Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Little things

I'm bleeding today.

Bleeding days are not fun days. They are not good days. They are interesting days. They are bleeding days. They are days when I lose blood.

One would think that I'd be happy to do so, of course, I mean, hell, girls bleed all the freaking time, right?

Except, my bleeding isn't a sign of fertility or propriety of plumbing. My bleeding is a sing that things are not remaining stable as they should. My bleeding is a reminder that I'm supposed to be avoiding stressful situations and getting upset, that I'm supposed to be enjoying a diet I cannot afford on a constant basis (you go try and eat salad every single day, twice a day, and tell me how cheap it is).

Of course, I have a huge craving for all of it now, lol. I look at meat, of which I have plenty, and I'm non-plussed.  This is a recent change, as well. One I am hoping is not long term and consistent (it is a craving, more than anything else).

Bleeding days are like pictures of my children. Reminders that I'm 2500 miles away from home and that I would do damn near anything for the money to get back home faster than I'm getting it.

And a reminder that I would do anything to get the money I need for what I am doing.

I cannot talk to my doctor.  They want to do tests, and they want money I don't have. Thanks to my particular issue, I can't look up local doctors because, well, the doctors around here are more likely to attempt euthanasia than to try and help me, I think. Although it might be the same to them...

So I'm here, by myself, doing the things that I do, trying to scratch up enough stuff so that I can earn the money to head home.

Once I get home, things will be easier. The situation whereby I ended up here was so comically preposterous and filled with kindness and coincidence that I would be a fool not to have taken it for the sign it was.

But I don't have to like the lessons they teach.

Bleeding days are days where I fear.

I don't cry about them. The fear isn't of ending so much as its a fear of not reaching all the goals I've set forth. Its fear that I've overstepped my abilities and therefore not adequately understood all the odd little quirks about life as I know it.

Its strange, really.  The deaths of those I've loved have often been accompanied by a sense of loss for what *might have been*. And yet, with this one, I have no such issue. with this one, it is all about what *needs* to be, what I can make it be, now.

Bleeding days are days when wondering about the past and the future becomes an examination of the present. When you see before you not mortality, but instead you see design, a puzzle, and sort of challenge to your sense of self and place within the greater scheme of things.

You never get a set time. No one can sit there and say to you, in the rather austere and sterile confines of an exam room in a busy practice that you got into by calling up a favor, that you have so many hours, and tat your time is fixed.

You get an estimate, a range. You get a set of markers along the highway that layout for you in no uncertain terms the slow and methodical approach that seeks to claim you.

You get a choice.

You can choose at that moment to let what lies behind dictate what lies ahead, or to let what lies ahead be dictated by what is now.

Or you can choose to reach a tad further, and be prescient, and let what lies ahead be dictated by what lies ahead.

On bleeding days, not a lot gets done.  There are things to do, measurements to take,  notes to write, analysis to perform.

I put mine off all day. The day was overcast, and the damn Topix site was compelling me once again to enjoin and feed that adrenaline rush that I get from a sense of interaction.

But I still had to do it. It is a bleeding day.

And now I see that my interest in that adrenaline is indeed, well and truly, killing me.

I won't stop, mind you. But I have to place it in its place, and take control over it.

In the film "Under The Tuscan Sun", Frances is startled by a repetition of her own words: "I love terrible ideas", and those words conspire with a moment that's too wholly a function of omen to ignore that leads her into the purchase of an old villa.

Its time for me to step back into the pursuit of my own terrible idea.

And that one I'll save for a day when I'm not bleeding.

For tonight, though, I keep as my company said film, and Chocolat. And, because it was so terribly ill timed, a trip into the past should time permit.

We'll see.

It is, after all, a bleeding day.

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