Ellie Di Julio's Blog, page 29

Elective

“Your surgery is considered elective.”

To you.

Not to me.

You have choices –

an endless matrix of decisions

about space and need,

each variable impacting lives

and swaying fates.

But I have no choice –

not if I want to

walk the Great Wall or

safari in Botswana or

ride the vomit comet or

dig up dinosaurs or

swim in bioluminescent algae

in my lifetime.

“Elective” makes it sound fun.

Optional.

Like new tits or

tattoo removal.

This is neither fun nor optional.

This is the rest of my life

holding its breath to see

what...

A springtime of my own

I gauge the shift from winter to spring

not by the calendar, but

by how many dandelions are on the lawn –

they don’t sprout until they’re safe from frost,

unlike foolhardy daffodils and irises –

and

the budding of the funny tree across the street,

with its spastic branches housing unfurled emerald leaves.

It’s a tentative, subtle change that ramps up fast.

You’ll miss it if you don’t know what to look for.

Training the eye and heart to notice can take years.

I looked outside this morning to see

a spray o...

The Internet is Amazing 04.27.13

Write Against the Machine has it’s own shiny siteand a new episode. This podcast is about creative superfriends – choosing them, dealing with them, and leaving them.

A friend of mine wrote a play about Lovecraft! Wanna back its production?

Weasley is our king! Who gives out free ice cream!

This article about how YA is not a guidebook to bad behaviour rules.

Fascinating project of a woman who takes pictures of people mocking her for being fat.

CAT IN A SHARK SUIT RIDING A ROOMBA CHASING A DUCKLING

T...

Waiting to clean all the things

It’s a series of

tiny,

intense

obsessions,

this time of

vital,

precise

preparation.

It’s contemplating

every

single

item

in the house,

counting

their

atoms.

It’s some kind of

urgent,

patient

distress

only felt by those

afraid

but

ready

and unable to act.

.

Other stories you might like:

Bored of hearing about it
Ready or not

Six forbidden things before breakfast

I wake up halfway,

tuck my foot under my thigh,

splaying flat on my belly like

a weathervane.

Alarm goes off.

I stretch and roll,

swing my legs to the floor,

wander into the kitchen to

make coffee and do dishes.

Turn the computer on.

I plop into the chair,

pull my legs up,

crossing them Indian-style for

childhood comfort.

I’ve done six forbidden things before breakfast.

Yesterday was dedicated to learning

everything I can’t do

after they fix me.

This morning, I’m hyper-aware

of all the micro-movements

that are o...

At least I’m consistent (sometimes)

From all accounts,

the mark of a “real writer”

is how you react to your art

when it’s tested

by schedules, time, and obligation.

You know -

life.

I like to imagine I

made the grade -

for today, at least.

With five days left

in this poetry experiment,

I’m determined not to let something

as wee as

the hour I awoke

or

as huge as

today’s Major Doctor Visit for Surgery Tests

derail me.

But all I’m promising is

words.

Sometimes, you have to sacrifice

quality

for

consistency.

I’ll get it in editing.

.

Other stories you might...

Jai Ganesha!

I bought a T-shirt with your face on it.

I never do that.

But you caught my eye from the car as I sped past

the used-clothing riot window every day for a week –

a black and white speck angled away from traffic.

I shouldn’t have noticed.

But I did.

I waffled over buying it until a sunny Sunday.

Walked in, pointed you out, said, “That’s what I want.”

He was amazed I’d seen it at all –

more so that I caught him just before changing

the window displays

when you’d be relegated to the anonymous racks.

I knew th...

Unspoken spectre

A list of projects to wrap up before it’s too late:

Finish and publish two books

Hand in gaming paperwork

Finalize the taxes

Schedule two months of posts

Bank six podcasts

Deep-clean the apartment

Have as much sex as possible

Panic quietly

Like I’m preparing to die.

Tying up loose ends for my peace of mind

and

to avoid burdening others when I’m gone.

It’s this first fear –

the one that arrived before the terrors of

pain, recalibration, and loss of control -

the fear of slipping away without saying goodbye,

ha...

Scapegoat

“Stress, stress, stress –

it’s just the surgery stress

that makes you distant and cry so easily.

Everything clearly explained by

stress, stress, stress.”

But it’s too simple to blame that

stress, stress, stress

when more than the shape of my

skeleton is changing.

When our love seems its own

stress, stress, stress.

I can’t count the sticky layers of

stress, stress, stress

that have fused together to form

a nameless, soundless black hole of

love and time and work and

stress, stress, stress.

There’s still a me u...

Ready or not

I’m exhausted from

waiting for

something to

happen.

I’m weary from

delaying for

a moment to

pass.

I’m bored from

pausing for

listening to

fear.

I’m ready.

Or maybe not.

.

Other stories you might like:

Hurry up and wait
Must. Finish. Book.