Herrington: Pain is a lonely dysfunction

Have you ever done something that you regret but then you can’t have not done it so it will not go away? I had a bicycle wreck and messed up my shoulder, and it is having some sort of laughing spell, trying to make me feel like I have not learned my lesson. I wrote this poem about the constant pain I am feeling about it.

Unrelentless

Pain is an aching presence
that gnaws at your will to enjoy life.

The constant spur of an angled knife
the tip of which is the reason to wince
takes its time and then yours.

You wake in a sweat and leave in a huff
and you slightly twist and your world goes off.

The regret for whatever it was that
started this ill framed sadness
jumble rolls awkwardly in and out.

Wringing hands and a flurry of pills,
constant discomfort and a head unclear.

Madness is a love letter from an anxious troll
whose only concern is to prod your spiraling
into a closet of anguish and sorrow.

Son of a bitch make it go away
and tell me the sunshine has been hiding
behind the roof.

But it’s morning, and my old hint
has my attention, and I can’t find
my shadow; oh, it’s me.

runningturtle87

The really funny and ironic thing is that I am a writer and typing hurts like a baseball bat to the forehead. Nor that this is an all bad thing. It makes me really concentrate on what I am saying because it makes me really want to say it since it is going to be a painful thing to do. Knocking out a 1000 words is like jumping off a cliff and landing on your back. At the end of every sentence I do reflexology on my arm and then scramble at it for another line.

My typing skills have always been a silly masquerade of pretending I knew where the keys were, but now even when I look at the board and really focus, the whole event becomes an awkward dance at a one-legged convention. My physical turret’s has given me a sense of disaccomplishment. I type 50 letters and 30 of them are off.

You would think that slowing down would be more helpful but it is a race against exhaustion. If I slow down too much there is not enough flow for the words to dribble out. Sometimes I have to stop for some letter combinations and hand pick each key like I am picking out 100 dozen donuts at Shipley’s. All different and looking like sets in Gin Rummy. 3 cake, 2 sprinkle pinks, one fat chocolate with banana crème filling….Oh, God, only 500 words to go.

Look, what if I don’t wash the dishes and I don’t need to fold the towels? I can get more-smaller meals and not be so delicate in my lifestyle. The dust can settle in and the cat box can last one more day. I’ll get an ice pack or get in the hot tub, take some more Advil, and watch more TV. Pain is like a teenager with an itch. Now, where was that comfortable position? It was right over here somewhere.

Why is it everything in my head includes a word you can’t say on the radio? Look, I’m going to call this short and live with it. I am sure you have had something that grabbed you hard and wouldn’t let go. I’m 2/3 there and it’s all I’ve got. What a baby sissy! Man, when everything you want is there on the tip of your fingers and your arm won’t fold to put it into your mouth it is hard to taste life in all of its glory. I think I’ll go watch TV and find a racquetball game so I can tell the pros what to do. This is what depression looks like only 3 weeks in. I can’t imagine, and I hope I don’t have to.

runningturtle87