quiet woman 2

mirror mirror

I am culpable as the mirror
hiding hiding hiding
curious about you
what is it you want to see?

I am always surprised
when a man lays his fantasy over me

I have hidden and studied people
for many years
now realize that that is why
the fantasy gets overlaid

I did not know
I was hiding behind a mirror

I think about four men
serial monogamy
over fifteen years
a year break after each

a mirror reflects
a man’s own anima: his ideal woman

all four so different
yet there is a thread that binds
trauma like my trauma
and closer and closer to an opposite

I do not want to be a mirror
any more

the connection of the damaged child
I tried so very hard not to trigger
until the mirror broke
I hold pieces up in my bleeding hands

they leave when the mirror breaks
now I understand

this time was hardest and least hard
at the same time
I could almost see what was happening
almost

and now I can see
and break the pattern with the mirror

my friend says
why don’t you let them see
who you really are?
they would never have let me work

I had to wear the doctor mask
even with other doctors

the nurses and the staff saw through it
right away
they’d call me for patient needs
and knew I’d answer

did I have to wear the doctor mask
or did I wear it to feel safe?

water over the dam
but it’s time to take down the dam
and be myself
and not a mirror

I didn’t know this quiet woman is me

_________________________

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: ART!

Lit

My friend Maline Robinson is an artist, paintings and silk screens. This one fits today’s “luminous” prompt, pale lit color and layers and texture.

Meanwhile my brain starts playing one of our choral pieces: Luminous night of the soul. It builds and builds, layers of sound and complexity. Here is another group doing the piece:

For today’s Ragtag Daily Prompt: luminous.

Not a fox?

I think I have a photograph of a fox somewhere. I know I do. Not on this laptop. I do have a coyote.

As I think this, I am looking though photographs. Oh, this.

I am not going to outfox someone. I am going to outleopard them. After all, I am a single older woman. A fox? A leopard? Usually we are called cougars.

Fine with me.

For the RDP: outfox.

Robust healthful manhood

The photograph of “a healthy man” to go with my Ragtag Daily Prompt conflate post.

I LOVE the caption. “Robust healthful manhood is the source of mental and physical power.” How differently the author portrays health womanhood, as shown in the conflate post. The book is Macfadden’s Encyclopedia of Physical Culture, in three volumes, 1911. Volume I is 500 pages. It is easy to read but it’s a different style from now. Here:

As a rule, if you will simply retain the idea that food should be swallowed at all times without effort, that is, that never, by any means, wash it down with water, milk, tea or any other liquid, that you should masticate it until it seems to disappear without swallowing, you can rest assured that you are masticating sufficiently. p. 97, volume I.

I plan to read the entire set. I think I will find lots of wonderful words for the Ragtag Daily Prompt (hey, I don’t think we’ve used masticate yet!) and material to write about.

Are there still interesting medical ideas out there? Oh, yes. LOTS. Only now they use the internet. I have subscribed to some of the series of videos, telling people how bad and wrong minded allopathic doctors are. Sigh. We do our best. The scam is that they let folks watch one a day for a week, or let them watch one, and then want you to buy the series. “Only $349.99!” Nice scam that is proliferating rapidly. I have now gotten emails saying “Health coaches should make as much or more than physicians and we can teach you how to market and target people and make that money.” Ugh and ick. Really?

I have patients in clinic who present by saying, “I don’t usually go to MD doctors, I go to a naturopath, but I am here because I need an antibiotic.”

I learn to respond gently. “Oh. If you need an antibiotic, maybe you have signs of infection? What are your symptoms?” I have to get past their dislike of allopathic medicine and find out what the symptoms are. Usually if I can diffuse them by getting the story, we can work together. Once in a while it doesn’t work: I have people come in and give me orders. “Do these labs.”

“Uh. Where did this list come from?”

The answer could be a video (by a naturopath, a biochemist, a biologist, whatever. I have watched some of these series. They start by saying that doctors are wrong/stupid/stubborn/misguided/etc.) or a “cash only” doctor or a magazine.

“Why are you coming to me?”

“I want medicare/my insurance to pay for it. I have done my research.”

“Well, medicare does not work that way. I have to list a symptom or diagnosis code for every lab ordered.”

“WHAT?”

I try to be patient. “Every lab has to have an attached appropriate diagnosis code or medicare will not cover it. There is a place in town where you can order your own, but it does not take medicare. You pay for it.”

“Just order it!”

“No. I am a medicare/insurance provider, which means I have a contract with them. It would be fraud and illegal to make up codes. Does your cash only provider use diagnosis codes? Can your bring their clinic note to me?”

One person replies, “My provider doesn’t take notes.” Oh, how nice. That provider does a very expensive panel of labs three times a year that the person is paying for out of pocket. “My provider checks EVERYTHING.” Um, and makes a boatload of money off you too, I think. That patient is very angry that I won’t take her orders and switches clinics. Oddly enough, this does not break my heart.

Some days I hate Dr. Google. There are lots of websites and people on line swearing that they can improve your health. There are scientific looking papers that swear something has been tested, but read the fine print: if the sample is 8 people, how does that stack up against the Women’s Health Initiative, where one arm of the study had 27,000 people? The evidence is weighted. We get multiple articles in medical school and subsequently about how to read a paper, how to weigh the evidence, how to recognize fraud or a poorly designed study.

I do not object to people looking on the internet and I have had people who came in and said, “Is it possible that I have THIS?” and who are correct. However, I see more fraud, always.


sending flowers

I was “separated” from a website for “not explicitly breaking the rules”. Hey, it’s a “woke” website and wow, I guess I was annoying, or the editors are insane, or something. The eds who had become friends over the years didn’t know a thing about it. The owner removed me.

Now I am removing every reference to that site from my blog, over time.

So here is a poem from a week ago, to “honor” the insane editors. I do think they need to vet them a little better, heh. But if the owner doesn’t mind the site imploding and dying, hey, he has chosen the best editors for the job.

______________________

Eeeeeeeeeew eww

eeeeeeeew eww
I’m annoyed at you
don’t you see you’re inconveniencing me?
don’t you see you shoot yourself in the knee?
don’t you see choices so dumb I could scream?
don’t you see
you’re destroying the dream

eeeeeeeew too
I’m so annoyed at you
but I’ll forgive you your sins
after I stick you with pins
and laugh many many grins
you’re sent to bed without dins

eeeeeeeeew too
I’m so annoyed at you
but I don’t really care
I think it’s totally fair
that you’re dissolving out there
in the cloud unaware
and no one else cares

eeeeeeeeew too
don’t cry a boohooo
you reap what you sow
I won’t cry when you go
sad to see you sunk so low
advertisment ho
drunk funked skunked bro
yeah, ed, he don’t know
sentimental slop woe
stinking slow to grow

eeeeeeeeew too
is yo owner a ghoul?
I think you raised up some fools
I mourn the loss of some jewels
when sad stupidity rules
some eds is fool mules
I carve yo gravestone with tools

spring fur

A friend has a dog that sheds in the spring in great piles. On first glance the yard looks like rabbit murder, until you realize that it is dog fur.

And why would it be in my car? I’m not sure I want to say. It has something to do with rocks and eggshells and feathers and a project that is forming in my mind.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: allergy.

Upstage

I am reading Kim Addonizio’s Ordinary Genius, A Guide for the Poet Within, for a class. In the chapter about cliches, she suggests choosing a cliche and playing with it. The first example on her list is “A sudden fear gripped me”, so she inspired this:

Upstage

A sudden fear gripped me by my nipples
I hear my mother: Colder than a witch’s titty
Why must the witch’s titties be cold?
Must they dance naked even in the bitter winter?
Can a witch retire at a certain age
Sit warm, clothed, with her cat and tea
By a fire with enough fuel for winter?
You’d think they’d get pneumonia dancing naked
In any weather; yet witches are usually old.
Maybe it acts like jumping in to cold water
To dance around a Beltane fire; maybe witchery
is hot work and they aren’t cold at all.
Maybe a witch’s titty is warm all the time
And meanwhile the fear is gone, upstaged by titties.

DMV

I really did not want a tour of the DMV.

I arrive early, just as they open the doors, and there is already a line. We file in, each taking a paper number. The people in front go straight up to the desks. One window processes two people in only ten minutes each and then promptly puts up a closed sign. I guess it’s exhausting, working so fast.

Everyone waiting looks strained or sullen or stressed at the DMV. Shoulders hunched, heads down, the ones in power suits on their phones, but the phones keep cutting off in the DMV. Some sort of special shielding, I would bet.

I have number 17 and get to go to a window after 2 hours.

The clerk smiles at me. She is pale, pale, but has horns and pitch black wings, no feathers, like a bat.

“Unitarian!” she says, grinning.

“Um,” I say, eyeing the wings.

She looks wicked and then her wings are classic white feathered. She is browner and well, I’d guess Filipino. “Worried?” she says.

“No.” I say. “Tired. Sad. Curious.”

“What would you prefer to see?” she says and morphs. Now she has one bat wing that changes to black feathers then through rainbow feathers, to the snowy white feathers on the other side. Her skin tone is very dark on her right hand and then lighter across to pale with red freckles on her left hand.

“Nice.” I say.

“Which heaven would you like?”

“Unitarians do not believe in hell. Send me back.”

“You just got here. Violently and by surprise.” she wrinkles her nose. “Riots again. Sorry about that. We have opened a Unitarian space.”

“No. Send me back.”

She sighs and pulls down a heavy paper file. All the papers have gold edges, except for those with black. “You found your true love.”

“Yes. So what. We didn’t have time to make it work.”

“Don’t you want to wait until she dies so you can head down at the same time?”

“No. She’s only 32. And there is work to do.”

She is paging through the file. She snaps it shut. “Two week vacation. The minimum required. Go to the door on the right.”

I sigh. I want to argue but I’ve done that before. She will add on an extra week for every word I say.

My memories are intact here. Of all the lives. It’s always a bit overwhelming when I first arrive.

I go to the door on the right. A small page with grey tattered wings opens the door for me. I think it is a boy but he is wearing a Tinkerbell style tunic.

“I am your guide today.” No, it is a girl. I think. They may be able to morph that too.

We go in the door. My guide is shedding feathers, one every few steps. I pick one up. “Sorry.” she says. “Puberty. So, where do you want to spend your two weeks?” We are in a half circle shape hall, with hallways branching off. The hallways have no end that I can see and there are open doors all along them.

“I just want to go back.”

She pats my arm absently. “Oh, yes, they told me. You have to take breaks. You are wonderful, though, we love you.” She is leading me to one of the halls towards the left. We go past two doors and to the third. “See?” she says. “Unitarians. Of course, they can come in and out and go in all the others and argue with everyone. We wouldn’t want them to get bored.”

The room is empty at the moment. “And I guess they are all in other places!” The room across the hall seems to be a classic hell, with demons and pitchforks and a grim rocky landscape with pits of burning tar. I can see a dinosaur caught in tar, and a really huge crowd of people. There is a lot of screaming.

“Some people insist.” says my guide. “Where to next? Evangelical? Valhalla is rather fun for males and certain females, we’ve got fluffy clouds and harps, or are you more interested in touring Asian, African, Australian? We do have paleolithic sites and many people are interested in Egyptian themes. The cliff dwellers interest many as well. “

“Atheist.”

She frowns. “Of course, but that room shuts down consciousness and you have to have two weeks of consciousness before you can go back.” She is leading me back into the central half hall.

“Ok,” I say, giving in. “I am not trying to be difficult, you know.”

“Yes, and everyone told me correctly that you are difficult. All the ones that go back over and over are difficult. And there are more every year.”

“Take me somewhere new, ok?” I am looking now at the frieze over the door that will take me back. Two weeks. I can manage. I am resigned. The frieze is cupids and then male odalisques, then female, then leopards, and then they are cupid fauns with horns on their heads, morphing towards adulthood. Yet the carved letters stay the same:

Deus Machina Verum

and I follow my guide into another hallway to find a place for my two weeks.

_________________________

This poem inspires me to post today’s story: https://narble.blog/2021/08/17/if-there-are-no-dogs-in-heaven/

I think the hell in heaven also fits today’s Ragtag Daily Prompt: scorch.

The AntiDating Patch

I wrote this in 2009. I was in one of THOSE moods, where I had completely given up on ever dating anyone or anything again. There are some anatomical terms in here but I don’t think it qualifies for x-rating.

The Antidating Patch!
New from Astronomical-Zenith!

Tired of dating? No one interesting around you? In fact, are the single people around you creepy losers who make your skin crawl?

You are not alone! You need the patch. FDA approved and tested, the AntiDating Patch will repel people of either sex who normally would want to date you. People are contrary beasts, so this will make them want to date you all the more, but you will remain aloof, pure and free of sexually transmitted diseases, as if you were hermetically sealed in a plastic bag or old refrigerator.

Herbal remedies make the same claim but they have not paid the large sum of money to the FDA to fast track their product or even to evaluate it at all. Also, 35% of dating sufferers using the herbal remedy are actually unhappy about their privates turning blue. We are unsure about the rumor that parts have fallen off. The herbal company did change its’ formulation recently, but they don’t have to tell you that on the label, because it is a natural product, no FDA evaluation needed, and in fact, it is treated just like other natural foods including carrots even though we remain unconvinced that it fell off the tree in patch form!

The Antidating Patch is safer, more thoroughly tested, doesn’t turn your privates blue (except for one person) and we price it to reflect those facts! For men, choose Thong, Old Lady Full Coverage Underwear, or Bikini style patches.* Consider shaving off all that nasty hair before applying to skin. You may want to wear it on your arm, where the ladies (and gents) can see it. NO, YOU ARE NOT, REPEAT NOT, TO STICK IT ON YOUR PRIVATES. THIS MEANS PENIS, WANG, DOINK, TUBESNAKE, DORK, BALLS, TESTICLES AND WHATEVER ELSE YOU CALL YOUR PERSONAL EQUIPMENT. DON’T STICK IT THERE. WE WON’T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANYTHING FALLING OFF IF YOU DO. For ladies, choose Boxer, Itsy Bitsy Tight Well Hung (ethnicity of your choice here) or Speedo. Don’t put it on or in your privates, but we know you have more sense then that. This would include boobies, tits, yumyums, mams, breasts, ‘gina, down there, silver beaver, box, cunt, slit, vagina, anus, hole and anything else you learned to call it.

Side effects are rare but include and are not limited to hearing alien voices, high blood sugar, we swear that your privates don’t turn blue or really mostly not. That’s just a faint tinge. Fainting, homicidal behavior, acting like George Bush the Younger, delusions of grandeur (oh, we just said that, didn’t we?), jumping off of buildings, hating sex, loving sex, becoming pregnant (only one man so far and some ladies) and irritation of the privates. Also they can get cranky from lack of use.


*Little Girl style will not be marketed since even though many gents loved it in premarketing testing, those damn strident militant feminists** were up in arms again. We just don’t get it. Those whacko women also didn’t like the Little Boy style for women.

**I qualify for all but the militant bit.