Sunday, July 21, 2013

Hercules' lament


So, yesterday.

Yesterday, I began the day lying in bed underneath a sheet and a lightweight blanket, but it was the large, sparkly and multi-faceted boulder that I had to summon all my strength to push out of the way. The boulder has multiple surfaces, nooks and crannies, and it's difficult to get out from underneath it without scrapes or nicks, not to mention deep bruises. There are sticky parts, too, the kind that demand a response beyond a push away or slither out. For those I use my finger dexterity skills, I flick, they fly, the words. The day wore on. I went to see Dr. Jin for what some might call female troubles of the near half-century mark (I had flicked away the letters that spell c-a-n-c-e-r), received tiny bags of powdered herbs to be dissolved in boiling water and drunk, one cup twice a day. Drink all, she said, but leave small amount and dissolve this powder in last bit. I nodded. Tastes bad, she said, drink fast. I left Dr. Jin and went to a mall to watch a movie to keep the boulder off, let it nip my heels. I saw Still Mine, a movie about an aged couple, a couple very much in love. I sat in the theater, looked around, realized that I was, most definitely, the youngest person there. Gray heads bobbed, voices were raised, the woman behind me spoke of her failing kidneys, her asthma, her friend murmured. The litany went on through the previews, and I considered turning around, waving my Twizzler in her face, asking her to please be quiet. The old man next to me turned his head and barked gimme a break, and she stopped. I shifted in my seat, smiled, the boulder lay quietly under my feet. I laughed in the movie and I cried and when it was over, I walked to my car, the boulder at a distance, respectful. I couldn't find my car, though. I couldn't remember where I'd parked it. I couldn't remember which level, which aisle, which entrance. I walked up and down and around for half an hour or so, and when I finally broke down and cried, the boulder took advantage, climbed on my back, made me sway. A security guard pulled up, and I climbed in his truck, apologized for the weight, the boulder. It's no big deal, he said. It happens all the time. We found my car, I got out of his, he smiled, wished me luck, and I slammed the door behind me, but the boulder slipped out, like it is wont, draped itself around my neck, settled in for the ride home.

12 comments:

  1. I can feel the heaviness from here. It sucks.

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  2. Dammit! I wish I could crack that boulder into diamonds and sell them to ease all your troubles.

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  3. Better to be Hercules than Sisyphus I suppose. Does it help that the boulder is sparkly or do those sparkles make it worse? I wish I had a wand to wave over you and smash that boulder to fairy dust. With wishes come true on top.

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  4. I'm just catching up here and want you to know that your writing is so beautiful that it takes my breath away. I feel as if we're sitting together in a cafe, and all of your wit, intelligence, passion for your family, concern, hope, faith, love and dark humor wash over me. I wish we were together again, nibbling on yam fries and drinking cider/beer in a pub. In my heart, we are.

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  5. Wishing your boulder would crack into a million little pieces - and that half century female stuff really sucks

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  6. This has happened to me so many times and always when the boulder is present. It's hard to remember at the time, but you do always find your way out.

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  7. Yes, such heaviness, and conveyed so well that I can feel it too. I'm glad it's a boulder with some sparkle, at least.

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  8. The movie looks wonderful, I watched the trailer and have put it on my to see list.

    I take it the marijuana didn't work, hopes have been dashed, the future looks bleak. I know that feeling Elizabeth, except for the marijuana part:)

    Things will work out, not the way you want perhaps but things will work out. It's the day to day part that's so hard. I can't imagine watching my Katie seize and seize and seize. I know how hard her life is already without adding epilepsy on top of it. When she had her biopsy, an imagine of her in bed, sick and dying popped into my head and almost floored me. I would die for her and yet I cannot.

    It's the never ending part that wears a person down. I'm sending hugs and prayers which don't help you, I'm sorry.

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  9. this is exactly right when you write elizabeth whatever you write I read and I nod my head and I wonder how you do it even though I read about how you do it. this boulder of yours it is mind boggling. you constantly surprise me day after day your day after day of it.
    rebecca

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  10. Your strength and acceptance never cease to amaze me.
    Sending love and light.

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