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2003-02-10 @ 6:00pm
Needle day and the poem:Undersight
I had a trip to the doctors office for a shot of cordisone(sp) in my R hip. I have a lovely tatoo on that hip that the doc always uses for a marker. This time she was a little off and ended up bending that six inch needle almost into a lovely "L" shape. She appologized, as I bit into my lip and calmly bled a little, while we waited for another needle to be brought. Geezee! Ouch! Well I think it is a little like tenderizing meat. I should get a set up for doing turkeys. *G*. That was the high point of my day. The rest of it was spent putting heat on my hip and watching bad television while reading. A very good excuse for not moving too much. I will feel stiff tomorrow but much better the day after that an able to sleep on that side again. Which is the point of it all. Not to be tossing and turning all night.
My daughter is 13 going on 23. Her boyfriend is the focus of her world. Oh my, do I remember the days. I gave my mother heart attacks on a regular basis. I hope she will be kinder to me but I don't put much hope in it. She is one of those kids that has to do everything, esspecially if you have said it isn't good for her. One thing I have to give her is that she refuses to dumb down in order to intrest anyone. She is so smart but so head strong. Oh my. *sigh*
And so beautiful already. She is a great artist, a fencer, hunter and fisher. She loves to drive the skiff in the summer and about came unglued when she found out that you didn't have to have a license to drive a boat. I know she has visions of driving into town and tieing up at the city float for the day, free to run and cause no end of grief for any unsuspecting male she can. No, not really but thats one nightmare. She does want to take it to town this summer and show off for her friends. I can't very well say no when she knows I did the same thing. She really is pretty good with a boat. Darn!
Poet I found at a garage sale:
The Undersite:by Robert Simeon Adams
written about 1931
Her dying eyes were shadows life had worn,
Her eyes near deat were soft as children's eyes,
Searching the room as if just made to form
A meaning where some simple meaning lies.
Curious, she held her hands as if to see
What strange new things are these that I can
touch
One to another, touching this to me,
Or touching that to this. There is so much
In helpless eyes when they can only see.
Gloomy piece, but I must admit that I am always drawn to those kind and my best stuff is fairly bloody. The kind that my boyfriend has asked me not to show him. The reason being that he always wants to know if I am OK after reading a piece. *G* Well, I'm probably "OK" because I write such dark and dismal fare.
But more on that another day
Older Entries
- - 2005-05-20
new responcibilites-did I spell that one right? - 2005-04-26
this weekends moons - 2004-09-17
Virgo Begins - 2004-08-21
A poem by: Edgar Poe's Cat and life in The House - 2004-08-17
