I Can See Clearly Now

Posted by on Sep 27, 2009 in Angst, anger, anarchy | 0 comments

I was awakened first by the music in my head, a dance song, and there across the floor a man with his hand reaching out to me, his body already swaying to the beat. In my dream I rise from my chair like a angel, and matching his rhythm, I glide across the floor into his open arms.

In reality my feet hit the carpet by the side of my bed, my head full of cobwebs, my eyes fighting against the faint light of dawn. The smoky beat and the man are both gone. Morpheus too has deserted me for the moment as I stumble around the bed and find my robe. The black silk is comforting lying against my skin for only a second before my hand goes automatically to scratch the itchy plague on my ass, the one with a name that sounds like a biology project gone awry, lichen planus.

The condition is illusive, more like a punishment from God than the auto immune disease it is purported to be. No one can tell me how I got it, what will cure it, how long it will last, or even how to relieve the symptoms. The do reassure me that it is not contagious, a small comfort.

My little Chinese doctor (who does not have the disease) shows me a spot on her stomach where she had itching. “See, all gone.” I smile and agree, but her methods are doing nothing to relieve me. I let her put the needles into my flesh, I use the herbal wash she provided, and I faithfully drank the tea that looks like something cleaned out of an aquarium. None the less, I am worse. The only thing that has relieved the symptoms for even a little while are the steroids my western doctor gave me. Of course they also caused me to gain 20 pounds even though I was racing through my life like a hamster on a wheel.

I cannot separate the frustration with this condition from the tension of my life Indeed I am told I should not because the two go hand in hand. Work has been unbelievably frustrating for the last few months. Friends that I loved and worked happily with have been let go suddenly with the most flimsy of reasons. It is all about money and power and politics, subjects that I do not consider significant enough to warrant my time. That is why I suppose I will remain in middle management rather than rise to the top with the big ones. What I care about does not matter in the business world but I am suffered because of my talent. I am naïve enough to think that I have no enemies, that if I continue to produce no one will stab me in the back. I know it’s a lie of course as I watch the firestorm pass over the cubes consuming good and bad alike.

My laptop says Fri. 6:06 AM, my one day off in two weeks. Still groggy from only 4 hours sleep I heat up some more of the wicked Chinese brew and take my cup to the sofa. The words on the screen soon blur. The cat comes and nestles in the crook of my arm as I stretch out on the sofa. I do not remember falling asleep.

My husband stands in front of the auditorium using sign language. He seems to be quite good at it because everyone is attentive to him. I sit in the silent audience without a clue as to what he is saying. A mumbled voice catches my attention and then a ringing phone.

I am awake and upright again trying to decide if it is the house line or one of the cells. By the time I get to the phone there is no one there. I check the ID and see that the window man has called and most likely my husband has talked to him in his sleep. I realize he may know nothing about it when he wakes but most likely it means our windows have arrived and will be replaced this weekend. I go back to my laptop. The time reads Fri. 8:31 AM, still my day off, but only from the office. I want to write. I always want to write. Sometimes I deny myself even this pleasure, this release. I keep the words and the anger all bottled up inside of me. If I have enemies they are surely kinder to me than I am to myself.

It is now Fri. 12:08, still my day off, but I have curtains to remove along with furniture that sits in front of windows. It means dust and laundry that must be done too. It is the last thing I want to do today, but do it I will. Although they do not know the exact cause of my condition the doctors all agree that it is stress related. I know that if I wanted to be better I would just get into my car today and drive somewhere warm with sand and salt water and the freedom of seabirds flying over my head.

Perhaps tonight I will dream of seagulls…

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