Tag Archives: rain

Today is November 13, 2015. I am alive and mostly well.

My fingers have been silent for awhile. I imagine them covered in mud, unable to snap one musical note. There is no water to rinse with. There are no paper towels to dry with.

I am standing outside in a black cotton shirt and jeans, my boots lined with faux fur that peaks out the top. My boots are waterproof.

It begins to rain. I extend my fingers. They are without mud.

Not only have my fingers been silent, but I have been  quiet in my emotional life. I have not read e-mails. I have not lined up coffee and meals with friends. I have not wanted to go to meetings, but I go anyway. I’m behaving like a depressed person who still showers, eats meals, and makes it on time to work. Maybe I have simply needed to be still. Stillness grabs me in a tight embrace.

The cats have enjoyed me being home. They wrap themselves around each other on my bed, butted up against my legs. I pray not to have to go to the restroom anytime soon because I don’t want to disturb them. Yes, they have taken me hostage. They are black and cute, one chubby, one skinny. I don’t want to be a writer who is always writing about cats.

The stillness allows me to reflect on my current life. My brain has not been sick for a long time although schizophrenia is tethered softly to me. The other day, I had to Skype with a psychiatrist whom I didn’t know. The first thing I said was, “This is weird.” I asked if other people were tapping into the computer, listening to our conversation. She told me the computer was secure. I sat for ten minutes saying yes to some questions and making certain she didn’t change my medications. I have been hospital free on these meds for over seven years. I have not had to beg a psych tech on the unit for dental floss. I can retrieve dental floss from my bathroom drawer whenever I want, stretching it out to any length I want.

I wil blog more about my reflections in stillness another time. This blog has gotten long. Be well. me.


Today is September 26, 2015. I am alive and well.

I fall back on excerpts from the current book I’m writing when I can’t seem to think of anything to blog. The book is still untitled.

The trees have tipped south again. I am afraid of the foliage lying on barren ground. Water is dripping from the sky. The clouds are hidden behind a block of gray construction paper. Even the young girl know this is not right as she glues puffs of cotton to a makeshift sky. “When it rains,” she says, “you can always see clouds. That is what clouds are for. Rain,” her voice confident as a valet driver retrieving your car.

Clouds are for shade, also. I want to tell her and don’t. And what about hours spent lying on grass, watching clouds form different images. I once saw Macbeth in the sky; his hand large and telling as it appeared bloody after murdering King Duncan.

It is noon and time to meet Trish at the gym. We are training legs without the assistance of Guy; he has a client at that time. I haul my body out of the house. I don’t want to go. Working out is not at the top of my list, but cheesecake is. Every night. My belly is not going down and I insist that i’m looking pregnant (of course cheesecake has nothing to do with it). Guy says I’m making up stories. He says I am sexy. What he says does carry weight. I attempt to let go of the image I have of my body.

The leg press and squat machines are empty. We take up residence here. They are right next to each other. With the leg press, I lie on my back at a slight angle, resting against the  cushioned seat and put my legs in the air, onto the ramp. We load weights on the attached bar. And then push on the ramp. I wonder if this is what it feels like to push in pregnancy.

Trish is straight from her class, her criminology class. They are studying O.J. Simpson’s trial. It has Trish keyed up. She can’t believe how many errors the police officers made.