visitors

I so didn’t want to get out of bed. It’s raining today. But I forced myself to make something of the day. Get something done. I only feel hopeful when I’m doing things. I feel though like I’m slogging through quicksand. Each un-returned call from a doctor’s assistant. Every effort to get my medical records stymied by phone trees and a barrier of general compassion fatigue mixed with the McDonald’s – esque service quality of the private for profit health care system we so dearly love. I’ve lived in Europe and Canada so don’t even start your bullshit with me. We pay the most and get the least here.
A student pushed a script on me that I didn’t want to read. But I did. It was terrible, as they almost always are. I sat with her today. She came here, brought me gifts from my students. It was very sweet. My students always avoid telling their personal stories. They avoid their most valuable resource, their own history, and choose instead to re-work "commercial" concepts and familiar ideas. No one wants to get naked on the page. She told me of growing up with extreme leftist parents in Canada. That her father, a member of the Socialist party, insisted they drive Russian made Ladas. I swooned. I am a huge fan of socialist architecture and cars. They’re so ugly, so difficult to use and barely functional. To me a towerblock of workers’ housing is ten times more interesting than Falling Water or the Gugenheim Bilbao. I don’t know why. I love spartan austerity as an esthetic. D is a collector of things. We have dust grabbing objet all over the house. I refer to his collections as mini TGI Fridays installations. Every closet is full, every drawer heavy and difficult to close. I love him so I mentally block out the Kodak Brownies and the ye olde typewriter. I no longer see the chunks of driftwood or even the rusting pitchfork that hangs over the stove.
Things are quite minimal for me, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.
Another former student came to visit today. She told me about the tumor she had removed from her skull. No one knows. No one knows and yet she’s still in pain. She brought me cookies I can’t eat (because I’m avoiding the inflammatory properties of white sugar and flour while I heal). I thanked her for the very kind gesture and kept my diet bs to myself. It was so nice of her to drop in on me. My God, the suffering. I’m wishing everyone a healthy and happy 2011. We need it so.