Mishmash of Me
Page 8
I can create a prince from a frog.
I am a magic girl …
Here’s a miracle man
Where there once was a hog.
My rose-colored glasses work for a bit
And it’s sort of nice, I must admit.
But like all good things …the haze will lift …
Life’s cruel, cruel gift …
And there he stands in all his glory.
The truth is an ugly story …
Okay, ladies …
The machine needs to go.
There’s no way around it.
Find a man who makes you glow
Who’s kind, has wit,
And accept, if you can, the rest of his shit.
Or say good-bye with a clear heart
Because REALITY is a very,
very good place to start.
See the guy for who he is …please.
Then, love and life and …everything
Will be as cool as a breeze.
Easy, breezy …I won’t dwell.
Good-bye Morph Machine
Fare-thee-well.
Feliz Navidad!
Happy Holidays!
This time of year
Makes me crazed.
I’ll go in debt,
Get gifts down to the wire,
Bleary-eyed
My credit card is on FIRE.
Take on the stress,
Get sniffles and wheezes.
Oh, yeah …
Happy Birthday,
Baby Jesus
I saw you today.
Had to take a deep breath.
Didn’t know what to say.
Had to take a deep breath.
Losing you was so hard,
And now here you are;
You’re right there,
So near but so far.
What makes love evaporate
Like rain in the hot beating sun?
You go from “I’ll never leave your side”
To “Well, I guess you’re not the one.”
It’s funny, but the truth is clear
And very hard to accept.
You were never really very nice
I wish we had never met.
They say it’s better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all,
But they don’t know you
And your controlling, angry gall.
So now again I see you
And I need to take a breath
Because I realize I have a life
Where before was nearly death.
I can think my thoughts
And take care of things
And do just anything.
I answer to me
And you are no longer my king.
My land, my time—I rule it all,
And there is never any war.
My battle cry is PEACE
And sadness is nevermore.
So now I see you
And I need to take a breath
Because I realize I have a life
Where before was nearly death.
I sincerely don’t get it. If Donald Trump was a stellar person, who understood the world of government and politics and world issues, and was a financial wizard, then, yes. I would understand. I would scream at the top of my lungs, “Of course, the emperor has clothes on!” But, alas, he does not. He is buck-naked and a clown. No, he’s worse than a clown (even though I do subscribe to the terror of most clowns). He is a horrible human. Or insane. Or horribly insane. Over and over again, he spews hate and if anyone else did and said what he’s done and said, they would be instantly vilified. Why does he get a pass? WHY? Why is it okay to say horrible things about Mexicans, Muslims, the gay community, women and then talk about his penis size at a presidential debate?
It’s getting scary.
People must be angry and they are channeling their misplaced aggression through the conduit that is Trump. I feel like I want to give the world a big, soft pillow to punch. Punch it out, people. Yell, punch, beat that pillow to a pulp … just please don’t vote for a narcissistic, uneducated bully extraordinaire.
(I almost can’t believe it. I kept thinking this must be the world’s biggest prank. Maybe Jimmy Kimmel put Trump up to it and during the convention, the Donald was just gonna strut up to the podium, smirk with half-closed eyes and whisper, “Gotcha” and then have the most epic mic drop in the history of the world …).
Before he was elected, I wrote:
My boss is on my hump;
You’re gonna be okay.
Damn, I found a lump;
I swear, you’ll be okay.
My house is like a dump;
Truly, you’re okay.
We might elect Trump;
(Pause)
We’re screwed.
Light it up—Mr. Popular knows
how to work a room.
How you doing? What s’up? (Head nod)
Make ‘em laugh, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
All the ladies love him—At least he thinks they do.
He wants to own them, conquer them—
all his powers are set to woo.
His charm—disarms,
His eyes tell pretty lies,
His smile suits his style,
Easy breezy—before you know it,
You are hypnotized, mesmerized—
all your walls vaporized.
And then you are genuinely surprised that
all your senses were compromised.
But it’s a short fix—a sad mix.
Mr. Popular thinks he has it all figured out,
but his confidence belies the truth.
He’s insecure, awkward, uncouth.
He thinks he’s never alone; he carries
his audience wherever he goes,
But he knows; he KNOWS,
He is truly alone—tumbleweeds
drifting across his spirit—
Never content …Never at peace,
Hates himself, hates women, kind of a beast.
Hey, Mr. Popular—It’s gonna be okay.
Gonna have to work hard to see, every day
Women as lovely equals.
Take care of her feelings, be kind.
It’s not hard—we’re not picky …
Just be nice and not so dick-y.
That’s right—we are not picky,
Just be nice and not so dick-y.
(Ode to my Mum)
No gift could ever thank you
For what you mean to me
And everything you do.
I love you, Mrs. Lee.
We can chat and chat and chat –
(I know it’s mostly me),
Like how “some” men are rats.
I love you, Mrs. Lee.
We used to go on “adventures”
To tourist-y places, like dorks.
I remember visiting the rainforest,
And having lunch at FORKS. (Ba-ba-bum)
The townsfolk gawked and stared us down.
It was bizarre to say the least.
Our lunch was barely cooked.
It was a strange little weirdo feast.
Or Disneyworld with our New York family
Before I went off to school.
I hope that screaming child-monster cousin
Grew up to be someone cool.
But at every age, no matter where we are,
You are my one true friend,
Someone who cares, who listens.
My Momma, whom I can’t offend.
‘Cause remember, REMEMBER when
Ceelo came out with that one song?!
(THE FUCK YOU SONG)
Staring at the screen as the words
and song whizzed by,
I watched your face take it in;
I was amused; I cannot lie.
I waited when it ended …
Silently counted to ten;
You thought, smiled …and then slyly said,
&nb
sp; “Okay, PLAY IT AGAIN!”
I am a lucky, lucky girl,
The luckiest there ever be
To have YOU for my mommy.
I love you, Mrs. Lee!
It’s the little moments
That make me smile.
I put them in my
Happy File.
We share a joke; you hold my hand.
I dip my toes in the warm, clean sand.
The sun warms my cheek; the trees do a jig.
I take a bite of a juicy fig.
Don’t need a party or a big ole crowd.
Little things make me proud …
A quiet whisper, a secret look,
The perfect words in a perfect book.
It’s the little moments
That make me smile.
I put them in my
Happy File.
For a few weeks in May, I was struggling. I fell asleep all day long. I’d be at my desk at work and nod off for a second or two, look up at my computer screen and find I had typed a bazillion “e’s” across the screen. I’d be fighting all day long to not nod off …as if I had magically turned into a ninety-year-old overnight instead of my current age of 55. I also nodded off on my drive to and from work. That’s right. I turned on the radio, rolled down my windows on the freaking highway, and still I was nodding off and almost getting into accidents. Something was terribly wrong.
May 21, 2018: My cardiologist and I decided that she would admit me to the nearby hospital because in about six months, I had gained about 40 lbs. in water/edema. In order to address this right away, she suggested being in the hospital, getting a strong dose of Lasix and getting a CPAP machine at night until I could get into a sleep study later. I was in the hospital for less than a day, and I stopped breathing. The hospital put me on a ventilator in the ICU unit and when I woke up there was a tube in my throat, my 79-year-old mother was holding my hand and practically weeping and my ex-husband and one of my sister-in-laws were also present. What? Thank goodness, I really don’t remember much of that particular experience except that I was super-confused, and I mimed for a piece of paper and pen. “What day is it?” I wrote.
My mom said, “Saturday.”
Ummm …what? I couldn’t line up the days at all. I don’t remember much after that day until I woke up and the tube was gone. I was told I had been in ICU for about 6 days.
I ended up being in the hospital for 2 weeks and then in a rehabilitation center near my home for close to two more weeks. My youngest son, age twenty-two, was my caregiver at home for about two-and-a-half weeks while he was off from college (and has been a huge help since). I’ve been getting home care for a few weeks now and I don’t know how long my recovery will be. It will probably be a long while. My diagnosis is CHF (congestive heart failure) and Pulmonary hypertension. [Side note: They really need to call it congestive heart issues or something less horrifying than FAILURE.]
I’ve been told that I have damage to the right side of my heart and that there are things I can do to help it not get worse, but that it won’t get better. That was hard to hear.
But it reminded me of something that happened to me years earlier. In my thirties, I had major back surgery because my left foot and lower leg started to go numb. My surgeon at the time told me that my leg and foot would remain numb, but it wouldn’t get worse. When I woke up in the recovery room, I could feel my left foot! I asked my husband to push against my foot and it felt great. So, sometimes things can turn around even if you’re told differently.
Recovery is slow, but steady. I try to identify the small victories and revel in them. It’s hard though. I’m trying to see this whole thing as an opportunity to eat better, move smarter, stay positive at all costs. My kids are watching; my co-workers and friends are taking note, and I truly want to carry myself with as much dignity as possible. I’m grateful for every day. I read an article about a cardiologist (I think) who had a heart attack and was recovering and reflecting. I believe he ended his article with the same thoughts about being grateful each day and that he was also “greedy for more.” Truth, brother, truth.
I can’t even imagine what your stories are.
Well, I guess I could imagine, but there’s a cinematic avalanche of possibilities …
Wonderous moments, lovely, titillating, curious, overwhelming, and devastating ones …
It’s just too, too much.
Your story, your neighbor’s story, your city, state, country, the world …
All these channels turned on,
Programs running,
Never ending …
Well, eventually ending,
But starting again with someone new.
So, what’s the dealio? The point? The reasons behind all these lessons?
Are we chasing something?
Perhaps.
Are we learning something?
Could be.
I think we need to embrace the moments, revel in our stories, and if we can …
Share.
Stories count.
I don’t fully know why yet, but I’m certain it’s true.
I think.