Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Testing

Soon there will be testing at my son's school. Serious testing. So begins the life of serious tests, serious waiting, the serious relationship to the results. The serious, serious results. The not knowing. The life-of-its own life form that not knowing becomes, a fungus, but not always the good kind unless you're the further-along-the-path kind of Buddhist where not knowing is all there is.

 I'm not very Buddha about not knowing these days. I'm retaking the test for enlightenment every day and I'm failing. What does Ram Dass say? "If you think you're enlightened, spend a weekend at home with your parents"... is that it? Well, you ought to know by now, Rami, that the proper rebuttal to an assumed state of enlightenment is "then spend a weekend with a serious disability." But I suppose both are true and not too long ago, Ma was in town, so you can imagine how that went. Nope. A being of enlightenment I am not.  A being of enlightenment does not more or less tell their insurance company to fuck off. Downright uncouth, I am.

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Hardware

Because cleaning and shopping are what I can control

I'd rather truck to Home Depot even though I hate the place can hardly walk from the paint aisle to the flooring department where anti fatigue matts cost less than

                   at the smaller quaint hardware stores owned by well intended families
where the dogs roam the aisles and they charge way too much and follow you around and want to be helpful and know all the everything of your hardware plans that are never well thought out so you're forced to come up with one on the spot

but this is how it is now and where I must go in a pinch

for a little distraction and little daydream about fixing up the house and home improving and

occasionally an impulsive need for a sharp tool strikes.... "oh, and where are the paint scrapers?" because I realize if I could only scrape the shit out of something, crucify the lingering grime, break open some rotten cork, pulverize a centipede, dislodge the tile, obliterate the old paint, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape  scrape  scrape  scrape  scrape scrape scrape scrape scrape, scrape...off out over away... anything really...

"Sure, right this way, Mam..."

Dear god, Just tell me where they are—

I don't need an escort... just tell me what aisle... oh shit, the dog is coming now too... "okay, thanks very much. okay this is good, thanks"

What size are you looking for?

"Oooh, I don't know.... but I'm good, this is good. I'll just browse. This is great. Nice selection. Thanks so much."

What do you need it for?


What do I need it for? What do I need it for?        Is that really something you want to know?

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—In hindsight (voice of experience)

My massage therapist telling me, "Your feet are fucking tired! You are on your last lifetime!"

My left foot going funny in triangle pose

My right hip not dropping in triangle pose

My yoga teacher walking toward me upside down, funny face, saying, "are you aware that you are balancing on the side of your head not the crown? 

I am?

You better come down

The legs and feet aching so much I have to hold myself up over the sink using my core muscles when doing the dishes

the times i thought I stepped on glass in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the hallway, in my bedroom, wondering how I possibly managed to litter chunks of glass that I couldn't find

the many many ways I could always blame fibromyalgia and take more Ibuprofen

darn those flat, flat, fallen feet

my podiatrist, years ago warming me to never ever go barefoot or wear flats, no matter how comfortable it was: ditto my podiatrist last year

screaming pain in the Prius, left side back, but only in the Prius

the vaginal cyst

the emergency c-section

the warning labels
you're being a woos; stop complaining
you are not in pain
your relatives suffered a lot worse
no, you do not have to go to the bathroom again; we're not stopping

the invincibility
the up all night crushing raw pelvic pain (Were you sexually abused? Hmmm... I don't think so)

the bulimia

the trip to the er in my early 20s for crippling calf pain

the time my dad had to carry me and my skis down the Mammoth Mountain hill cause of the calf pain

Calf pain
         calf pain
                       calf pain
                                      calf pain: calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain
calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain calf pain                                      calf paincalf paincalf paincalf

posterior tibial something or another
                                                            plantar fasciitis, broken bones

born blue

and the every day gratitude for being able to walk, to dance, to run, to bike...

 because I didn't know what I'd ever do if I lost my ability to walk