woke up this morning to a glimpse of pink reflections in a crystal blue sky out the windows of my room. though i’m neither menopausal nor, for that matter, female, i have been waking up in the middle of the night many nights with hot sweats for nearly the last year. when this happens, i often leave the big bed and move to the cot-sized one in my “office.” sometimes fraidy hears me moving around and starts her scratching on the door, regardless of the time. cats are nocturnal, after all.
i’ve been experiencing an “up” mood this week without any of the hallmarks of mania. as i explained to syrup yesterday, it’s not that i’m happy all the time. instead, i am content, and my moods and feelings radiate from me with a kind of clarity and transparency that i can’t remember from any time in my sentient, language-using life. thus, the pink glow of sunrise this a.m. felt to me like a blessing, an opportunity to revel in the glory of the world, another day of this humane, down-to-earth state of grace. i’m not saying i thought all that. it was a feeling, you know? they don’t translate to words exactly, but i’m a writer and i can’t help trying.
peak flow meter at 460 today, finally starting tracking it in earnest after paying lip service to my general practitioner all this time. people die from asthma. two close friends of briggs’ have died from it within the last decade. i have to treat this like any other chronic condition. it’s so hard to think of oneself as “sick” or in need of constant treatment or therapy, but i’m slowly getting used to it. the first step was remembering to take an antihistamine every night. now i do it without even thinking, even when i drunk, stoned, or just logey after a long work day. i’m still holding out hope for a “cat-allergy vaccine.” if the day ever comes, i can invite the neighbor cat, Fraidy, in to play without fear. as it is, she comes by and meows plaintively and scratches on the door panes like a speed freak most evenings. can you say “familiar”?
idea for 1-800-poetry
whispered in your ear
why does it gall me so much to be interrupted? why do i talk faster and faster, louder and louder, competing to complete the most syllables with the most decibels? why am i wounded when cut off? why do i lash out? is it worse when a woman does it to me? am i able to have a conversation with a woman that doesn’t make her feel bullied? that is, when i’m not a-courting?