Fuck the Emptiness That Holds Over You!!!!

Happy ‘Fucking’ Thursday my friends. May it be a good one.

Love, Sparkly Nee

Five Days Til Touch Down

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

How can it be that I get a buzz from regular Tylenol?

That was the first thing I thought of when I opened my eyes this morning. I was lying in bed with a pillow wedged between my legs to keep my post-surgery ankle from rubbing against my healthy one. Cinders, the devil kitty was lying next to me and she gave me a low growl as I stroked between her ears. My middle-aged body creaked as I stretched and shifted my weight to sit on the side of the bed. Cinders yipped and snipped at me as she bounded her fat self out of her side of the bed. I tightened my core and stood up on one leg. With practiced finesse I turned my entire body around and seated myself in my old friend, a metal wheelchair.

I went through my ritual of morning self-care. Dammit but I sure do love a shower. Leaning against the wall, I stand on one foot and let the hot water run down my entire body. It’s the closest I get to having a lover touch me. You don’t know how much you need the touch of another human until you are incapacitated with an injury and have no prospects. My left leg began to shake so I sat in my shower chair. I washed my face, shaved my legs and washed my hair. Cinders peered around the side of the shower curtain and mewed. I flung water at her and she ran away like her ass was on fire. My laughter echoed on the ceramic tiles. Afterward, I dried off and with my walker hopped back to my wheelchair.

I drank coffee.

Used my bone stimulator.

Did some banking.

Sat and waited to go to physical therapy.

That’s the story of my life these days.

Hurry the fuck up…

And wait….

I’m sick of only being able to wear one damn shoe at a time.

30 minutes of cardio left me sweating like a whore in church, but dammit I felt good! Amelia and I worked my right ankle and foot so hard. I was proud of the fact that we increased the reps of the work out and the size of the ball on the BAPS board. Amelia rewarded my efforts with a massage. We took measurements and found that my Range of Motion had greatly improved in the last month.

Look at me, I can point my toes!

Does that hurt?

Nope, but I’m sure it will later.

She and I said our goodbyes and good weekends. I won’t see her until Thursday of next week. I hope to be walking when I do….Wearing my gym shoes….And pushing my walker.

Tom my usual cab driver, picked me up and whisked me back to my apartment. To my cage, and my perch. Icing my ankle, I zoned out and watched crappy t.v. Cinders the devil kitty, snuggled around the top of my head.

I called Mom.

Shared texts with friends.

Took meds.

Fell asleep.

Tonight, I celebrate that I have five days left in this cage. I’ve learned why the caged bird sings. He sings of freedom. I miss being a biped. I miss going wherever in the hell I want. I miss doing whatever in the hell I want.

I’m finished.

My foot’s on fire.

I laughed while I watched National Lampoon’s Family Vacation.

My Dad looks like Chevy Chase.

I miss John Candy.

And I’m happy I didn’t cry today.

In a private message exchange Red and I chatted about our days. As our convo wound down he asked me, where are you going to walk first? Right the fuck out of my surgeon’s office, I quipped.

I’m spent. Goodnight Moon and goodnight Word Press. This Sparkly Bird has had it!

Waking Up From Rain Delays

Words escape me these days. I’m tired, but can’t sleep. Not hungry, but never full either. Gotta keep moving. The words will return and with them, my smile. Along with a host of other things….

Well sleepless nights and endless days,
Mini skirts and serving trays,
Waking up from rain delays,
And selling sex for pocket change,
And living off the alcohol,
With no one but a cab to call,
And lost inside a bathroom stall,
This carbon copy life withdrawal,

And I need, Someone to believe in.

And driving cars we can’t afford,
Just a making sure were never bored,
Living off our own accord
Between coffee grinds and corner stores
Limousines and cigerettes,
Chasing dreams with fishing nets
And long weekends with out regrets
Well no one here is taking bets

And I need, Someone to believe in
Yes someone to fill this space, with grace
To look into my eyes and touch my face
To make me feel alive today

Someone to make me strong
Someone to make me belong
Someone to make it all right
Someone to make me feel alive, yeah

And stretching out like rubber bands
To kiss the cheeks and shake the hands
And pool halls and wonderlands.
With strong arms and no legs to stand
And getting by on hand me downs
With your tips, your drinks, your buying rounds
It’s back to my old stomping grounds
Like children in the lost and found

And I need, Someone to believe in
Yeah someone to fill this space, with grace
To look into my eyes and touch my face
To make me feel alive today YEAH

Who Do You Think You Are?

Tired today. I was busy following my bliss, washing dirty dogs. Received so many kisses on the cheeks, nose and lips. Even had one puppy lick the top of my head. I’m too tired to finish editing an erotic story. Fortunately, there’s always tomorrow. This pretty song danced around my head most of the day while I stood in front of the wash tub. I hummed a few bars and even sang it out loud to a Basset Hound named Sebastian. I was so glad he didn’t howl along with me. Have a good evening my sweet friends. Snuggle in close with your loved ones and stay warm. XOXOXOXXOXOXO

I know I can’t take one more step towards you
Cause all that’s waiting is regret
And don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore
You lost the love I loved the most

I learned to live half alive
And now you want me one more time…

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart,
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me.
Who do you think you are?

I hear you’re asking all around
If I am anywhere to be found
But I have grown too strong
To ever fall back in your arms

And I’ve learned to live half alive
And now you want me one more time

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts,
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me
Who do you think you are?

It took so long just to feel alright
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes
I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed
Cause you broke all your promises
And now you’re back
You don’t get to get me back

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of heart
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all!

And who do you think you are
Running around leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?

Almost Heaven, West Virginia….

This Sparkly Girl slept the sleep of the dead and woke up in West Virginia. It’s as close to Heaven as you can get without being dead. I wrote down my thoughts in little snippets while I was on the road. Thoughts like all Beemer drivers are assholes! I’ve never had so many run ins with them as I have today. WTF is up with that? I don’t know how many there were on the road today but I think they either drove up my ass, swerved in front of me, or drove like a bat out of hell past me. Yeesh.

I thought about Tracy of course. I thought about how much she has inspired me with the pictures that she and her lovely husband have taken. She inspired my story of West Virginia in the Summer Time, The Conversation in the Rain, Sunrise, Coffee and Sanctuary, The Ghost of a Great Love (MY FAVORITE, BTW!!), and Then She Prays. The simple click of her shutter has made my heart sing and bring forth words from my head that I had no idea were in me. She is a published writer, and she knows the rush that I feel. She knows of the elation I feel when I get an idea in my head and want to write about it. I tried not to talk too much about it but I’m in the throes of ecstasy with writing right now.

I wrote every day this week. Longhand of course. My notebook is full of notes and little snippets. We’ll see what stories I come up with in all the little word doodles I made. I’ll give you a little sample of my thoughts on the drive today. It’s mostly music, shitty drivers, and what I spied with my little eye while driving. I’ll only give you a little taste tonight as I’m pretty damn tired.

I’m so glad to be back. Wink, wink.

First Day

Turnpike

Starbucks Dark Roast, five pumps caramel and room for cream and sweet and low, because I didn’t get much sleep. Excited.

Sia on the radio, I am Titanium. Thoughts of youth and Tracy. I wanted to be her when I was young. Beautiful, magnetic personality. and she didn’t take any shit. She was her own woman. Even as a teenager she was.

Munching on cantalope and making silly wishes.

…I’m bullet-proof, fire away, fire away. I am Titanium…

Now P!nk is telling me I’m fucking perfect.

If only I was.

The stick families on rear windshields annoy the shit out of me. Maybe because my kids are all grown up and I can’t have one.

I see scads of rock face on either side of the highway as I travel through hills that will soon become mountains.

See the Cleveland River.

The clouds are like fluffy down comforters. I want to pull them from the sky, wrap myself in them and sleep.

I hear Ramble On by Led Zeppelin. And in the darkest depths or Mordor, I met a girl so fair. That’s where I’m headed to see my fair haired friend. My split apart. It’s been 28 damn years!

I missed the chance to take a picture of the Pennsylvania sign. SHIT!

Asshole in an Audi passes everyone in the far right lane. Why is there never a cop when you need one?

Butterfly Boucher and David Bowie start singing about Changes. Ch, ch, ch, ch, changes. Turn and face the strange changes.

(Cont’d tomorrow, this girl is spent, night.)