PARKED-AT-HOME

I planted Giant Sunflower seeds in the small lot between the sidewalk and driveway.  The ground is moist, fertile for change.  I bet they will grow.  In the summer, people from the park might cross the road to look at them.  Small children might tip their heads up wondering if the sun can be touched.  The birds and the squirrels will surely gather seeds. Come late summer, the bright yellow of the petals will wane; the stalk will become hard and dry.  Soon it will fall over or beg to be chopped down. I am not finished yet. I want. I want a home of my own. My mother's east coast garden blossomed for years after she had passed.  Rows of hostas, summer green and variegated.  Stalks of phlox that were once taller than me.  Zinnias dotting the bed that extended the length of our backyard. Pear and apple trees giving so much fruit we couldn't pick it all.  Even that magic could not last forever, except the daffodils that proliferate and bloom still.  I am like those bulbs that

Steal Away A squirrel had its back to me this morning.  I was visually deciphering its bushy tail from its rotund body, noticing the tones of brown in its fur and on the bark of the tree.  It turned and ran.  There was a stroke of red across its eyes, a bandit wearing a mask.  I would like to run. I would like to steal away from this place.

(I feel like crap) except, I copied the previous post from a text I sent to a friend. I haven't shared the worst of me with many people. This is helpful.

Honestly, I am crap. My neck hurts and my back hurts. I have all those symptoms back again of dizziness and headaches. The depression and anxiety are fucking up any positive thoughts I can muster, and I can't think why to get out of bed.  I had my stupid recurring nightmare in which I have to go back to college, and I woke up startled and shaking. My everything hurts.

This morning, I thought about dying.  It would only really matter to my daughter.  Everyone else would get along fine. My body is not giving me this option.  Over the years, I have thought that I would become immobilized, unable to walk.  Permanently.  I thought about this when I moved to Yosemite National Park to live and teach. I thought about how weather is no joke.  I thought about how humans are helpless against the elements.  Cold.  Freezing to death, lost on the trail.  Or Out of water, shriveling to a prune in the heat and drought. Or Simply squashed.  A giant boulder landing on your car. I thought about these things carefully.  I was mindful and safe in Yosemite. I've got this pea-sized boulder in my head.   How do I stay safe from 1.3 cm?

Ten students in track and field passed by yesterday.  I hadn't seen them before.  When childhood sucks, you run.  Literally. Figuratively.  In High school, I ran long distance in between babysitting after school.  Absent more than half the time, I never developed much endurance compared to teammates. At the time, that is what I thought. Looking back, I realize I did pretty good. When I look back on this hydrocephalus / brain tumor recovery time, I think I will conclude that I developed some endurance.  To endure and to have endurance are not quite the same.  And while I have endured some hardships, I haven't felt that I actually possess endurance.  But now I know I do.  Walking to downtown, less than a mile away is a marathon. (Doing it twice in two days is an ironman.) Watching a movie requires me to practice focussing for over an hour, patiently .  The sequestration, while self-imposed in the past, may drive me mad.  Speaking of driving, I can't.  Maybe I should hav