Where Oh, Where Has Elizabeth Been?

If anyone out there has been paying attention (and I know at least one dear soul who suffered a similar catheter fate read my blog recently! And Nurse Ratchet sister of mine, neither of us enjoyed the experience as much as you seem to enjoy inserting them. There's something wrong with you girl!) it has been almost 5 months since I last posted anything on my blog. I hope that some people have missed me...I know at least Nurse Ratchet's husband would read it during his down time at work (oh the luck of having a job) but I don't know if I've missed me these past five months.

See, when I was first diagnosed with everything, I made a vow to write it all down, even the painful details-ha!, as if there would be much else to write about! But before too long, I was back into my old ways.

Even though I am no longer physically capable of running, I have been running, terror stricken, from the realities of my life for at least these past five months (and much, much longer...it's just that here, with this blog, I was trying to address some of them for a change).

I don't even know how far back I can go and accurately recount what has gone on in the months since I've failed to write. I only know that part of the reason I am here now, writing once again, is because my lover is away on a too short business trip.

As usual, I spent the entire day struggling to figure out what I wanted to do with the day, with MY DAY. And, as usual, the day was over before I came up with an answer and fell gratefully into a long, uninterrupted nap. It wasn't until I was brave enough to lay naked outside on our deck (don't worry prudes, it was well past 10 pm and not a soul could see me-how sad actually), on the uncomfortable wicker love seat, watching the fireflies sparkle through the sultry night air, that I realized what I needed to do was to clean my mind out and not the living room like I had planned on doing.

So now I sit, still sans clothing, on my trusty seat cushion and try and recount how it all went awry and why I haven't written in so long. And I try to keep my thoughts on this serious business of writing and purging my feelings while trying to ignore the sweat coagulating between my breasts because it is too fucking hot out, even at nearly 2 am and the air conditioner is too loud and makes me need my inhaler, which I am completely inept at using, having just recently been diagnosed with asthma.

I'm also simultaneously trying to ignore my stomach's craving for Vienna Fingers and milk because we ran out of milk before I dropped Luke off and I didn't feel like fighting the righteous Sunday shoppers for a quart of organic milk. And hell, I've already gained a bunch of medication related weight and had vanilla ice cream (with a fresh peach) for dinner, so why have a healthy dessert? And I'm somewhat happily alone, so who the hell will know what I eat anyway?

Mostly though, I'm procrastinating. Like all good writers, I'm procrastinating telling you how it all went wrong. How I really feel. How angry I am. How doubtful of everything and scared of nearly everything, I am. I am trying to avoid the ugly and draw upon the pretty, which is something that would probably surprise most people who know me, but then again, most people who know me only know a me they want to see. I am trying to avoid reliving the pain because no matter how many years of therapy I've had, and continue to have, I never quite believe them when they tell me it never hurts as much the second time around.... Is that because you can't re-amputate a lost arm or because you can't re-shatter an obliterated heart? I've yet to figure that one out.

At any rate, February was when the worst of it all happened.