yearn © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
How many times have I heard, just 2-3 more weeks, then we'll see? Do I need to do the math? How many more times do I need to hear it? Well today, everything looked ever so much better. So good in fact, The Butcher said we might consider the tightening procedure again. Oh! Yeah, not so much. I said I've just gotten to a point in the pain spectrum where I feel almost normal again... or at least predictable, manageable discomfort. The offer to start sawing through my flesh with a wire over a period of weeks just seems like the most wrong thing to do.
cupboard bare © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
For some reason today, maybe it was because of the lack of med students on hand (much to my relief, as there is nothing that makes you feel more like a monster than a smiley, happy, hot med student who then refuses to make eye contact with you after the examination), but The Butcher asked me how non-medical things were going, like.... life. Maybe it was because he caught a whiff of my hanging on by a (both literal and figurative) thread. I've manager really rather well the stuff upper lip with him over the visits. But then... surgeons don't ask those questions. And he did and this took me entirely off guard. My eyes started to sting. I could feel my skin start to heat. And I told him just a little. Things I haven't even written here in so many words. Things some of my better friends still don't even know. And instead of ignoring me, he said for the first time words I have really needed to hear from a doctor. He said people with this condition really tend to find themselves socially on hold, because of the nature of the malady, the uncertainty, the length of suffering, the care of it, the pain, the likelihood of recurrence... and its incredibly hard to deal with emotionally and move beyond a certain point with your life. But we're almost there. Really.
In the interest of not laying down in front of all this and letting it walk all over me, I keep making myself do stuff. It isn't a question of wanting or not wanting to see friends, its more a matter of being able suspend the reality and let myself enjoy things. I spent Friday submerging myself in my latest editorial assignment so that I might make good on my standing Artfag date night with Shanners.
In the interest of not exposing anything of the feature, I was sent to a most uncanny town to create a wall I never thought I would make. When asked by a friend if I 'got any good shots?', all I could say was I got some useful shots. The challenge was certainly unique and surprisingly fun. And blueberry pierogies certainly rounded out the creative spirit of the night. The next day, my friend Gwynn took me to another site I told her about, just a little way down the road from our last escapade.
There is something so vibrant about the experience of exploring an abandoned place. Standing on that precarious ledge where the peaceful quiet slowly unravels the story before your eyes and the fear that the ground will give out from under you or you are overtaken from behind by some other unseen presence.
rapunzel © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Its always seemed as though I attract rather unlikely circumstance. To the point sometimes that I think people think I exaggerate. Flowery language is one thing, but fiction, no. So let me unspin another one. We'd been at the house perhaps an hour. I had finally made my way upstairs. I was stood by a window towards the front of the house and I something caught my eye outside.
draft © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
My heart skips a beat every time I see other people when I see others while exploring, poising myself for a confrontation. I leaned out the window and watched them. Three kids, high school, maybe college age. Two guys and a very tall, very cute girl. We had pulled into incredibly wet muddy drive by an overpass. I called Gwynn over to watch. The threesome were doing their best to avoid said mud, and intermittently pulling out their cameras. I figured they wouldn't be a problem and decided she was probably a model and they were likely shooting her. The boys were scaling the hill of the overpass and collecting planks of foam and wood to make a walkway over the mud for her to cross. I, in my grace and poise, had just barreled on through. We were laughing over this makeshift coat-drop in the rain puddle and they were on the approach when it occurred to me that the girl looked like my boss' daughter. And then I realized, it was. And I called out to her, and she back to me.
surf © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
I suppose it might seem the norm to someone. But in my circles, you run into people you know at the supermarket, restaurants, galleries, on the street. Abandoned houses, not so much.
There was evidence of a squatter living there in 2003, who, according to Gwynn's reading, had been on work release from Eagleville. No recent signs, though. It will be a spectacular site for portraits, hopefully a forthcoming Sherbet Tone collabo-fashion shoot or something similar. The rest of the afternoon's shoot was spent, a quiet meditation on the details of lives once lived here.
chosen © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
The year of the rat upon us, Sunday landed myself and several of my fellow Flickrers in Chinatown for inhaling gunpowder and lion tail waggling. For as many times as I've seen it, the excitement of the constant drumming and cymbals and the sure circles weaving streets followed by explosions and and flood of red paper rain.
overlooked © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
We raided K.C's Pastries in an attempt to spend the extra $10 no one would seem to claim on our lunch bill. Pineapple red bean buns were an excellent way to end the day.
build © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
I'm one day away from a trip I've been looking forward to taking since December or so. My brute force and I will meet you on the other side.
stellaluna © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
(last night, out on the roof, alone in the snow, waiting for the moon to turn red as the earth hid it from the sun)