She Patched Herself

“The Patchwork Girl was magically alive… Indeed, Scraps was a general favorite… She was seldom still, but loved to dance, to turn handsprings and somersaults, to climb trees and to indulge in many other active sports.” ~ The Lost Princess of Oz, by L. Frank Baum

“She Patched Herself”

They demanded
a white dress,
their sort of proper,
their kind of slick.

She patched herself
in color-filled living,
gloved her hands in red,
crimsoned her feet.

In bright bloom
(and alive!), she cackles
and they cringe.
.

I really enjoyed coloring this lady.
There is something bright and delicious in her face,
which says, “I live for me and I love it.”
oz-she-patched-herself“The Patchwork Girl of Oz
from Worlds of Color: Welcome to Oz Adult Coloring Book
by Eric Shanower

– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Tuesday Platform)

New Aches Will Figure Out that They Have Nothing on My Old Agonies

My sexy body has been a bastardish diva for some weeks. My medications, chronic pain, the weather, and the fiendish chronic fatigue that comes with Crohn’s Disease have been actively conspiring against my comfort. But they are wrong if they think they can push my face to the wall, (um… to the pillow?) forever.

We (my brain and I) have been studying the situation very closely—we know our flesh and bones aren’t getting enough rest, we know that some of our chronic pain doesn’t come from trauma but from confused nerves that insist on betraying us. We need to be careful with our messed up hip, shoulder, foot, gut… But we need to exercise energy into our being. There are tons of things we can do to keep our heart pumping, to keep numbness from kissing our fingers and toes, to keep sleep from constantly riding our eyelids.

Exercise hurts. Not exercising hurts more… and nudges mind and body towards wasting away. I hate waste, and refuse to be its willing vessel. Tomorrow, I start running… again, at a very s l o w pace. The last time I tried to run, there was some blood… But my gut has been doing much better. I feel stronger.

These days, it’s fatigue that keeps me from moving as much as I would like to move. There are times when it’s rather difficult to keep my eyes open. I suspect some of the lethargy will go away once I can feed on the addictive bliss of endorphins. My doctors and my Piano Man and I are very hopeful. One of my doctors recommended a self-reward system. “After every successful workout session,” he said, “give yourself something you really like, something that lures your brain to get out of bed when you’re too tired.”

I thought the idea was silly. “I can’t think of anything I want, which I don’t have,” I said to my Piano Man.

“What about more money for buying books? It doesn’t have to be a lot (my lover knows just how cheap his lover can be *cough, cough*), maybe 25¢ for each workout. You can buy yourself a new book every…”

His words were drowned by the voice of my bookish greediness squealing about the new titles we would get. Then I decided that the reward had to mean something. So 39¢ (for my age) would make more sense. And if I skip a workout, I must give 39¢ back. Next year, I will get 40¢ per workout. My brain grinned.

As I’ve always done, I will run thrice a week, do calisthenics twice a week, dance once a week, rest one day out of the week, and stretch in the morning and evening every day. I know it sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t… once a body gets used to it. I can’t exercise as hard as I used to, but I can still do quite a bit.

I shall keep you posted. If we are friends on Facebook or Twitter, you will possibly suffer some of my moaning… particularly the first week. After the days of soreness diminish, and the new aches figure out that they have nothing on my old agonies, I will probably tell you about how good the whole thing feels.

1st Day of Week 1
Weight: 148 lbs. – Waist: 34.5 inches
Energy levels: in the dumps…

dont-fear-pain

Healing a Wish

I call on you, betrayer of living flesh,
cracker of bones… I name you mine,
I hammer my intent into your core.

My will—never you!—dances
in the red of my blood, throbs
in my center and in my limbs

and in the roots of all that is Me.
I’m blooming you dry, pain of mine,
making dandy fluff out of lion’s teeth,

unbinding hurts, healing a wish.

.
  the (not so) wee notes…
– Over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Brendan asked us to “write a short poem… binding up a spell or charm for something that plagues some aspect of daily life. Invoke a depth or shade or deity of heart and cast it over an ailing.” I, in all my teeth-baring-witchy-narcissism, invoked the hammer that is my will, and sent it like a weed (who knows her own power) to breed healing into the soil of my flesh and bones. In the spring of my charm, my pain shall be overrun by the healing bright of my dandelion wish. 😉
– I’m rather inept at the art of conventional meditation (Also, I dislike the word “conventional”, but that has little to do with this so I’ll move on). Many people, perhaps most people, visualize waterfalls, quiet meadows, sunrises… when they meditate in search for healing. That doesn’t work for me. If I’m to soothe myself—physically and/or emotionally—I must face what ails me head on and teeth bare. Some days, I dance with it… other days, we glare at each other… most days, I swallow its energy and make it mine.
– Linked to Poets United (Poetry Pantry 319).

Dandelion