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Just back from radiation. While driving back, I couldn’t help but think the following:
I love my car. Flawed, as it is. It is old, scratched, in need of repair, expensive, falling apart, and impractical. I love Austin. Flawed as it is, I pass a tree branch in the bike lane that I saw get knocked down by a semi that was unable to make a turn without running into a tree-- which happens to look exactly like the giant white semi I'd see later in the news that hit a cyclist just under 290 on the southside. I think about the foolish new pedestrian signs that have gone up in my neighborhood that exactly zero motorists acknowledge. Now, these are not small signs, and they are in triplicate and have reflective surfaces as well as brand-new crosswalk paint that is about ten feet wide. And there are reflector sticks all around this new crosswalk. No one cares. Motorists whizz by. One blond white lady in a minivan. A big fat brown-haired man in a Tesla. They don’t care. They don’t care if you’re walking alone or with dogs or with kids in carriages. Speeding past because if they aren’t going to acknowledge this mess of signs, they certainly aren’t going to abide by the speed limit. I love my house. Flawed as it is. Old with a shitty kitchen, terrible soil that resembles clay, poorly constructed, and popcorn walls and ceilings to cover up drywall inconsistencies, as was the tradition of the time. The washer and dryer are in the garage, which causes damage because it gets so hot out there in summer, and there is no utility sink. There are no bathtubs, nor is there electricity on the exterior. Yet, there are many old cables that have since been cut and painted over. I want to stay. I want to go. I want to stay and go. I want to stay or go or go and return. I want to realize the ideas behind all this, especially those about the car and the house. Restoring the car would be fun and make it more practical and sustainable. But creating a sustainable property that could be an example of something pretty and nontoxic to the environment. A place where lizards, birds, and possums can flourish. In the neighborhood, we have foxes and possums, and hawks, bats, and owls. I want wildflowers and healthy soil and trees and paths and bird baths and bee baths and a nice fire pit. I do not want gas-powered lawn mowers, blowers, and weedwackers. I do not want pesticides, fertilizers, or poisons. Neighbors blow their yard junk with their gas-powered machines right into the street, which ends up rolling right into the creek drains. Some just leave the nitrogen-rich clippings right on their lawns, which heats up and kills more grass, leaving a big dirt area. But it doesn’t stop them from getting out their gas mowers the next week. They just mow their dirt. They don’t seem to care about garbage or run off, which also all ends up in the creek drain. They don’t know the difference between the brown, blue, and green bins either. Large, white, plastic garbage bags full of things like diapers prop up recycle bin lids up and down the block. And every morning around 6:30 AM, a diesel engine revs up and is left to idle in the driveway for about 15 to 20 minutes every day, Monday through Friday. They must be made of money.
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It's strange to see a photo of my grandma holding me and smiling. I don't have memories of her being happy, and I don't even remember the sound of her voice. It makes me happy to see her smiling and to think of her life and what made her, her. I don't really know if she ever worked or what she did if she did. I don't know how she and my grandfather met. I spent a little more time with my grandpa, but not by much. I remember my grandmother's funeral, sort of. I think I was eight when she passed. My uncle took me to visit grandpa in Florida once. We went with his step-daughter. Grandpa liked to watch soap operas and go to McDonald's for watery coffee and meet with his old timer friends to catch up on gossip. I wonder if they liked to watch Days of Our Lives and General Hospital, also. Grandpa kept a fruit bowl on his coffee table at his Florida mobile home. My step-cousin ate all of the fruit one day, mostly consisting of bananas. Grandpa was quick to let me know this was why she was so fat and that she was a spoiled brat.
So, in my last post, I tried being cheery and, check, that’s done. Did that. My last entry will likely be my only attempt at trying to feign a good mood and cheerful disposition, for it is an empty and bankrupt existence that I toil with. I hear no words. I feel no feelings. All of the dopamine bursts are transactional, sans a few exchanges with friends and my dogs and family that keep me going, I guess. I can come alive with distraction. It happens, and then it’s over, and the emptiness returns like a void I rest in as I hope for no more distractions. Yesterday, as I lay in bed not wanting to get up, I felt what was like a chisel cracking my skull. My head, with a sharp pain, just split. I reached for my ibuprofen and took two. I lay back down. I don’t want the sun to come up and the world to be bright out. It’s raining, and I like the sound, the cool breeze, and the dim light. I hope it rains forever. Still, I know I have so much to do, but all ambition has left me, and I don’t feel much of anything. I have moments of awakeness and times when I’m asleep. I prefer the times I’m asleep, frankly. I don’t even care that “awakeness” isn’t a word. Or, wasn’t a word because it is now. In my grumpy lexicon, at least.  There’s not much worse than needing to rewrite an update that was accidentally lost.
I opened a Pages document and stared at it for about an hour before my sister-in-law called for a rousing chat that I enjoyed very much! She was on her way back from Plaquemine, Louisiana, where she was counting and taking artifacts and other data from the birds, Purple Martins, I believe, as part of her job in coastal ecology in Louisiana. She is such a wonderful artist, writer, and thoughtful human. I’m so grateful to have her in my life! Back to Monday. The day of One Arm. Hopefully this one will be somewhat entertaining or cheerful via some of the pics and lists, although the title I consider is: Novelty, or, How to overcome ennui. So, luckily, on Monday, there was only one attempt to get a good intravenous connection. However, the way the IV was set up, every time I moved my arm, especially if I bent my elbow at all, a beep-fest would begin. They gave me an extra pillow so I could extend my arm and a warm blanket to keep it warm and covered. This was taken to a new level when I had to go to radiation. While I lie on the table, I have to bend my arms over my chest. We tried to adjust the tubes so as not to be inhibited, yet the beeps persisted. I was scheduled to see the doc after the treatment, and the technician noticed you could just click “OK” to cancel the alarm. This was a temporary fix, and the beeps would continue.  Black coffee. Work. Money. Walk dogs. Laundry. Clean house. Wash dog. Black coffee. Get up. Bed is so comfortable. Black coffee. Cramps. Black coffee. Get up. It's so nice with the windows open and the cool breeze. Hot Black Coffee. Financial aid application. Get up. So unmotivated. Hot black coffee. Hot. Black. Coffee. Espresso. Do the budget. Call the social worker back. Get up.
Everything smells weird. I get up. I put my hair up and walk to the kitchen with as many glasses as I can carry. Yesterday I ended up collecting 6 glasses of liquids next to my bed. Most are still partially full. Green tea, peppermint tea, lemon water, stomach tea, coffee with soy milk, and cranberry juice. Took two trips. Nothing was quite right. The water with lemon, I think, was my favorite. Mmmmm, a fresh thin slice of organic lemon in water. So good from my nose to my tummy. I love fresh lemon. After radiation yesterday, I stopped by the grocery store. I had a craving for parsley and garlic with pasta. I had made a pasta earlier, just a little figuring I wouldn't be able to really finish it if I made the whole bag. On a regular day, I make the whole bag and pop the whole thing in the fridge for the week. These days, everything is in the freezer. It makes me hesitate when buying new food. I looked around the store. More than $8 for a small package of Benevolent Bacon. $7.50 for burrata. Almost $7 for parm? |
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June 2026
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