I'm too tired for words.
I spent almost 5 hours at the studio yesterday working with clay. I would not have come home had it not been for the pain returning. I need to go back today, (yes, I am a bit driven at times), to finish working on my project. Since I haven't been able to work on these pages since Friday, I forced myself up at dawn to write a bit now. It's funny. I am finding myself torn between "two lovers" so to speak. There doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to work on the sculpture and the writing.
I was up most of the night last night but did not write on purpose because of the mood I was in. The chronic pain monster was rearing its ugly head and I was really angry. I hate to write/whine, when I am in its grips; I prefer to stand back a bit and be somewhat objective about the experience. It is in this way I hope to connect with others out there in cyber-land who share this awful bond. I also find I am a bit more coherent about the experience if I wait before reflecting on it.
I think the most difficult aspect of the suffering is the limitations it imposes upon me. I can't be up on my feet for more than 15-20 minutes at a time and when sculpting or working with stone, I find I must be up and down to get my perspectives correct. Even sitting on a stool puts stress upon my back so I find that is not a viable option either. I know I should be grateful that I can stand at all, but it seems a bit of a tease, if you know what I mean. I get a "taste" of what I want, only to find I cannot consume it without a roaring belly ache.
That is exactly what happended last night. By the time I left the studio and got home I had to medicate the pain. It was early, so the partial relief the drugs afforded me wore off early. By the time it was bedtime, I was well into my second dose. I refuse to take a third! Consequently- a sleepless night.
Another face to the pain monster, - I found out Friday that my insurance company has once again denied payment for a treatment, the brace that is to help support my feet and leg was apparently prescribed by the wrong provider. I must now wait another 6 weeks for an appointment with an orthopedist to have the exact same treatment again prescribed. I find little solace in the medical community or its political cousin, the insurance companies. If I can find a provider who will acknowledge the pain is not a figment of my imagination, then I must fight with the insurance company to accept the doctor's diagnosis.
Well enough of that! Today is Sunday, four days away from our move and I am very exited. We will finally be out of this little apartment and I will once again have my room. I can't tell you how much that means to me. I don't look forward to the actually moving though. Keith will have to do most of the small stuff, (we have movers for the furniture), but I must be able to last long enough to get everything unpacked and arranged. I am not sure why, but it is very traumatic for me not to have all the furniture in just the right place and the pictures placed upon the walls. I guess it is because I know that I am facing this that I am driven to work as much as I can at the studio and on these pages this weekend; it will be awhile before I can physically do much of anything once we are relocated.
Our apartment is quiet and dark at this moment. I fed our little dog so Keith could sleep in. This little animal has the time clock of a rooster. Up at 5:30 for his breakfast and, by golly, we had better be up to give it to him or a serious "licking" takes place. So with him fed and content I now sit, one last weekend in the corner of this dining room, typing away. Have I ever mentioned that I love the color green? One could never tell it by looking at our furniture - all kelly greens, blacks and mauve. Even the corner table lamp is a deep kelly green. I have punctuated the interior design with contrasting fabrics covered in a very victorian print, colors of deep cream, green and mauves in a rose design. I know it must sound pretty disgusting, but for some strange reason it does work.
Our furniture is a mixture of old and new. The new has a very "southwestern" flavor, purchased I guess, due to the geographical influence on our lives. But I love antiques and this passion is reflected in the pieces we own. The funny thing is that most every antique was once new to this family, no matter how old it now is. You see, my family are "keepers". Most of the pieces come from long gone relatives - the "Waltons" style radio that sits atop the mantel - a reminder of a great aunt that was before her time (she never married, having put her career first), the victorian bedroom set which was my great-grandparents wedding suite. All these things help me feel connected somehow to a bigger picture of life. A reminder that there is more than the daily pleasures (and sufferings) that we each endure-that there is a continuity to the time line and all is really not as random as it appears on the surface.
Well, its going to be a fried pork chops, smothered in gravy type day today. I have promised Keith for a week to fix this favorite meal and there will be no getting around it any longer. He is worth it though, I must admit. So my day takes shape in my sleepy brain. Update the web site, work at the studio, cook, and hopefully find some time to begin packing a few things. Oh, and I must wash and block the baby blanket for Bruce and Annie! and finish another pair of Christmas socks. A full day and it is the Lord's day, according to several traditions. Whichever you may follow, I wish you full blessing of grace and peace as you go about your tasks.
Journi
Copyright @ 1997 by Journi
