Oh man. Oh man oh man oh man. This day is not going right. I woke up this morning, right about when I always do, right about 7 am, and I stretched my arms over my head, right about like I always do, oh but honey, something went wrong. Something went disastrously wrong. I tried to pretend like it wasn't so, like I was not actually experiencing the most gut-wrenching, puke-inducing pain shooting up and down my neck and back and left arm. I stood up and got dizzy. I teetered my way into the living room and that was as far as I could go. I eased myself down onto the floor and lay there shivering my ass off, bored to tears, needing to pee, needing, desperately, to let Basho out, for at least an hour. Not fun. Then I gritted my teeth, heaved myself up, nearly lost my stomach, and got myself out of doors with Basho. I barely remember that part. I got back inside and peed, but found I couldn't stand up from the toilet (sorry to get graphic here--probably I'm the only one on the planet grossed out by that sentence, so, actually I'm apologizing to myself) and had to sit there, shivering for a long long time. Also bored out of my mind. Then I went and I sat in deep pain on the couch for a while because I was so damned bored and tried to watch TV. I've never really watched TV on a Sunday morning and now I know why. The only channel I got without moving was showing the most boring show ever. I kid you not. Sometimes you saw some guys standing around looking at nature. Sometimes you saw one of those guys riding a motorcycle. The motorcycle parts would go on and on and on and on. Nobody ever spoke. I about lost my mind over there on that couch. Finally got up, swallowed a handful of ibuprofen and made my way into Miss Blue's room where I lay down as gently as possible on the comfy bed there and pulled the warm sleeping bag up over my head and Miss Blue pooled her lovely self right onto my side and I tried breathing exercises and tried telling myself stories and I imagined I had a husband who warmed my cold feet and who read to me, fairy tales and poems, so that I wouldn't be so damned bored and then, finally, I fell asleep.

I'm just up now and, while the pain is still there, the pain all around the pain is gone. I can't move my head just yet, but that's all right. Ugh. I keep thinking that someone should be able to crack something back there in my neck and then the pain will magically disappear. I bet Blythe would know. She's the queen of chiropractics.

In other news. Yesterday, I decided to wash my clothes by hand. This, I thought, would be a good cost-saving measure. My friends, oh my friends, sometimes I get some silly assed notions. For four damned hours I was wringing out soggy clothes, trying to rig something to hang them up on that wouldn't fall over immediately, etc. etc. I am, however, happy to find, this morning that I have clean clothes for the week. So there's that. I will make it to another paycheck without having to shell out cash for laundry. Yeehaw. Though considering the amount of clothes I was able to wash and considering generously too, I figure I saved myself $2. All right me! Woo-hoo!

Yeah. I just marked "wash clothes by hand" off my cost-cutting measures list.

Last night I went with Frances and Jeff to see Chicago (which I enjoyed--it's a whole lot of fluff, but damn was it fun) and it was mighty nice to see their friendly faces. I've had the song "Mr. Cellophane" stuck in my head ever since. John C. Reilly is super cute. I always think that.

I had a waking dream while I was lying in bed with Miss Blue today about my darkness, my depression, which took the form of a huge and mighty dog, tracking all my movements, and me, trying to keep myself out ahead of him, out of his knowing way. I thought about the things that keep him at bay: exercise, writing, poetry, eating not of the junk foods but of the healthy good foods, seeing people I like every once in a while, being outside, staying away from the damned machines, paying attention to the life around me. But sometimes, even my best efforts can't outrun the bad guy and he comes for me and the only thing then is to let him take over. He turns my mind all black and dangerous and I think horrible awful thoughts and feel horrible awful things and I just have to let myself feel those things and I just have to keep hope on high shelf, because hope (and Basho) are the only things seeing me through, some days.

Why am I thinking about this stuff? I guess it's been a not-so-good week. Yesterday was a pretty good day and today, in spite of the crushing pain in my damned neck, I feel all right. But I've been noticing all around that a lot of people are feeling low-down bad. I think it's the time of year when all the dark winter beasts come for us. Just keep that warm ball of hope up on a high shelf where the beast can't go and we'll make it out, my friends. Oh, and eat your greens. And hug a warm body at least once a day.

Because I am fond of the trees, a poem from Edmund Skellings, in which the trees win:

Incantation

I keep coming to this chair
Today. Back and forth between
The ficus tree trailing aerial roots
Outside, and this chair.

Back and forth between the tame wood and three.

I am a hammock hung to the winds.
I am a sail today.
I strain as hard as I can and then
Go back to the measured tread again.

What can I start? My pencil breaks.
The ficus creaks with the breeze.
The chair creaks with my weight.

Axes, I threaten. I shall kindle
Some kind of blaze. You shall be
Food for fire if not thought.

The empty tree whispers of singing birds.
The empty chair is silent with its dead.

More, I shout, tot he arching rafters.
The door shudders on its jambs.
The shelves under the books stiffen.
The table offers coffee.

Oh God, I hear the forests falling.
Timbers moan in the holds of the ships.
Spars sing in the wings of the planes.

All the toboggans int he hills are rushing,
Skis are hissing,
The great woods of the world are howling.

The pines of the walls encircle me.
The polished years are shining like brown bones.
I sink into the chair.
The tree enters the house.

Now all the druids are dancing.