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who would choose the fate of fire
the apathy of plunge
blade for blood

in the face of death
some of us shine
brighter
as if destruction was our calling
in life

Guest blog post by Bryan Borland, in MedicatedLady’s absence

Dear Readers,

I was honored when MedicatedLady asked me to write a guest-post in her absence. Well, not so much honored as burdened. And she didn’t ask me so much as I demanded. Such is our relationship. 

MedicatedLady is, at this moment, touring our nation’s capitol. Her trip is unrelated to the House’s recent passing of healthcare legislation, though, even so, a group of teabaggers resolved not to pay for MedicatedLady’s medication through public funding and took to protesting her visit. MedicatedLady did happen to snap a photograph of one of their crudely-drawn signs (Damn those Republicans!):

In other news, MedicatedLady would like for me report that the closest she’s come to an intimate encounter with a man while on this trip was when she entered a taxi to discover the cabbie had recently completed an intimate encounter with himself. To distract MedicatedLady, he then proceeded to blast the news at eardrum-bursting levels and got snippy with MedicatedLady when she couldn’t hear or understand his probing questions (which, no doubt, were meant to fuel future self-gratuity).  Being the gracious woman she is, MedicatedLady simply stared straight ahead and shook her luminous hair until she arrived at her destination.

For your further entertainment, I will now provide a sampling of text messages I’ve received from MedicatedLady in the last month or so:

My dog just peed on me.

Say to yourself, herbs! With an audible “h.” This will bring you joy.

OMG severe storms make my ovaries and left knee hurt.

You can expect more of our mutual charm when MedicatedLady and I finally video-blog together the first weekend in April.  We’ll be handing out advice to you, Dear Readers, so if there are any problems in your life you would like us to address, now is the time to send in your questions.  For example, are you having trouble with the menz?  Do you suffer from paraurisis, the disorder that makes urination in public places near impossible?  Are you allergic to love and love byproducts?  Did your cleaning lady break your vacuum cleaner?  Do you have trouble spelling the word vacuum?  Do you hate MedicatedLady because she has a cleaning lady?  Does your dog shit on the floor and grind it into the tile to spite you?  Does your mother hate the purse you carry?  Did you lose your virginity to a mode of transportation? Do you constantly get mistaken for a 12-year-old girl? We can help you out with these issues and more, so don’t be shy.

We certainly won’t.

Bryan

Tuesday
a day of extended anxiety
“on” for the job
“on” for my class

and just for kicks
when I’m tired
enough
to rest my head
a phone call
cancer is terminal
again
nothing the doctors can do

six months
twelve months
lungsthyroidbonemarrowandmoremoremore
cancer is a carnival worker
smiling to my family, leering at them
a two for one special
and if you’re really nice
a third for free

This Medicated Lady is thinking irrationally again.

Irrational because.
I’ve been considering a diet consisting only of those flavored ice pops
especially the blue ones
the ones I like the least

Irrational because.
No one but me looks forward to a psychotic break

Irrational because.
It occurred to me that I’m tired of being medicated
tired of being in need of medication
tired of being in need
tired of being

Irrational because.
Right is what’s right
right as opposed to wrong
right as opposed to left
right as opposed to write
write as opposed to rite

Irrational because.
It makes sense.

Irrational because.

How I’d like to be a Republican
doing God’s work
fighting for the cause

in love
I’d like to be George W.
transparent intelligence
make the course, stay the course
the exit strategy is there is no exit
only submission is possible

I could be leader of the free and righteous world
Women as Christians
Men as Muslims
battling out
the war against terror conquered by tyranny
we will prevail, my sisters
come bloodshed, theirs and ours,
no matter—

the cause is just

bored

not hurting anybody

scrolling through the numbers in my phone

 

I saw the name

had forgotten the name

already

was surprised it was there

in my phone

when she no longer is here

 on earth

 

I pressed delete before I could think

too much

time spent thinking

 

how long will it be before I recover my breath

I take a break from my guilt

A night of fun with my unrequited love

He’s unrequited but not really my love

I need him for much bigger things

Bob Seger’s voice haunts

Somewhere tonight someone’s thinking back to someone who got closer

 

I try hard to concentrate

this song is about me

this song is about my love life

this song is about my woe

 

Only I don’t believe myself

I believe in the tears I feel dripping from my chin

and the sound of my ugly cry noises

 

Someone’s not quite sad, only disbelieving

 

This is not about her

it is not about her

it’s not about her

She’s not being sung about

this song is not about her

except that it is

 

it’s a song about her absence

 

Somewhere tonight

any number of things are happening

but she isn’t

she’s not happening, she’s happened

Consider it written in stone. The stone at the head of a non-descript grave at a non-descript cemetery on the outskirts of some field in the middle of nowhere. Here she lies.

This is how it will go. Tomorrow, there will be tears. Tomorrow, there will be a long, sad drive home and an even longer, sadder drive back to the place I live.

It’s hard to say how many people will be there. It’s summer, you know, and there will be no church service. I imagine only family and one or two friends will come.

The family will hug me. They will tell me how thankful they are that I went to see her when she was so ill and no one else was able to visit. Able. Inwardly, I will cringe at this word. Inwardly, I will feel hate and spite.

The family will tell me they love me after they’ve told me and each other what a big “help” I was, as if I’d gone to pick up their prescriptions downtown and not sat beside her for hours while she cried because she was in pain and no one else would come see her. They’ll say they don’t know what they would have done without me. Some of them will list all the reasons why they couldn’t come to visit her when it mattered. I will make a parallel list of all the reasons they should have come. My list will be longer and more substantial.

They did not kill her, but they did break her heart. My tears will be for her and for the injustice of it all. Their tears will force me to forgive them, to stifle the outrage I feel, because I, of all people, know guilt and grief.

I wanted her dead and now she is.

Neither of us will go quietly.

That was obvious from the first.

Her moans and denials and fight are only restrained by the liquid morphine that courses through her veins.

She will not go quietly.

 

On the way to see her.

On the way to see her for the last time.

I did not go quietly.

The sounds of the engine and the radio could not be heard over my shrieks and sobs.

 

When the end comes

neither of us will go quietly

even if we don’t make a sound.

He asks

wanna cuddle

Of course I do. Of course. The only problem is the STDs floating around, the serial killers lurking about, my (in)sanity, and the facts being what they are. Fact: I have never heard the sound of his voice. Fact: I asked if he had a good weekend and his reply was “not bad.” Fact: I told him I couldn’t cuddle because I was a good girl. Fact: I think I lied.

 

No can do

I said

Good girl here

I am not a whore. I was a virgin until I was 29, and I do not kid. I just never wanted to make love or fuck. But then the switch was flipped. And now it’s Two. One that didn’t matter. One that shouldn’t have mattered but did.  He could’ve been Three.

 

He laughed it off

haha…I tried

Of course he did. Why shouldn’t he? I was mainly amused, but now I’m not. I think it’s because I lied. I can’t cuddle because I’m cold. I can’t cuddle because I’m a sad girl. I can’t cuddle because he doesn’t really want to cuddle. I can’t cuddle because cuddle is code for fuck and I’m tired of being fucked.

SOB with me

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