Not Now, Not Ever.

I was standing under this tree– some kind of oak tree, I believe–pulling off leaves one by one. Tracing their veins. Absentmindedly considering if their fluids were like the blood in my own. I decided they were and I shredded the leaves into a wet, sticky pile by my feet.

I was thinking about you with my heart. Minds have a way of occupying themselves with the strangest little oddities and an assortment of bizzare behaviors, otherwise unaccounted for, unexplained, whenever the need arises. It’s how humans get by. Push past. Plan. It’s how we fashion futures out of nothing but bundles of empty, hopeless feelings and burdensome regrets.

I walked up and down that dirt road, telling myself I was looking for stones to skip or feathers to take home for washing, drying, and pressing. But, under the moon light all I could see was this twinkling fire of a million fragmented diamonds peeking out beneath the gravel, from the corner of my eyes. And it was all that I could do to stop myself from wanting to give all that light right to you. Delivering to your doorstep, wrapped up in a big red bow, with no card attached. I imagined your face as you saw it. So I scooped up handfuls of the mirrored moonlight and shoved them deep into my pockets. Some moondust remained on my fingers still when I pulled them back out. I licked them and it tasted much like the most unimpressive dirt. Still, I knew the secret of its beauty, so it rejuvenated me for a moment.

They say the only way to cure a broken heart is to break another heart. Though it’s possible I made that up. I do that sometimes. Just make up things to fill the gaps between things I know to be true and the things I’m still considering about life and people. Temporary stepping stones. Baby teeth that hold the place for stronger, more solid ones that come in later. They are very useful until they are not.

I suddenly became angry. So very angry. I don’t know why. But, I went home annoyed. In a generally fussy mood. Feeling betrayed by some part of myself it seemed I couldn’t reach even with my own internal whispers. That part of myself which seemed to grow deaf at any moment that my mind happened to be making nothing but logical sense and sound discovery or observations of the most reasonable and truest sort.

I opened the door, first with my fingers. Then my hand. And like in any real dance, I continued in with a tap of the hip to complete. I led and the door, like a stiff partner, squeaked and jarred but finally gave into my will in one smooth, fluid motion.

It was just as cold inside as it was out. And so I felt my way around in the evening dim for the lamp. The place was old and smelled even older because of the rotting wood around the window frames. The electric outlets were oddly spaced and nearly ridiculous by modern standards, but I had grown accustomed to them by that point, the way one gets used to any mild annoyance or inconvenience.

My hand slapped against the lamp, and I pulled the string to bring light to either the room or the situation in which I found myself. As it turned out, it was more of a lamp unto my feet than a light unto my path. But it did shine faintly on the small bundle of firewood in the corner, so I suppose there was a gray area to be had there.

Minutes later, as I sat before a roaring fire, simultaneously counting both crackles in the fire and cracks in the hearth, I remembered the way you crack me up. Then I cracked my knuckles. I cracked the spine of the book I had left there hours before when I had suddenly decided what I needed most of all was a walk to clear my mind. Then I felt something inside my chest, in what I couldn’t at that moment, and still cannot even now, think of a better way to describe than, being cracked open.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was late. So, I yawned forcefully to convince my mind I was tired. To convince it to give in for the night. Which it didn’t, but my eyes fluttered and closed out of instinct and allowed me, at least for a little while, to enjoy a few moments alone with you before morning.

Only in those few moments between eyes down and sun up, do I surrender to you without fight. Without anger. With out resistance. Only, only, because even warriors have to sleep simetimes. Even they have to give in to the battle just to win the war. And for no other reason than that. No. No other reason than that.

But, I will never tell. Not even if you ask me. Because that’s not who I am. Not now. Not ever.


That One

You hide, inside
A solitude of your own mind
A place devoid, divided, devised
Of hopeless hoping
Of moody, mellow, moping.
You hide, deep inside
Your mind
A cave of your own creation
Where it’s spacious
And there is nothing but time
To run out of
To run out on
You’re clicking and clacking
And believing your own quackery
It’s painful to see
You crack up
Right In front of me
You hide, inside
Because misery loves company
And folly, and melancholy.
Like twisted branches of Christmas holly
You feel misinformed
So you watch and wait
Because you gave up on praying
And think of it now as
Quaint little sayings
That keep you feeling safe
Or safer.
Maybe saner.
But you disdain it.
So you hide. Inside.
Your mind.
Where you are judge, jury and jailer
Living in
The safety net of your own failure


I like medical shows. You know, those actual reality shows where people walk in from the street with a nose that won’t stop bleeding or are driven in after a stabbing. Of course sometimes it’s something benign like babies with runny noses and sprained ankles.

That extends to drama as well, so long as the ailments and corresponding diagnoses are actually plausible. I adored House. ER had its moments.

My all time fabourite medical show was called Mystery Diagnosis. It’s a show about, you guessed it, mysterious illnesses which were hard to diagnosis. It’s real people talking about real problems and their bizarre journey towards finding out what was wrong with them.

The reason I love these shows is because I like to see how quickly I can guess their illness. It’s like my own personal game show.

I have a sick fascination with this. But, I’m actually, oddly, good at it. In fact, I think I could play a doctor on television quite convincingly–so long as you didn’t ask me to actually explain anything. Or math. God I hate mathy things. So nothing involving dosages. But, that’s kind of irrelevant.

The problem with these shows is that I can’t turn it off. I get into diagnosis frenzy. I start diagnosing myself, my friends, my family, strangers who walk by.

“I think that guy has had his liver checked. He looks jaundiced. He needs dandelion tea and plenty of sunlight.”

That was actually on a Dr. Quinn episode once and I was so excited that they got it accurate! Dr. Mike gave the patient dandelion tea and within a few days she was responding as to be expected.

And then I get sucked into Google for hours learning about things like Legionnaires disease–which by the way was first discovered in 1976 at a Legionnaires’ Convention. Like 35 people five or so died before they found out where is was stemming from.


Also, there is (apparently, lol) this parasite that some people believe was developed by the government as some sort of anti-terrorist form of terrorism, though some think it was just a freakish evolution–but it has like these threads that shoot out of your skin. Fine little hairs; all different colors. And a lot of people were being labeled as crazy hypochondriacs for inventing this problem but finally a few doctors took it seriously and realized that it wasn’t just a parasite but somehow combined with fungus and a virus and was able to spawn in a very odd manner. (Or some wackadoodle idea of like.)

And some say the only way to get rid of it is by torching it. Others, by bringing it to a temper of 180 degrees or higher for at least 120 minutes. But, some swear that it’s also killed, or perhaps repelled by, Bounce dryer sheets. Though I can’t for the life of me figure out why they can’t hone in on exactly what chemical or compound causes it so they can replicate and administer in a more effective way than simply rubbing everything with dryer sheets.

Other people, of course, say they are just bedbugs.

Or that it’s a case of Münchausen Syndrome.

I have no opinion. I don’t know what it is exactly. Probably just a bunch of crazies with some inexplicable symptoms which they are far overreaching to try and explain. But, I was still obsessed with reading about it for weeks. Then I discovered videos of people showing off their weird symptoms which eventually turned into watching old episodes of World’s Dumbest Criminals and the videos about the lack of safety in amusement parks around he world. Look it up! It was just a few years ago that this girl’s legs were completely severed by a wire from a ride that snapped. Terrifying!

Oh my God, Intervention! And My Addiction on TLC. Oh, oh! And Freaky Eaters. There was a lady who ate her dead husband’s ashes so she could feel closer to him. Now that’s what I call some freaky eating!

I like seeing the odd connections between things. Like, did you know there is a direct correlation between a woman’s chin and her cervix? Yeah, if you’re a doula you probably did know that. But, most of you aren’t. And it’s a trick that comes in very handy when you need it!

There was this one special that used to come on PBS when I was a teenager where they go through all this art, worldwide, from centuries ago until the present and find all of the hidden references to aliens and spaceships. What the fuck!? Who ever thought of that? It used to scare the shit it of me for some reason so I kept all the lights on.

Then I discovered the one about the Egyptian tombs and pyramids and how they were built. (Don’t ask me. That had way too much mathiness.) but how the bodies were preserved was just so freaking cool! How did they know so very much back then?

Once I was watching this ER show on television in the middle of the night while my husband was at work. God this must have been like 15 years ago. Anyhow I was just sitting there and this guy on the television had been in a bad accident. He was conscious and alert but he had basically been scalped, but it was still attached to his head in the back. It was a lot of blood but I was cool. Then the doctor examines him by pulling back the scalp flap and it was just skull and blood and it was so cool! But then I fainted. I freaking passed out on my own couch. Alone. Like an idiot. Which really taught me the valuable lesson of never going into the OR with any of my clients unless I had stable blood sugar. Trust me, it makes all the difference! (I haven’t passed out once!)

The way our bodies and brains work every day is completely amazing. And we don’t often consider that until they start to fail us. Until we’re angry that they aren’t working the way we want them to. That they are aging before we feel ready. And they hold weight in all the wrong places. We have a big butt or our hair is too frizzy. Our ankles swell in the heat and we have a trick knee. Our memory isn’t what it used to be. We battle with our own mind like it is holding us hostage against our will. And often we feel like it is.

We complain so much over our bodies. Thinking of them as a burden and not a gift. As a curse more than a vessel providing our souls an opportunity to interact with other souls. We see only the bad about our bodies, our lives, and how very frustrated we are with our limitations.

Why do we do that? Why are we so entitled from the very moment we arrive on this planet?

It’s a very curious thing. And even as I sit here and see the complete wrongness of taking this life for granted I am still powerless to it. And I will continue to do so with this fool-hearted belief that I, somehow, will never have to face being separated from this body one day.

We just do that. I don’t know why. It makes no sense to me. But, that’s what we do.


How I bake this dairy
Unstacked, unboxed, unwrapped.
How I use my fleishig pan
Kosher, pure, dipped.
How I fire up the oven
Scorched, kashered, holy.
How I watch it bubble
Baking, treifing, erasing.
How I eat impurely
Hungrily, defiantly, angrily
How I say goodbye.

My Cloud

He is my dark little cloud
He just hovers about
follows me around
Wandering nearby
Wondering why
Wimpering and sighing
Occasionally crying
Just thinking about dying
He’s a dream stealer
A thought reeler
A maker of rain
He’s a general nuisance
But I am so used to him
I can’t help but love him
I can’t help but want him
To reach out and touch him
And I sure can’t out run him
So I let him stick around
I let him hang around
fuck around
While I’m stuck on the ground
Because his angst is so charming
And harmlessly disarming
So very alarming
All right, but so wrong
Like a gangster
A mobster
A scenester, but meaner
Oh, I’ve seen him.
I. have. seen. him.
Besides, I’ve got nothing better
Than to get wetter
and wetter
And we both know it
My faces show it
His expressions grow
And casted
Sometimes I can outlast it
I feel so fucking fantastic!
God damn!
He’s much more than I am
More like a man
Than a cloud
He’s always around
When I need him
When I forget what to believe in
When I forget to keep breathing
And get hopelessly needy
When I’m confused, and believe me
I see things which deceive me
But he straightens me right out
And pours the rain down
Oh God, it’s just laughable
How he’s so unstoppable
That little hopped up
cotton ball all puffed up
And blown up
A white marshmallow dream
In an aerial sea
He means
Far too much to me
To try and fuck him around
Or try to nail him down
He’s my dark, brooding cloud
My sad little clown
Who is never quite sound
But strangely profound
So he just hovers above ground
In circles, spinning around
He ain’t never coming down
And I would not dare ask him.