Ellie Di Julio's Blog, page 31

Narcotics and media

I’m compiling a list

of everything I want to consume

during my recovery.

It’s filled with

books I’ve been putting off,

movies I always meant to watch,

games I’m curious about,

and the occasional album.

I’m setting aside

a full month of my life

dedicated to narcotics and media.

What’s not on the list

is anything resembling food,

which,

as a self-proclaimed foodie,

naturally disturbs me.

But I’m not sure

if I’ll be awake enough

to eat the ideas I want,

much less find space

in a morphine-sick stomach

for ceviche.

.

{a...

Must. Finish. Book.

If I’m honest, which I do try to be,

I’m not thinking about it that much.

Despite talking details with nurses and loved ones,

it’s not really-real right now.

Sure, the knowledge squats in my subconscious,

ever present and gently tainting my day,

caressing my life with latex-gloved hands,

but I can write, read, eat, sleep, and love

without being afraid.

At least for right now.

If I’m honest,

I’m ten times more concerned with finishing,

polishing and publishing the new word baby,

which absolutely must happe...

Bored of hearing about it

I’m guilty of it, too.

The boredom with someone else’s maladies,

the endless litany of symptoms,

the constant whining and repetition of need.

It’s always something.

Not just for sniffles or aching muscles but

real scary, life-threatening shit.

I’ve stood at the sickbed of loved ones and wished

they would get better or die.

Anything to make the tedium end

for me.

And now it’s my turn.

I’m boring other people with my fear,

shoving it in their faces

when they half-ask how I’m doing.

It gets old.

But that’s the...

Broken and healthy: a daily crapshoot

Some days, I’m broken.

With

A set of hips that reach too eagerly towards my ribs as if trying to hug them and curve too shallow like a Ferrari running off the track.

An ovary that made itself a friend who persistently tries to escape its damp prison unless sedated with the proper dose of drugs.

A pair of near-arthritic joints in hands that write entire worlds and new people out of nothing and into being.

An eye that grew so tired of seeing my sadness that it turned off the lights and may be the ha...

Uneven

St. Louis. Spring 2005.

Deciding on a whim to pierce my nose

With an excited friend who goes first while I’m

Watching. Flinching, admiring,

And horrified.

The skewed weight is a tiny ton and I wish

I could do the other side to match.

Summer. Around 2009.

My love and I in the car on the highway.

I’m squirming in the driver’s seat while he looks on,

Whining, growling, crying,

And panicked.

My bra is twisted, uneven in its pressure and tension.

I can’t think or feel anything else.

Last night. One AM.

Sprawled...

Creatures of assumption

We’re creatures of assumption.

Always looking for the quickest way to understand a situation

so we can saydothinkfeel the right thing.

Taking mental shortcuts, creating shorthand to avoid a silence

made awkward by discomfiture with feelings.

It’s easier to act without asking – to make us feel better

rather than the subject of our concern.

But as a good friend of mine used to say:

When you assume, you make an ass out of you and you.

Don’t assume it’s okay to work magic or send me healing reiki without...

It’s funny but also not

Since going off my birth control

I’ve been a bit hard to console

‘Tween anger and sex

I don’t know what’s next

A hormone-withdrawn, horny troll

.

This post is unique!

The Internet is Amazing 04.06.13

Mary (ofWrite Against the Machine fame) just published a volume of apocolypse poetry.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt created a new type of production company. You write, someone else acts, they produce, everyone gets paid. Creative Commons grows up.

This is the Harlem Shake of Japan. Although there’s some Hadoken/Kamehameha confusion.

Ashe gets real about her quarter-life changes and how it impacts her blogging.

Susy probably shouldn’t have written this, but I think it’s awesome.

{Below} My husband, Lino, m...

Attachment to holes

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Betwixt the actual-factual worries and fears,

There’s a quite silly one scuffing my brain.

What happens to my piercings?

How soon can I put them back in?

Will they seal up forever?

Is surgery the deciding factor between punk and grownup?

I know, right – who thinks like that when facing down the knife?

I’m constantly fending off those who laugh at my flinching needle phobia when they learn about my piercings. For someone so sensitive who gets light-headed at the thought of a shot, I sure do have a lo...

Unconscious and out of control

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I won’t play a new game in front of others until I’ve sat out a round to observe.

I panic slightly when driving someplace new or an old place a new way.

Not because I’m afraid of losing or getting lost at all – it’s because

I have control issues.

What scares me most about this operation

isn’t

The long needles in my arms and back

The tubes inserted in soft places

or

The breaking and shifting of my bones

The gushing of blood from peeled skin

or

The loss of my longed-for summer

The endless hours of physical...