The other night I finally decided to resume writing, even though I didn’t feel up to it. But soon, there I was, writing a rant about ranting, and doing a pretty decent job of it, until I got halfway through, and promptly gave up.

I’ve had way too many drugs for way too many health issues this past half year, and the holes in my head have grown enough to interfere with simple things like saving a document file. The next morning, I woke with the well intentioned urge to continue ranting, and yes indeed, and probably for the best, it was nowhere to be found.

I’m sure it was absolutely wonderful, but really, all it said was I’m sick of people ranting and as I return to writing, I’m going to rant too, because hey, I’ve been holding it all in. Apparently, I have no issues with contradicting myself, but at least now I can blame it on all the drugs. At one point I was taking 11 different medications; I hear that obscure antibiotic I had in April can cause this as a side effect.

That morning my inner rant was mostly directed at myself for losing my written rant. We all get what we deserve sometimes, and sometimes, the caverns in our heads protect us from finishing things we never should have started. Maybe this will disappear too.


But, if I’m still here, and if you’re still here, I guess the holes failed and now I’m fully committed to this adventure, this safari around the emptiness, gaps and other wild creatures of leftover illness and disappeared parts of myself, some of which I can reclaim as I’m doing now, and some of which are never coming back, like the little gaps in my poor misbegotten digestive system I accumulated these past several years. Ah life, with its joyous surprises, like how much of our bodies we do not really need, and how wonderful medication can occasionally be, even if it saves and ruins us simultaneously.

Things I have lost this time around: My gall bladder, my almost boyfriend of a few years, writing/creativity, a bunch of money, and yes, some parts of my mind. And time. Six months that have turned to opaque dreams and mirages, whole weeks lost that I sometimes remember vividly, sometimes not at all.

I was far sicker than I let people know. Recovering doesn’t always happen all at once; this time it was like swings of an uneven pendulum, sometimes better, and then I would go out in the world proclaiming myself all well, and then sometimes worse with unexpected complications, and I would hide, somewhat embarrassed that I’d proclaimed myself well and on the way to mending.


Still, once again, I can proclaim myself relatively well, and that’s a pretty good thing. Last week I ran away for two days. I went to Reno, stayed at the worst casino, and had the best time. There was free jazz by the pool that night- the woman singing was one of those singers with a wonderful voice that missed the powerful connection great singers can do, but who cares? I was sitting by a pool, listening to music, and enjoying life without pain meds. I relaxed so much, I found myself drooling at one point, which hopefully no-one saw.

Then I walked down to the river that runs through town, and heard what sounded like a Sinatra concert- it was a free concert by Landau Eugene Murphy, Jr., a guy who won America’s Got Talent, and who is basically the young black Sinatra with dreads down to his butt. He was awesome. Everyone was having a lovely time, and I had my first beer in about 8 months.

I went back and slept really well until the fire alarm went off around 2AM. I joined the other hotel guests going down the stairs. When we got out on the second floor of the parking garage, we saw a giant tire on the floor, with a ton of sprinklers set off over it.

Some people were understandably annoyed, but you know, I was mostly amused, and found myself just happy to be alive to see something so harmless and dumb. The next day I took a short hike and swam in Lake Tahoe, and you know, for a couple days I felt free and human again.


Back home, that happy relaxed feeling somewhat dissipated. I watched the news and got all fueled up again, rants building, little pains reminding me I’m not all the way recovered, money and work stress kicked in, all kinds of fun stuff. But here I am, trying to work through the pain and loneliness of recovering, trying to replace the lost stuff with new things, new experiences, new ideas. The lost things are probably never coming back. Things disappear and dissolve, and things arrive and grow. So I try and count what is here now, and embrace life while I can. And move on, which is really all one can do, until one can’t. And then disappeared, and there but for flames and fading, for the particles we were and are.