Stomach Bruise

I feel like I never get the "flu" but I get the "bruise." A reaction of the blood that sends information to go ahead and show the signs of what happened in the past. I can feel the cloudy formations of blue and black and purple forming, turning to yellow as it ages, and it's all concentrated in my intestines.

I want to write. I do. I feel like it would be a great thing with really great purpose, and yet...I feel empty, blank, white with wide eyes and useless fingers. I feel like even my voice wouldn't hold the stories I'm meant to tell. I can't form them, they won't come out of me. I feel like...I'm inside a whale, because I ran for so long. And that whale has a stench that fills my entire being with a revulsion to the world, only because the only world I know is this whale's rib cage, his eating habits, the water and the bile of a fish. How is that even possible? Especially in Tucson??? :)

I am both hungry for more and so sick of taking in. I know this is where I'm meant to come to. I feel privileged to be here and the only way out is through it. I know there is more, and I believe in the process, as painful as it is. To watch myself as if watching a baby crawl over to the door and slam his hand in it, hit his head, fall over and scratch his chin on the table that holds a lamp that electrocutes him as he pulls it to stop his careening backside from hitting the tile.

I told myself today: "Just imagine it. You don't HAVE to play the piano to go ahead and imagine yourself playing the piano and what that would feel like." It's true. I want to play the piano, but when I go in and sit down, or even when I say to myself it would be good to go sit down, I recoil in distaste for it. I want to imagine the keys under my fingers, silky white and black, with the passion to control a moment only through the dedicated repetition of simple notes strung together like a dress is sewn.

I got ready this morning, went on a walk, did some abs and stretches, washed my face, got dressed, and felt this bone-crunching awareness of my illness hit me with the back of its hand, smacking red into my cheek. My intestines are Grrrooooaaaannnniiiinnnnggggg and moving things along at such an intense pace, and I can't seem to catch the other side of the wave. I can hope for the brighter side, but right now I'm pulled under and struggling NOT to gasp for air but to allow it to pass first. It hurts and it is uncomfortable, a loathing sense of lift instead of traveling downward as it should. I knew it was coming. It is good. It's connecting me with what is. My stomach bruise.

This image makes me feel a little bit better. :)