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26 April 2011 @ 03:29 pm
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.
gattagrigiagattagrigia on April 26th, 2011 10:42 pm (UTC)
Regardless of when or where, it is always good to hear from you!

Here's hoping that the universe aligns properly for housing, and that the virii get bored and vacate your sinus and ear.
kassrachel on April 26th, 2011 10:45 pm (UTC)
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

and now you have transported me back to my childhood, too.

I'm glad there is Nyquil. I hope the prescription helps, and soon. Being sick is a drag, being computer-less is a drag, and I have to imagine that being sick and computerless and also waiting for more permanent lodgings is a tremendous drag omg.

Thinking of you. Sending love. Here in the hills of New England our forsythia bushes are about to bloom. Any minute now. Little bursts of sun.
Trepkos: Arthur and Kai smiletrepkos on April 26th, 2011 10:54 pm (UTC)
Herself_nycherself_nyc on April 26th, 2011 11:05 pm (UTC)
What a writer you are!
tabaquitabaqui on April 26th, 2011 11:19 pm (UTC)
That sounds so very surreal but also quite wonderful. I'm so happy that you have this feeling of joy about your life, your childhood.
*offers hugs*
*still listening*
laurashapiro on April 26th, 2011 11:37 pm (UTC)
Last night sounds like a great blessing, in spite of the illness. To reclaim your childhood that way, to get to feel those memories again, and happy ones. That's amazing.

Thinking of you.
jolie_reader: lunajolie_reader on April 26th, 2011 11:39 pm (UTC)
<3 <3 <3
JaneDavittjanedavitt on April 26th, 2011 11:56 pm (UTC)
I hope that you're feeling better very soon ::hugs:: That surreal feeling on cold meds is so disconcerting.
Malkin Greymalkingrey on April 27th, 2011 12:04 am (UTC)
Ear infections are like toothaches -- there's something particularly disconcerting and disorienting about having something that painful going on so close to where one does so much of one's thinking.

Which is a kind of roundabout way of saying that I sympathize with the ear-and-sinus thing, and hope that you feel better soon and that the housing situation works out.
threegoldfish on April 27th, 2011 12:11 am (UTC)
I don't know if you'll have easy access to something like this, but I find that warmth from a hot pad (or a cotton sock full of rice and microwaved) against the back of my jaw really helps for that sort of jaw/ear pain. Hope you feel better!
Amara ^..^amara_1783 on April 27th, 2011 02:07 am (UTC)
If I did not live half a world away from you you would now be in my spare room, with a small terrier snuggling on your lap, and a beagle sniffing through your things hoping to find food. I know what it is to cling so hard to being strong that you sap all your strength, and to feel as if everyone else must be on more important business than you. Please don't deny other people the privilege of helping you out, and do be kind to yourself.
Gerigeri on April 27th, 2011 02:39 am (UTC)
I do hope you get the housing and everything else just falls into place for you. I'm praying for you feel better if possible.
Hepcat: dean readsnwhepcat on April 27th, 2011 02:59 am (UTC)
Bits of distant memories floating up when nearly forgotten, that's always amazing. It sounds like a real period of grace, and I'm glad it's lasted into today.

Sending many thoughts your way, hopes of life easing for you, and finding yourself in a better place in more ways than one.

Thank you so much for keeping us posted, and not only that but sharing these exquisite bits of writing about your life.
Oleander9999: aliceflamingo (marauder)oleander9999 on April 27th, 2011 04:42 am (UTC)
Dearest Anna.

I just happened to open LJ at the right time and saw today's post and then read back through to early March. Stunned by what you're having to go through, but also by the insight and skill with which you're recording it and grateful that you're sharing your thoughts and impressions with us here. It reminds me of nothing so much as Evgenia Ginzburg's amazing "Into the Whirlwind" (you may know it,) an account of the life of a professor with a family and a home whose world was turned inside out in one night when she was arrested as part of a Stalinist purge and who spent decades in prisons and camps, but never let it tarnish her soul.

Your time in Siberia won't be that extensive, of course, but your writing here is kin to hers, to her indefatigable humanity and clear-eyed assessment of herself and all those, good and bad, she encountered in her time through the looking glass. Your writing talent has always been a shining beacon and even as my heart aches for you, I feel great hope for you because you have such a beautiful voice and I believe that it will carry you to peace and safety and happiness.

I will be checking back often and sending good thoughts for better days and warm hugs. With love.
Oleander9999: bbmpassionateshepherd (marauder)oleander9999 on April 27th, 2011 04:43 am (UTC)
p.s. So very sorry about your mom. I lost my dad in October and even though the circumstances weren't so awful, gone is gone, and it's hard. Hugs and love.
MELODY GLOUCESTER PEGASUSjolielaide on April 27th, 2011 06:54 pm (UTC)
What a beautiful description of your childhood memories, washing over you like that. A bright, hazy little spot of joy.

I hope the prescription helps-- I had a sinus infection/cold thing for two weeks earlier this year and it was pretty dreadful.

ersilia62ersilia62 on April 28th, 2011 09:20 pm (UTC)
Hello My Dear, even if we do not know to call you from my heart feel so thanks to the wonderful stories that you've given me, I am very sorry for the problems you are facing and I really want to hold you tight and be able to do something more for you and I hope than you can keep doing what you're doing .... fight because it's the only thing we can throw him the life tons of crap, unfortunately I have personal experience, but as long as we live we only have to fight. Because who does not fight has already died ....
If I had the opportunity would come from you and carry you with me in my house, come on small matters is not giving up ..... ever! Many kisses and hugs from the heart
laazikaatlaazikaat on April 30th, 2011 09:11 am (UTC)
I'm so glad you were able to relive some moments of joy. I hate what you're going through and I'm wishing you safely through this dark time.
ruthless1ruthless1 on April 30th, 2011 10:14 pm (UTC)
A spiritual blast from the past. I've had those - where the fleeting moments that I felt safe and loved as a child were enough to carry me through the current trials of the present. They are like little gifts from our younger selves to strengthen us now. I love those moments. If there is a chinese herbal store anywhere near you (I don't know Seattle at all) they have tea pills that work really well. Gan Mao Lingh or (if your are coughing up green stuff) a kind called Clear Mountain Air. They are way cheaper than over the counter stuff. Being sick is no fun.