To where the air smells sweet
I am generally optimistic about my PD but today, I see some darkness in the future. What did I expect--- to see a perfect future in my crystal ball? If that was the case, I should look up the definition of "perfect"......."Imperfect" and I have met---Perfection remains elusive. Still overall I remain confident. I just attribute that murky future to a dirty crystal ball. However, yesterday arrived and PD was no longer a fly buzzing my ear. Yesterday PD crept out with some artillery. It was evident on both sides of my body and I had a tendency to veer into furniture in order to keep my balance. I will cede victory in that instance. It was like being drunk without the benefits. All I could deal with was a POOR ME infatuation. Then I read an email from J of Grey Cottage who was diagnosed almost 2 decades ago. J's battle with PD is ongoing but, good news, it has been bilateral for 7 or more years and J is still active and fighting the good fight. From J's small victories, I began to cheer up and now am back to my old self, alive and learning (or is that "leaning"??). Thanks J, I needed that small, yet significant, boost.
At some point in a dark day, I wrote a poem which I was going to post yesterday but, I forgot. It is a sad and depressing bit of nonsense and that is not me. I don't bring a cloud to the party. For family historical significance, I include the poem now in this post. Love it or leave it, I am just glad to be rid of it.
I've had you for a long time now
It's been a real ordeal
I don't know what I did wrong
And I hate the way I feel
It's a tremor in my bindle
A judgment I'll reveal
A cruel iteration
There ain't no cure for me
I am writing with my finger nails
My back is racked by pain
I keep my wounds within a thought
Protruding from my brain
They've made a little progress
But it's nothing I will see
A raging repetition
There ain't no cure for me
No cure for pure exhaustion
Or shaking in both hands
Walking like a bindlestiff
Trying to understand
Why my legs are made of clay
While my feet are made of sand
My anger disappoints me
Can't I just be ordinary
The ins and outs my symmetry
But Discordant drummers calls my name
My eyes are crossed I hear no sound
There ain't no cure for me
The promise of their victory
Keeps me in the passing lane
Hoping that this biway
Won't bring me here again
I can't find it in the bible
Or in the empty pews
>
I guess I'll shake foever
As I sanitize the news
Looking for whatever
A clue to set me free
I genuflect to darkness
The only cure for me
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