Don't know what you got til it's gone
Nothing like finding and fixing a problem on your site to remind you just how much you love it. When I saw my images reappear just now after some helpful advice and tweaking, it felt pretty good. Even makes me miss being a redhead. I’m not even sure how long the images had been hiding from us (she pouts, the MintJelly) but hopefully it wasn’t too long.
I feel bad for the neglect. I was busy, it was the end of the world, it was humid. There are no good excuses.
Hey there, Jelly Bellies. Thank you for all your lovely (and flatteringly angry) words these past months. I missed you too.
Below is a poem from The New Yorker this week, which fits so perfectly with my hospital experience last week.
To keep a long story long: they were very worried I had a pulminary embolism, and did tests that got more awful as the days and pain went on (several ECGs, lung xrays, cat scans, a dozen vials of blood, 3 heart sonograms, one vial of arterial blood, Nuclear ventriculography, anticoagulants). Hospitals are indeed terrible even if you have nice doctors and nurses. Now that some time has passed I am starting to not look like a heroin addict from the needles and bruising. New self learing includes realizing I draw the line at twenty strangers seeing my naked breasts (if they’re not going to tell me they’re fabulous then what’s the point?). I’m all for education but getting three heart sonograms thanks to my “good anatomy” by students doesn’t make me infinitely generous, no matter how much percocet they have me on. Good thing is that the problem is not threatening and everything else is healthier than it has a right to be.
Anticipated Stranger
the bruise will stop by later.
For now, pain pauses in its round,
notes the time of day, the patient’s temperature,
leaves a memo for the surrogate: what the hell
did you think you were doing? I mean…
Oh well, less said the better, they all say.
I’ll post this at the desk.
God will find the pattern and break it.
—John Ashbery
It’s a slow and rainy friday. In an effort to kill some time, I started surfing some sites I’d fallen out of touch with. I stopped by here just to see if you still had a site up. Imagine my surprise at finding actual updates!
I’m happy to hear that you don’t have an embolism, Miss Jelly...that’s scary stuff.
“...I draw the line at twenty strangers seeing my naked breasts...”
I wasn’t even aware you having a showing! You’ll have to let me know when the next one is. ;)
Oh Calvo! You just made me laugh so hard!
If I do begin a sideline as a burlesque performer like I’ve been talking about for weeks now, I will tell you and insist on your enthusiastic support. I feel I have experience trying to at least keep the nipple covered while a lot is going on. My word. *shudder* Truth be told, I felt so helpless and vulnerable I’m a little shell shocked. I recently saw a man helping his son apply a fake tattoo (after getting out of the hospital), and when he wiped a little water on the boy’s arm, I mentally saw a poised needle and flinched.
Dance dance therapy, baby. Reclaiming one’s physical self.
I mean, they could have at least played music, let me get into the groove a little.
The musical stylings of Billy Childish and Holly Golightly would have been MUCH appreciated!
ah, i missed you. huzzah!
Burlesque, you say? I could probably be convinced to make a trip northward for your debut. I’ll be awaiting your invitation.
Knowing that your mom reads this, I’ll refrain from making too many off-color, salacious comments but, oh my, all this talk of your breasts…
Is it getting warm in here?
ps - missed you too!
indeed! hushhhh. making me blush.
does blushing on cue count as a talent? i blush if someone says blush, or tells me my fly is down.
Wonderful, if I get a venue, I’ll let you know and be hoping for a warm crowd. and perhaps peonies at the end. or a pony.
...a bouquet of ponies it is, then!
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