Should

If I could have an illness by the book,
Then surely all would find its proper place,
The numbers all would fit the drugs I took,
The symptoms would all justify the case.

But lo how these foul numbers did me wrong
In your fine textbooks I do not belong.

Virtual Brother, The Who

Listening to you,
I get the music.
Gazing at you,
I get the heat.
Following you,
I climb the mountains.
I get excitement at your feet.

Right behind you,
I see the millions.
On you,
I see the glory.
From you,
I get opinions.
From you,
I get the story.

Never Again

The Queen is dead. Long live the Empress.

דזבין אבא בתרי זוזי, חד גדיא חד גדיא

ומה פתאום את שרה חד גדיא
אביב עוד לא הגיע ופסח לא בא
ומה נשתנה לך, מה נשתנה
אני השתניתי לי השנה

הייתי פעם כבש וגדי שלו
היום אני נמר וזאב טורף
הייתי כבר יונה והייתי צבי
היום איני יודעת מי אני

דזבין אבא בתרי זוזי
חד גדיא, חד גדיא
קנה אבינו גדי בשני זוזים
שוב מתחילים מהתחלה

I Love Cardigans

It's starting to get colder here, that time of the year when sweaters you haven't seen since last winter are pulled out of the closet. I pulled out my favorite cardigan today - dark red, large flat buttons, two front pockets, I love it. I've worn it so many times it's worn out alright - but still, I love the feel of it, the warmth of it. Why is it so difficult to find good cardigans these days?

I found a note in one of the pockets. It was a note I'd written myself before going to see the doctor - I wanted to make sure I'll remember to tell her all the symptoms I've been feeling for a while. The note, tattered and torn at the edges, said:

"Sweats and tremors, especially night sweats
Head zaps, like a short circuit or rusty chainsaw buzzing in the brain
Hot flashes, burning sensations of the skin
Depression for most of the day
Insomnia, few hours of sleep, poor quality of sleep"

This was a year, or over a year ago. The doctors said it wasn't supposed to last more than a few weeks. Now my doctor tells me the withdrawal wasn't supposed to happen in the first place, and that it's supposed to be over in a few days.

Isn't someone supposed to inform my body and nervous system that they're not supposed to make me feel so sick? I think they don't quite get it, even though they're supposed to.

For over a year I've been dealing with this. For over a year I've been battling this torture. And all they can do is tell me it's not "supposed to" happen. I know I'm supposed to trust my doctors to take care of me and heal me.

I don't.

She Moved Through The Fair

Last night she came to me, she came softly in
So softly she came that her feet made no din
And I vow that she spoke out, to me she did say
"It will not be long, love, till our wedding day".

Came To Me In A Dream

Nothing more than a name and a passionate letter
Brought you pleading into my life
Nothing more than a dream of belonging together
Made me picture you as my wife

Nothing more than one moment of raging indifference
Proved you never wanted this "us"
Nothing more than a semblance of heaven, your heaven
Slew my perfect love, perfect trust.

Now you sit at your desk and keep writing these letters
And so many more will believe you
Until someone writes back, makes you trust and believe
And in one frozen heartbeat, deceive you

Nothing more than a semblance of friendship, my love
Nothing more than a semblance of care
Fabricate all your tales till the web comes undone
And when that happens, I won't be there.