dry bones

For lunch, I consumed too much. The cooks made some sort of snazzy Ellio's pizza. At least the mushrooms atop the cheese made consuming the crap (that it was) worth it. And I say crap because, nutritionally, it was no good for me- not crap in a snooty way. Because I think of the clay disks the mothers in Haiti are serving their sons and daughters and that makes me sad and makes me ill.

But for some reason I live in a town with multiple grocery stores and I have a bank account with my name on it. I have a wooden front door with a peep hole and deadbolt, and even a bed full of down and warmth. A fridge, overflowing with food, and a medicine cabinet full of remedy. I own multiple jackets and numerous shoes and my closets are full of things like cameras, quilts and even extra bedding.

But in my heart, deep down, I wrestle with all my stuff- all the demons that whisper. I gaze 'round the cluttered walls and covered floors of my apartment and know that I am not worthy to possess such wealth, such lifestyle.

I don't desire a body of lace and ruffles. Not to be clothed with frill and rape me of my frock. The lines on my face and the freckles spattered about- they are just skin, colors, temporal. My hair falls out, more and more, every day. And this twenty eight year old body will one day rest beneath the earth in soiled grave. And the worms, vermin and creatures beneath will eventually make their way to mine. And this pretty girl will be rotten flesh. A pile of nothing. A stack of bones and a string of pearls.

angels and demons

A creamy, white, sugary substance oozes down the teapot resting atop my desk- almost as if the kettle has burped and vomited the white goo. Kind of like demons, frothing at the mouth, desperate to woo one more.

I miss the way my dog would comfort me when I'd come into the kitchen, slump onto the cool tile floor and begin to weep. He'd hear my soft cries from whatever part of the house he was lying and make his way to mine. Then, beneath me, like an old afghan, he'd catch my tears in his old sagging ears. He couldn't understand the words I uttered. He didn't know who had hurt me or who I had hurt, but he'd sop my pain, all the same, just like water quenching his thirst. And I would carry on, hunched over, damp by my tears and smeared in his drool.

I heard of a war this morning on the radio. The demons and the angels. And sadly, the demons took the lead. A man, in rage, fired at another, and the shot man's daughter saw her father slump to his death. And the blood gushed from his head, like a quiet babbling brook, and the little child, stung by death, hit those demons head on.

The archangel applauded while the onlookers paused, and a flock overhead told of love once said. "Greater is he, and greater he'll be, in the dark hours of death and the bright hours of morn." And echoes were heard throughout all the land, and the creatures screamed out, "death be not shed!" But ripped her he did, with his sash of defeat, and the lamb was then shorn with a deafening bleat. Flesh and white bones, weeping forlorn, the child and the lamb crucified dead.

But Messiah came forth and onto the scene, and spoke to those present, and to those not seen. "My boy and my girl, my son and my own. I, Alpha Omega, hear all but one plea. Now come to my side and drink of my wine. Taste and but see, 'twas broken for thee. Now dine in my love and drink of my river, not to pass by gift or the giver. This chalice I raise, offers life to the dead, a labyrinth of loss will be no more tread."

And when I had stopped, with my bout of great tears, my face shone of mercy and was filled with his ease. Wrapped 'round in thick wool, the naked sheep cries, the child of the father, deceived by his lies. An orphan, a dog, a soon to be liver, this life but a midst, is only a sliver. For tomorrow will dawn, the newness of day, conquering demons and traipsing o'er graves. In victory, white, blinding set sail, onward to heaven, forever prevail!

gym socks

So it's Good Friday. My eating spree if over, thank God, and I'm ready to begin the ascent to normalcy once more. Why can't I ever remember how awful I feel when I decide to eat a scone, an apple fritter, and an oatmeal cookie, all within an hour- not to mention a big cup of coffee to wash it all down.

I think I'll make up some post it notes with little gentle reminders, saying things like "HORRIBLY, SMELLY & OFFENSIVE GAS", "THE BLOATING WILL MAKE YOU LOOK TWO MONTHS PREGNANT", "YOU'LL FEEL LIKE CRAP" and "DON'T DO IT!!!" Then, when I'm in the mood to 'graze', I'll whip out the post its, and place them in strategic locations: the cupboard door, the freezer door, or maybe I'll just hold them in my hands- in place of the snacks. That's it, I'll hold onto little snips of neon paper telling me how awful I'll feel if I replace the paper with snacks. Yeah, that'll work.

Any way, enough rambling...

It's quiet here at work today. We are closed for lunch because of Good Friday. One might think "horray for the chefs, they get a shift off," but no such luck. They're down in the kitchen now. Scrubbing, until everything shines like the top of the Chrysler building.

This morning I woke up around 8am. Got out of bed, took about six paces, then slumped onto another horizontal surface- the couch in my living room. Then, for about two hours I stared at my furniture. I even got mad at it. I have this thing, where I can only go about 2.5 weeks before I feel a need to rearrange the furniture.

Well, the need to rearrange happen to hit around 11pm last night. Ever so quietly, I put little gym socks under the feet of all my furniture, and did ice capades all over my living room floor. The last time I moved all the furniture around, my landlord appeared at my apartment door. His hair was disheveled and his face was all wrinkled and awry. "I was trying to take a nap," he said. "Next time, just put something under the furniture so it doesn't scratch the wood." Hence, the little gym socks.

Unfortunately, I didn't make much progress. My place looks like it's been ransacked. Stacks of books everywhere and the carpet, folded in four, sits like a giant hill in the middle of my living room. I'm too discouraged to know where to begin replacing things. And, the sad thing is, I think the furniture arrangement was actually best before I moved a thing. Oh well. at least I was able to burn off about 23 calories of the fritter in the dance of it all.

Sunday is Easter and I'm looking forward to the sunrise service that I'll be attending along the Schuylkill. A brunch will follow. Lets just hope I can once again live and practice some self control. Oh dear Father, not another cookie.