April 26th, 2011


(no subject)

I feel as if I'm posting fugitively again, from my seat here in the downtown Seattle Public Library. Each time I visit, more significance becomes associated with the actions; the people around me are on missions tense and meaningful. The pressure of compressed time pushes me; I keep forgetting to choose a length longer than the default thirty minutes and you can only log in once a day.

I'm still sick. I am patient zero of the zombie plague, the figure that the camera follows, lurching from place to place, hacking and flaking as I condemn everyone around me.

I went to the doctor's this morning, last minute, and they said sinus and ear infection, viral--gave me a prescription, said not to fill it unless I was worse by Friday. The entire right side of my head is essentially trapped in a static, empty thought bubble. I'm told I have fluid in my ear, and the pain I'm feeling in my throat and jaw is the connectivity of my ear to everything else in my body.

I'm tryin to to get jumbled thoughts out in a hurry, as if trying to pull out exactly the three items I need from a that's closet stuffed floor to ceiling with a roiling stew of hockey sticks and basketballs. My last post sucked, I thought, but I won't elaborate on that item of thought. I posted, it's done, I move on.

So in this semi-silent Kafka-bubble of intense pressure and meaning, last night was strange. I don't know if it's the virus or the Nyquil but for hours I was flooded with memories from my childhood, a confetti storm, some memories incredibly tactile--tough grass that you can't pull loose from the ground as easily as you thought; the roll of sodden wet swimsuit rolls clinging to your thighs. It was Christmas ornaments, furniture, pets we had, places, the texture and smell of books, of wood, driftwood and rock covered with scrappy moss. My childhood was expansive and beautiful and full of joy, which was odd, because I'd always thought it sucked, but these memories came back to me. It was as if I'd been missing my entire life. I became ten years old again, sitting in bed with the TV playing in the next room, the feel of clean sheets on my knees, floaty, my hands talking to themselves--it was all so strange and I only have eight minutes or so to capture this and get this down.

If there'd been any type visuals, I'd have been extremely suspicious I'd been dosed with acid. Every feeling was slightly tilted and altered, but also--in a huge way--I felt glad for my life, for everything that's happened to me, it was exactly right, everything, it was worth it--and I still feel a bit of that now with this pressing bubble of silence on my right ear, surrounded by people in the library. Not as intense as last night, but it's still there. It's a very calm personal space--and apparently I have no fever. So. Virusues or alien Nyquil. Weird. I did buy a deep dark green kind from the little shop on the corner....

I do have to go, but I wanted to tell people that all is well, that I'm sick and computer-less but floating out in the world like a free thought bubble, and getting by. Calling each day to check on housing. Trying to eat right.

More soon, with love, Anna.