Rusty Fence BW © Sandra Jean-Pierre
Rusty Fence BW © Sandra Jean-Pierre

© 2010 Sandra Jean-Pierre

…but who will change me?

The hurricane candle we used this time last week to light our way in the electricity-less cold darkness is sitting on top of my desk.

It is blue, the candle, and sloppy wax has dribbled on to the outside. I dunno how, but it has.

I have a vine/leaf print top sheet covering my window and curtains still, the same one that doesn’t close all the way and left me prone to exposure.

My legs are not so angry red or swollen today, after the hot water treatment my sister suggested yesterday. I turned on the hand held shower and doused the old dogs in near scalding water for 30 minutes.

That left me time to my thoughts and my thinks and I didn’t think or thought of anything. Just how my legs looked like tree stumps and what were the odds that this would happen to me, here, in Florida.

The odds, my odds, these odds.

I cleared out one of my notions drawers, since I have not been crocheting and I don’t seem to have an unction to, and I placed my homie pants in it. The pants I wear at home when I am not going out anywhere or maybe just to the store. While cleaning out this drawer, I found some bracelets I made out of these pretty pretty beads I bought at Micheal’s. I had planned on making many of these bracelets and selling them on eBay.

Such pipe dreams.

I wear them now, these bracelets with the pretty pretty plastic and glass beads on fishing line. Maybe I knew I would need them one day, to replace the old faded light blue one that saw me through last year. I threw it away, the faded light blue one, hoping to throw away some of this bad juju that has followed me into 2010 like a bad dog.

There are three of them. I pulled them on to my wrist without undoing the latch. Maybe I have lost some weight. Maybe.

I eat the bite sized chocolate bars to keep me from thinking over the thoughts I have peered at a million times already. I gave away all the Mr.GoodBars to my nephew and his friend because the peanuts in them will give me a headache and the last thing I need is a headache amidst these things as of late.

I think I want some of the vanilla bean ice cream in my freezer but I think I am just nervous for this coming week. The picture of the sleeping infant on the Pampers Stages Sensitive Wipes box on top of my desk, next to the blue hurricane candle, is not really doing a good job of convincing me that things will be alright. Though he does seem awful peaceful.

My knees, hips and legs are sore and I hope that by tomorrow, with the help of the support stockings that I’ve had my sister buy me, that my feet and legs will be back to some kind of normal. Tonight though, as I wear those support stockings when I sleep, it will be painful.

I am wondering why God didn’t listen to me last night and make the lotto numbers on the ticket I bought win. I prayed on it, I asked nicely, I let him know how important this was and still he let other numbers come up – not the one the machine Quick-Picked for me.

I look at the picture of me and my grandmother during my high school graduation and I seem so happy then, with the mortarboard hat making my hair puff up on the sides. So happy not knowing the years that were stretched in front of me would make me wish I could die. And I think how now, though I know better – I am still tired, I am still wondering what this is all about.

My gums and the inside of my mouth feel sore. Maybe I am missing vitamin c but I am too lazy at the moment to pull it out from the medicine drawer. I think I should go get pancakes and orange juice tomorrow morning at Denny’s but there is no money for that and I wonder when there ever will be money.

I’ve had this feeling that I have lived through this before, this inbetween-ness, this old haunting loss; I have lived it before but I am not sure when. Looking at the 11:28pm hour, I regret not having drank my prune juice and I am wondering why I didn’t care earlier to seek it out. But it is too late for that now, it is too late an hour to be thinking this.

I wondered if it were too late when 5am barred me from sleep this morning and I woke up praying… praying that things will work out fine, that I will hear from my father, that I won’t give up, that some how, all this is worth it or something in the least. And this small act of praying, of praying till I fell asleep makes me realize how powerless I am and this makes me sad to realize how much it is that I cannot do for myself, how much I won’t ever be able to do for myself.

And I wish to be kissed – I wish for help in forgetting how much things are sucking right now and how much of my hope has flittered away with the beginnings of this new year. I wish the parts of me that want to turn in the chips and go home could be loved. I wish to be held. But the worry over not having heard anything about my father in Haiti is consuming me – so it is that I am marred in this limbo-ed misery, not knowing whether to don my funeral garb or breathe a sigh of relief for mine who made it.

Tonight I am tired and I will sleep the sleep of the down trodden and despaired.

Maybe tomorrow will bring better.