Wednesday, May 12, 2004

This looks like craziness

I am blocked, I am locked, I am a prisoner of my stuff. My collections of things to use in creations cover the flat surfaces of my creation room and in it I can't think. I can't walk into my craft room, just climb over boxes, closed, heaped, open, spilled. It looks like a room belonging to someone who is very sick in the head, someone who collects dozens of cats and then dies in a back room to be found only when the smell notifies passersby and the media comes in to take pictures.

I want to paint, I want to throw pots, I want to make mosaics, I want to scrapbook, I want to sew, I want to sculpt, I want to make paper and books, I want to write, I want to live long enough to do all these things well.

This evening I've been packing girls' things into boxes and labeling them. Perhaps one day they'll look at these things, old diaries that are closed to me (I fear to read them), mementos of another life, and either write of them or wonder why they saved them. It would be good if they saved them, the art, the words. Once the words are gone, the past is filtered, and without the past one can't learn for the future.

Was it yesterday? I think it was yesterday afternoon. The phone in the classroom rang, the secretary said, "Your husband called to say he's in the emergency room at the hospital."

I immediately sent my students back to their regular classes and drove to the hospital. Sweetie would not be in the hospital unless he were very sick. Being sick is a weakness that can be overcome by the mind. Hasn't worked for him recently, but that's an anomaly he says. I call the hospital on my cell phone on the way. No one seems to have heard of him. I go to the ER. He's not there. I walk all over thinking I'll find him, or hear his deep voice rumbling down the hallway. I feel lost and frantic. Why would he call and then there be no word?

"No news is good news," I keep telling myself. After much time I head home, and there he is, in bed, coughing. I was so glad to see him.

"I felt like I was dying," he said. "I couldn't breathe, my heart was irregular. One of the doctors squeezed me into her schedule. She gave me some antibiotics and ordered a chest x-ray to see if I have pneumonia."

Since the doctor sent him home, he feels better. They wouldn't send him home if he were dying.

Back to the heaps.

©LDN 2008

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