has been run over by a burning truck tire... and my blood smells like salt and batteries.

Maybe it's the memories I have of being trapped within your countless walls-- memories that still haunt my sleep. I wake up already sobbing and short of breath saying "don't make me go, don't you dare make me get better".
But it was never the getting better that was the problem.
It was the endless waiting, the excruciating pain and the days (to weeks) without food that come with getting better that make me afraid to go back. Make me afraid to be sick. But worse than that, afraid (once I'm sick) to start getting better...

It could be the tiny boxes that you try to put us in.... Your consumers seem to have come to be Zoo animals for a day. In a cage with no walls, open to the air. Open to the eyes-- staring, questioning, curious. The one time you want to suffer in silence, in secret; you look your worst on purpose but the gawkers won't take a hint. You become a stuffed owl for the masses of other sick people and hospital employees.

Maybe it's just the opposite.
Not that there are too many stories, eyes, smells--- but that within the midst of hundreds of people, you are the loneliest place I can think of....

Yours, Truly

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Uplifting "Love Movies"

You make me cry. A lot.

Before you get all predictably romantic and assume that my tears are for your emotionally moving stories or even your sweeping string-orchestra overtures let me just assure you:

That is not the case.

You are a vicious and scheming liar.
I remember fighting for love. I remember compromise and passion and being the most unlikely pairing out there. I remember making it through hard times and still...
It wasn't enough.

That is where you take me, to my own failings.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in love. But what you show me isn't love. It's madness. It's irrational wonderful cinematic magic. And then makes me feel bad for not being able to recreate it.

This doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching you. Miss you taking the breath of the leading lady, or the sacrifice you demand from the hunk of the hour.... I sometimes need to be reminded how unrealistic my expectations can be...

No one is going to fly across the country for me, except my parents.
No one is going to write me letters from the grave.
No one is going to give up everything to be with me.

...And only my vanity would want such a thing. Give up everything? That is not what Love is about. Love is compromise, finding someone that fits into that last spot missing in your puzzle.... Not someone who is the whole picture (as you'd like me to believe).

Still I love/hate the grand gestures and heart wrenching pleading speeches, the last minute kisses and the weddings ruined by you. And I am a fan, for all I cry and beat my pillows at your impossible perfection.

S0 although I feel betrayed by life, it is not you who are in the wrong. You merely remind me of the times when Love... just wasn't enough.

It's not you. Really, I know you hear this all the time but it is me.

Keep on keeping on.

Yours, Truly