12.Dec.2003
and the song goes like this ...
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i don't even know where to begin
Imagine a world where you're clouded blissfully with possibilities and serendipities, where the inner edges of an atypical universe begin to melt, thereby illuminating an expansive path into endless, formless space. Imagine a graph depicting this beyond the comprehension of mental strain. The path lights you. You roll out of bed. Five months have passed. Satori.
Imagine a world where you can travel to New York and sniff out a territory that's been waiting for you for as long as you could remember and you could afford to record music in Oklahoma City to boot. Imagine you are twenty pounds lighter and only getting smaller, though your hair is weaving itself to anim� lengths, and your insipid inhibitions have tired themselves out and were torn away by the edges of your expanding universe.
This is exactly where my life is at present.
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My mother has been recovering, but slowly. She's been working with a physical therapist for weeks; she's drugged and tired, but recovering.
In twelve hours, she will be released from the hospital.
I don't think you heard me.
In twelve hours, my mother will be released from the hospital, after four months, a coma, three surgeries, four operations, hours of medications, pancreatitis, multiple organ failure, brinks of tragedy, and finally an ending as fulfilling as my entire immediate family deserves.
She's. Coming. Home.
It's over. The drama. The emotional, maternal gravity. It's over.
She'll have home-care for some time; things in the house will be reconstructed to suit her physical recovery. Wheel-chairs and walkers abound. Railing and shower bars and that's perfectly fine with me. They're sending her home with a slew of muscle relaxers, antipsychotics, anti-nausea medication, and morphine, and for Christmas, I am making everyone in my family the most delicious dinner from scratch to celebrate, which of course includes a honey-glazed turkey that I mastered two weeks ago.
And I'll play Underworld, and I'll bake blueberry muffins, and she'll sit in her wheelchair and groove along to "Dirty Epic" with me because this is how nauseatingly unconventional we are.
There are four people I'm indebted to for making the past four months much less grueling, so thank you all for continually providing inspiration, release, support, and seduction of the best kind. I adore you like you could never comprehend.
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I'll save my wrecktitude over the Swedish film En S�ng f�r Martin another time. For now, there are groceries to buy and carpets to be swept.
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Addendum:
Goddamnit, Michael, you elusive bastard, I've missed you.
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time & machine