scrabble

Yes scrabble. And walking. And progress.

I cheated - mostly to make him laugh.

batgknit

He questioned the G in batgknit. But not the word itself.

Wive

Ooy

Yes. Yiddish. I know, I know however..

He walks.

He eats.

One month ago today.

One month ago.

I wish I had had been there for him.

One month.

One to go.

hey handsome

It wasn't all that different today than on other dates that we've had.

I put my mascara on in the taxi.

Tommy..

You were still asleep. I didn't want to wake you.

Hey, handsome.

I kissed you hello.

I found myself wondering how it is that I am watching football.

Almost enjoying football.

An ex jar head who also loves The Sound of Music.

I love that about you.

You smiled.

My day started. Right there.

My whole focus is in keeping your hands off of your staples and stitches.

This is new.

And I find myself worrying about stupid stuff. Like becoming someone I don't want to be.

Like a harpie.

Or a nag.

Continually pulling your hand away from your head.

Not new.

I worried about that before.

I edited myself. In the past.

From saying stupid things.

Stupid things regarding health or vitamins or the practice of proclaiming FUCK first thing in the morning.

No, not fuck. Yes.

Say yes to the new day.

I put the kibosh on myself that day.

Don't tell someone how to live, Vic.

(Ok. I won't.)

Man, I'd give anything for you to be crabby in the morning right now.

It's all about stitches and staples.

I have to keep your hands off of those.

I watched in horror as you pulled one out today.

Then you looked at it. The staple from your head. Like you were expecting it to be something else.

Nothing bad happened as a result.

But, Tom, THEY WILL KILL ME (they, the nice people at the hospital) if you get an infection as a result of you touching your head.

And, I will have to kill me, too. I will. If you get an infection.

Somehow they are nice enough (the nice people at the hospital) to let me remove your restraints in the first place.

It's all in the interest of "allowing you to be unrestrained".

So when I get there I take them off. The restraints.

That's the understanding.

The happy moment.

You love me right then.

In the interim I constantly monitor, intervene, stop you from touching your skull.

And I am outwitted by you.

I turn around and realize that you are touching your skull.

When I leave I put the restraints back on your arms.

This will prove to be bad for our relationship.

Later on.

I'm certain of this.

So, I have you write on a clip board.

You request chocolate.

Not new.

You did this even when in the best of health.

Tonight I fed you fruit and a protein shake.

I've never fed you before.

I was reluctant on the grounds that it might make you feel weird - me feeding you.

But you were ok with it. I'm so glad. Because today it was about getting you to eat.

I even got you to eat the puree of turkey.

Sorry. I know that sucked.

You ate five spoons of it. That was five spoons of protein.

And the doctor said that it will be protein that gets you out of the hospital.

I was so glad she said this in front of you.

Chocolate was the reward for the turkey.

I will bring you pureed pasta fazool or lentil salad. Whatever you want.

Meanwhile.

You are so affectionate.

You kiss me. You put your arms around me. Hug me close.

It makes my day. There is nowhere I would rather be.

I love you.

Leaving sucks.

I don't want to. But I know my being there exhausts you.

Five hours of me.

Fawning over you. Grabbing your hands away from your stitches. Watching football. Putting the red glowing thing back on your finger.

You really want that red glowing thing off.

You really hate that red glowing thing.

More than anything.

I finally let you throw it on the floor.

That's bad.

I know.

But it turns out that the red glowing thing isn't very important.

I just wanted you to have the satisfaction.

Of thowing it on the floor.

I was tired.

Besides, it felt like solidarity.

Because, when you look at me and mouth the words, "get me out of here" - a big part of me wants to.

Despite the obvious.

It's the purity of your request.

You want out.

You pull at everything. All of your tubes. In preparation for your escape.

You want to leave.

And I want to help you.

I want to hatch plans towards your escape.

I look you deep in the eye. I nod my head. I understand.

Yes. Let's go.

I want to pull up on a motorcycle and get you the hell out of there.

Sneak you out.

Steal you. Run away with you.

Fast.

As though you are imprisoned.

Bring you home. Nurse you back to health.

Yes.

Everyone would be so mad at me if I did.

None the less.

The red glowing thing.

It moves around. From hand to foot.

Today it was on your middle finger.

So you kept pointing it at me, giving me the finger.

And I gave it back a couple times.

In solidarity.

Which was funny.

Then I went to grab a piece of gauze and when I returned you had undone all of your tubes and wires.

And you had both hands resting on top of your head.

That is, your stitches.

Clever.

You are.

Later I asked you if I was bugging you. If you wanted privacy.

You shook your head no.

But I know it has to be otherwise.

Even in this situation - you're polite.

Sweet. Decent.

I watched you become drowsy from whatever they gave you tonight to sleep.

I said goodnight. Told you that I'm going to dream about you.

You just looked at me.

Incredulous.

You shrugged. Raised your eyebrows.

Just like in life.

Tough.

Protecting me from me.

I worry about you

Ok sleep. Just sleep.

you're flicking people off

This is good.

I don't know how it is possible that you are as lucid and up to tricks as you are (considering what you went through less than twenty four hours ago).

You'reTom.

Tom without a voice.

A little buzzed.

Trying to get at your tubes and bandages.

Taking my hand and kissing it as if to apologize.

A broad sweeping aplogy.

For this. For everything.

It's ok.

I love you.

Six weeks minimum.

Ok?

Can you stand it?

The fact that you can't will be meaningful in your progress.

You are a fighter.

I've heard it a million times. I've said it a million times.

You mouthed it a couple of days ago. Get me out of here.

We're working on it, baby.

That's the thing.

You will live to tell the tale.

it is what it is

An infection in the brain.

This was not supposed to happen.

None of this was supposed to happen.

A standing date.

I wait for five o clock.

I get there and the process begins.

Wait in line
Get a pass
Walk to ICU
Wait to see if ICU will let me in
Get into ICU
Wait to see if you are available
Go into your room

Tommy

I hold your hand

I talk to others

Things to remember

Things to know

I look into your eyes

I tell you that you're doing great

I kiss your hand

I wait

To be alone with you

I undo your restraints

You kiss me - I kiss you
I tell you things

You are ok

I look into your eye

I love you

I'm so lucky that I met you

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me

I hold your hand

I tell you everything is alright

You are healing

This is temporary

I love you

Until you fall asleep

And you look at me with your one big open eye.

Or you write me strange poetry.

The beginning of one idea - the end of another.

I keep these pieces of paper close to me.

Sometimes at work I study your bank photo ID.

I lifted it from your wallet. Sorry.

It's mine now.

I try to read your lips. I try to comfort you.

You comfort me.

You touch my face. You try to put your finger up my nose.

It was probably glitter. There is always glitter on my nose from my work.

There are a lot of wires at my work. I get aound them to style my merchandise.

There are a lot of wires at the hospital, too.

Brain infection.

As it turns out - metal doesn't respond to antibiotics.

Metal.

I want it out.

I met you on a weird day.

Eyes.

Yours are so beautiful.

Arms. Your arms.

You know what's happened to me - what has happend to you?

This was not what I expected.

This was exactly what was expected.

I knew.

You knew.

Shocking - wrong - devastating.

Understood - accepted - prepared for.

We talked about this. We talked about this alot.

We talked about this too much.

You meant to protect me.

Get home safely.

Get home safely.

Bacteria.

Battery.

A well lit alley. The way people manage through.

You laugh.

You smile.

You smiled tonight.

you have something to say

Of the list of things that are healing, that need to heal, that will heal (that is, will begin the process of healing - with or without medical attention - because the body has it's own agenda) withdrawl steps in line.

They put it on hold.

Yes. It will wait. But not for long.

So you cough and shake. And it exhausts you.

The cigarettes that I dug out of your clothes? Don't worry. I smoked them.

It was for the best.

The El pass? I haven't smoked that yet. I'll keep it for you. That and a few others things.

You're awake and talking.

This came as a surprise on Wednesday.

No sound comes from your lips. But you're talking. You've got so much to say.

The best conversation I've had in weeks is the one I had with you today.

All eyes.

Handsome you. How do you do it?

Your eyes. Your smile. Your pissed off mood. Your silent laugh. Your incredulousness.

You roll your eyes.

You give me your hand.

You say things. You're amused. You're frustrated.

I hear you.

Sometimes I manage to read your lips.

hey, baby

somebody told me

I want

not cold

friend

no

ok

I love you

sister

this thing is

So I brought over the page of phrases from the speech therapist. So that you could point to a box and say what you need to say.

Things like:

I am humgry.

I am in pain.

I love you.

I handed it to you. You took it from my hand and positioned it so that you could read it.

You looked at it for a very long time.

I pointed to the alphabet at the bottom. You could spell it out. Like a message on a Ouija board. Take your time. I'm listening.

Yes. You understood. You studied it.

Finally you pointed to the letter J. You looked at me to make certain that I got that.

That was J.

Yes. Got it. J.

Satisfied that I understood, you handed the alphabet back to me. That was it. You were done.

J

So I went to get a pen and paper. I put the pen in your hand and got the paper just where you wanted it. I told you to take your time.

You held the pen at the paper for a while.

Then I ran to my bag to get a felt tip. Brilliant. That would be better. I switched the pens.

I got the paper back in position.

The pen was in your hand. You were deffinitely holding the pen. The pad of paper was right. You proceeded to put the pen onto the paper.

And you held it there as you concentrated.

A blot started to form.

But then you started to move the pen. It was a struggle. But a shape started to form. A sort of C shape.

You paused. Thinking about the next thing to write. I said nothing. This was good. A good idea on my part. For once. I had an idea.

I felt really good about the whole thing.

You would now be able to say something. Anything. And I would be able to "read" it. What you have to say. And this would relieve you of all that you have to say.

And I was all ears. I didn't dare speak or move or break the spell.

I was so glad.

I looked at the paper. Focused all of my attention on the paper. You did, too.

And it might take time. But I was all in. I was ready. For whatever you had to say. Seriously it could be anything.

You drew a sort of C shape and handed the paper back to me.

C shape.

You waited to see what I thought.

I told you it was good.

You nodded in agreement.

Yes. It was good.

sometimes I realize that I don't know what I'm doing

This happens regularly.

It happens at work.

I'll pause for a moment too long, and realize that I have no idea what I am doing.

A box will be brought over to me.

A box that contains a turtle crafted out of a kitchen sponge, a small plastic Easter basket, three pieces of construction paper (each carefully sandwiched between non-acid cardboard and labeled: MOCK UP! suggesting that no actual construction paper could be spared at this time, that something terrible must have happened in the world of construction paper, that a team of mock-up specialists had to be called in to create a facsimile, that meetings were held, probably "frantic" meetings, maybe even "speaker phone" meetings), and a bottle of glue (a real bottle of glue, I checked).

You get the picture.

These items somehow make sense.

But it was never explained to me. And as I talked to people (about the items in this box), it became clear that it was never explained to anyone. And every box is like this.

So, if I don't allow myself to think, these items will be arranged in a "logical" way for the purpose of commercial photography.

But, if I think (at all) about the relationship between the sponge, the basket, the paper, and the glue - I might balk.

Not all the time, but some of the time.

Same goes when I wake up, that is, "snap out of it". My little cloud suddenly dissipates and I realize I have no idea what I'm doing.

In life.

This seems to happen a lot while on the train. Or while in line at the grocery store.

Even while arranging cheese on a platter. I proceed rotely. At first. Certain, somehow, that I know just how to arrange six or seven (disparate yet complimentary) cheeses.

But when I'm done, and I step back (away from the cheese) and I really see it for what it is (that is, cheese), I know immediately that it isn't working.

No. It's not even close to what I saw in my mind.

So, I walk away for a while. Then come back. To take another look and somehow it's gotten worse. The cheese is not attractive, but merely functional. And nothing (I mean nothing) about it looks like the cheese I've seen on platters in the past.

This is not what I had to set out to do with the cheese.

How did this happen? This applies to every facet of my life.

The bottom line - not thinking (ever) is the key to maintaining the idea that I DO know what I'm doing.

And, yes, I have talked to other people about this.

They all said the same thing. That they, "..definitely do know what they were doing. All of the time".

And I asked at least ten people.

silly me

So, last night I was sitting here trying to create a crossword puzzle (long story) which, it turns out, is a lot more fun than actually doing crossword puzzles.

I was surprised at how much graph paper I was wasting. I had to switch to pencil.

The coming up with clues - that's the instant gratification part. It gets one geared up for the fitting-all-the-words-together part.

Seeing as I don't believe in having any black squares or spaces in a crossword (though, admittedly, I never do them - crossword puzzles - I don't like them), the second part was trickier, not as fun, but more like science (almost).

Or like math. Math using letters. Which is ok. So, a few hours had gotten away from me. I noticed that the sun went down, but I continued working by the light of the window anyway. I just didn't want to stop and mess up my momentum.

Eventually I was working in the dark, but by then my eyes had adjusted to the light from the street, and, really - it didn't matter. I could (by then) feel via instinct where the squares were. Then my boyfriend called. To see how I was. And we spoke for a few minutes. About this and that. His day, my day, bla-di-bla.

And, finally, he said something about the sandwich. Which was a relief. Because I really wanted to reiterate that I felt it was a bland sandwich. That, in no way, was that sandwich what I had intended (and would like another chance), etc, etc.

He argued this point with me a bit. He said that he thought it was a good sandwich. And I think he meant it. But then he said something about mustard.

I hadn't thought of that.

Mustard.

Of course.

mayo

Holidays. They're all in our heads.

Today, for example. Today is observed as perfect-turkey-sandwich day. And with it all the stress, expectations and controversy of any other holiday.

Case in point. I used to use Miracle Whip.

Don't get mad. Used to. I used to use Miracle Whip. Used to.

I've stopped. And it is due to peer pressure that I've stopped.

It seems that people have very strong feelings when it comes to Miracle Whip.

That is, that Miracle Whip is NOT mayonnaise. And never will be.

In my research (and in no way was it my intention to make this my research, though, rather, it was imposed upon me as a study) I've found that Miracle Whip (being such a point of contention between people, even chefs, even casual sandwich makers, and probably scientists) brings out the very worst in people.

I have been met with nothing short of incredulousness on this topic.

I have also made these (incredulous) people a number of sandwiches in the past. Sandwiches where I employed Miracle whip as a dressing.

And I heard nothing but raves about said sandwiches.

Miracle Whip. What's the big deal?

It started when I was very young. A few sandwiches (actually four) had made it into our kitchen. These were sandwich from the outside. Sandwiches from my grandmother's kitchen. Made from Thanksgiving leftovers.

Made with a little olive on stick (the stick meant to hold the whole thing together, of course, as it was a many tiered sandwich). Made with a tiny bit of horseradich. Made with love.

Made with Miracle Whip.

These sandwiches were intended for the next day. For Friday. Sandwich day.

We hadn't even taken off our coats when these sandwiches were taken out of their parcel (also stuffing, cranberries, potato pancakes, petit-fours, waffles..)

We lacked discipline.

But I didn't care about that. I was wondering why it seemed that this was how a sandwich was supposed to taste (and never did).

I wanted to know why.

Really. The figuring out why something was better than something else. So as to achieve the better result from that point on - a life long habit.

This upset my mother. She didn't want to answer any of my questions.

I know now that this was due to the fact that her family used mayonnaise.

And families that use mayonnaise do not use Miracle Whip. Nor do they, for that matter, ever talk about Miracle Whip.

They behave as though Miracle Whip doesn't exist.

Then my father walked into the room and informed me that it was Miracle Whip.

Miracle Whip was why I liked this sandwich (for once). It was what was missing from every other sandwich I'd ever had, yes, and (he added) no, we would never have Miracle Whip in this house. Ever. Because my mother was against it. End of discussion.

Enjoy your sandwich. Go to bed.

In that order.

This is a true story.

is this thing on ?

A-hem.

I used to like my blog.

I believe the first thing I ever posted regarded Thanksgiving Hangover 2004.

Times were different then. But aren't times always different?

Consider:

1967 - 1974
* Fell and scraped my knee. Was administered a band-aid.
* Became upset with a sibling due to some injustice.
* Was sent to my room without dinner.
* They had stuffed peppers, hot rolls and a salad.

1975
* Moved to the suburbs
* Barbie dolls
* Beef stroganoff, beets, and rye bread (with apple butter).

1974 - 1990:
* Went to school
* Got a job
* Started to mess with the color of my hair.

1990 - 1993
* Mexican food and eye-liner.
* Windex (also lightbulbs; household items)

1993 - 1997
* Exercise
* Fun clothes
* Money
* Vodka

1997 - 2003
* School
* Not much money
* Some vodka

2004
* Started a blog

2006
* Polish sausage, kraut (with brown sugar, apples, horseradich, caraway seeds, black pepper, and a very nice Hungarian mustard), acorn squash, warm bread with Danish butter.
* Pain in abdomen

Etc, etc.

I could go on and on..

is my blog broken?

I think my blog is broken. It has been a long time. Yes.

Seriously. What's wrong with my blog?

(clears off cob webs..)

Ok. It does work. Good. I was terrified. Really.

So, I'm looking for a couch. For real this time. Read about it in my archives. I'm afraid to post a link. For fear of errors. But here it is. (for the love of God, click on the highlighted word).

We'll see.

I didn't need a couch back then. Now it's dire.

Couches. Such a pain in the ass.