Unmotivated

I wonder if I could possibly feel any less motivated than I do right now. No one around me is working. I didn't get enough sleep last night. It's Monday. I want to go home and play music really loud and dance around my living room singing at the top of my lungs.

30 July 2001, 12:07

Order in the court

Today is a good day. It's been good all day, and I anticipate it to be good all evening, too. Like a madwoman I cleaned all day -- from load after load of laundry this morning to scrubbing the kitchen floor this afternoon. It's insane, but sometimes I can't think straight unless my environment is clean. Ordered. Free from crap. Whenever I go on a cleaning binge I feel so relaxed afterward -- as if I've purged my surroundings of demons or cleansed my aura or something. Yes, I know, too much information. But right now, I feel clean and happy and centred. Damnit, I was going to try and write sometime this afternoon. Like that's going to happen when I've exorcised my ghosts.

28 July 2001, 17:07

Good

Today just feels like a good day.

26 July 2001, 08:07

A moment of ducks

Some days are good, some days are indifferent, and some days I just want the world to evaporate. There's no other way of putting it. I just want to be alone and let the trivia of daily life spiral up and away from my consciousness.

The news today is that Dad will need both chemotherapy and radiation, beginning in 3 weeks. And even though I shouldn't be surprised, I am -- the act of the certainty passing into reality is like a punch in the stomach. Startling. Painful. Winding.

So I left work an hour early today and walked along the lake looking for a good place to sit down and escape the fierce humidity of the late afternoon. And out of the corner of my eye I saw a mother duck and seven of the tiniest baby ducks I've ever seen swimming around the boats in the harbour. The ducklings were paddling furiously around, dunking little beaks into the water -- obviously in the acute peripheral vision of the mother. Whenever a curious goose wandered too far, the mother would bat maniacally at the goose's head, flapping and squawking. And the ducklings never seemed to sense danger. Unphased. Oblivious. Wrapped in a feeling of comfort and protection.

Sounds pretty nice.

24 July 2001, 17:07

Photosynthesize me

It's beautiful and sunny today and I just feel like walking. I want to walk and walk and walk until I'm exhausted. I want to absorb the sun, convert the light and heat into energy -- like plants who feed themselves on light. I want my own photosynthesis.

Yesterday we drove to Guelph to visit Dad in the hospital. More tubes are gone, and gradually it seems as though he is reclaiming more of his body. He can take short walks with the IV trolley in tow, until the low battery alarm alerts him that it's time to return to a place with plugs -- the room that has been home to him since July 10. He's been connected to that machine for almost two weeks now. I can't imagine how wonderful it will feel for him when the last IV comes out and he will be free.

Today T and I are travelling to Rockwood for a goodbye party for his sister who is moving to Kelowna, BC. Even though for the past few weeks I haven't wanted to be around people, I'm looking forward to it today. And I'm going to make sure that I take a long walk in the sun.

Don't let me down, Ra.

22 July 2001, 10:07

Dad update

Mom called and told me that Dad had a lot of the apparatus removed from him today. He no longer needs the various tubes draining various fluids, but he still needs the tubes dripping necessary fluids like food, saline, and morphine. Until this past March, never in my life have I seen so many pieces of plastic delivering liquid to so many places involving one person. Dad is now up sitting and walking, moving ever closer to being well. He's such a fighter, too stubborn even for the "C" word to get a piece of him.

The pathologist report is due on Monday. I keep trying not to think about it.

20 July 2001, 22:07

Dissolving

It's been hard to concentrate today. I keep drifting off, permanently immersed in a semi-conscious hald-distracted state. It's been difficult to focus on the day-to-day or care about the trivial things people worry about. I feel suspended, like ink dripped into water. Dispersed. Dissolving. Slightly nauseous. Indistinct headache. Wanting to shut my brain off.

Toronto is alive today. Tourists are everywhere. A huge U.S. Coast Guard ship pulled up beside the fire station across the street last night. Music is pounding from Harbourfront and the party boats. The world is alive around me.

20 July 2001, 21:07

"It's how high you are, and the time it takes to heal" (CW)

Back in Toronto. Relieved. And not so relieved. Feeling isolated. A little alone. Indifferent to all of the usual stresses. Attempting to understand the past few days. What I'm going through now. What's to come.

Dad's had his operation, and all went very well. Although the doctor pulled out a tumour the size of a grapefruit, Dad is doing well and dealing with all of that nasty "recovery" process. Why is it called recovery when it's so much more like transformation? The ability of the human body to heal is the most amazing thing I've witnessed, and having watched it happen to Dad twice in such a short period of time, I am incredulous. Stunned. Overwhelmed. The dance of doctor and nature astounds me. What a beautiful thing is it to heal.

19 July 2001, 21:07

Packing. Positivity

Just getting my stuff packed for the trip to Fergus. The train leaves in an hour. My mind is racing, my heart is pounding, my stomach is churning. And here I thought that I was anxious about Dad's bypass operation. That was nothing compared to what I feel now. I hope that I remembered to pack the Eno.

My really good friend TG once told me that being positive is half the battle, and that one must concentrate total positive energy towards whatever one wants to turn out well. So, once I get these grumbly guts under control, I'm going to focus. And be positive. And be strong. And buy some more Eno.

15 July 2001, 10:07

The "c" word

Well, I've been to Fergus and back, to get a visit in to Dad. It was difficult in spots but that can be chalked up to the emotional gremlins inside me that insist on appearing at random moments. Sometimes I think that I've got everything under control, and them *wham*, I'm crying for no reason.

But of course it's not for no reason. I've got every reason in the world.

T is going with me to Fergus tomorrow to see Dad before his surgery on Monday morning. T will come back in the evening, but I'll stay with Mom with the next few days waiting and waiting and waiting (like we did back in March) for Dad to regain consciousness and begin the process of healing all over again. It 's a bitter deja vous I'm feeling right now. It seemed like just weeks ago when we anxiously awaited his bypass surgery and the recovery that would follow. And now this. After only four months. The "C" word.

It's more difficult that I could ever imagine to see a parent suffering -- to see the person who patiently helped me learn to ride a bike and hugged away all the scrapes and bruises of skin and ego -- and to not be able to reciprocate. To be unable to make it all better for him after all these years.

We're taking the train tomorrow. It will be a nice and relaxing alternative to the Greyhound. I'll be glad to have T next to me to talk to. I can't listen to the walkman anymore. Every song seems to have some sudden double meaning with notes that create flashfloods into my lap.

14 July 2001, 09:07

...

I want to keep the sunshine in but I can't.
I want to give it to you, Dad.

08 July 2001, 17:07

Swans

T and I had a great morning and afternoon. We went for coffee by the lake then decided to go over to the Island for some serious walking. We walked around the beautiful cottages on Ward's Island -- as usual with the artists in us swooning at the thought of being able to live in such a quiet, simple, and artistic community -- and happened upon 30 swans hanging out just offshore. On the mainland we feel fortunate to witness one or two swans gracing our basin, but 30 in a group was amazing. We continued along the south shore of Centre Island, and continued to to Hanlon's Point. All and all, about 5 hours in the sunlight and fresh air. It was gorgeous.

I love when a few hours can obliterate the sadness or worry in my head. I love when I learn a lesson from Pebbles and Bam Bam: to "let the sunshine in".

08 July 2001, 16:07

Rain

It is raining today, and I welcome the opportunity to stay at home indoors working on my site and surfing for things I normally don't get the time to surf for. It's amazing that after 5 years, I am still addicted to the Web. I can never get enough of it. I guess I also like to surf because it keeps my mind occupied. If I don't keep myself distracted all the thoughts I keep pushing to the perimeter of my grey matter come leaping back into the centre -- into the centre ring, fists flying at each other, vying for victory: the prize of winning my attention. And the ones that win are usually the ones I'd prefer to see broken and bleeding on the mat.

I hope that it rains all day and all night.

07 July 2001, 14:07