You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Questions & Questioning’ category.

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

 Once again, I’ve asked a fantabulous writer and blogger some questions for those of us who are not “in the know” but would like to be.

1. Do you ever take a handful of raisins and eat them quickly because you suspect if you took time to really think about them, you might actually hate raisins?

I savour my raisins. I do, however, swallow my deep fried hedgehogs whole as a result of an unfortunate accident as a child.

2. How the heck does one pronounce “gingatao”? I am at a loss and no medication seems to help me figure it out.

‘ginga’ is Portugese. The first ‘g’ is soft and long and sexy, almost like ‘shh’, and the ‘inga’ is like a German lady. Tao should be pronounced as though it was Dow. Strangely, I have only ever heard one other person say it out loud.

3. How is it you became a writer, dearest?

When I was seventeen I felt far too ugly and ungainly to become an actor so I chose the other career in which one never has to be oneself.

4. How do you get out of a writer’s rut?

Alcohol. (or reading the great writers of the past.)

5-ish. Do Australians really say “crikey”? Also, do you all wrestle alligators? Is it true Australians are zany? Do you think I would fit in in Australia? Do you were funny hats? What is Australia’s stance on clogs? Do you call flip-flops “flip-flops” or “thongs”?

No Australians say Crikey anymore. Many of the old Austalianisms have died out. Noone refers to ladies as ‘sheilas’ anymore. Interestingly the Prime Minister is copping some stick at the moment for using blokey language like ‘fair suck of the sausage, mate.’ Australia also has the highest rate of indigenous language loss of any country. There were thousands of indigenous languages and now there are only handful still in active use, which is a tragedy.

I hope we are not zany, a word I use interchangeably with stupid.

Everyone fits in in Australia, it is one of the most tolerant and multicultural countries anywhere. Like the rest of the world though, we have developed a deep suspicion of Americans which you would have to overcome.

I wear funny hats. At the moment I am wearing a green felt hat.

Our stance on clogs is neutral, our stance in clogs is a little crooked.

We call thongs thongs and the other thongs g-strings.

Thank you for your questions, M’Lady.

I’m sorry my answers weren’t as clever or as funny as Bryan’s but I just woke up on a Monday morning. Have a fantabulous day full of tiny miracles like unexpected flowers blooming,

Paul.

Paul–these answers are not to be compared with Bryan’s. These were YOUR questions to answer and I think you did a mighty fine job, kind sir.

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.

  1. Do you think it’s wrong to text message a suitor twice in a row? If he doesn’t respond to the second one, does that mean has thrown you away?
  2. If you just met someone and they say they are having a bad day but give few details and you don’t really know them well enough to know what to say, do you say anything? Do you say, oh, sorry to hear that? Do you say, care to tell me what’s up? Or do you think this would annoy the suitor?
  3. Do you know where my berry-flavored lip gloss is?
  4. Can anyone confirm or deny the value of herbal supplements (beyond say a daily multi-vitamin)? Do they mess you up? Are there goods one for any particular ailments?
  5. How do you get your eyeliner and mascara not to run or smudge after a while? After a few hours, I have raccoon eyes and am tired of it.

I wonder if you suffer, too

writer’s guilt and all of that.

To see gray-blue as a feeling

never a hue.

I think the bastards should die. And I think the bastards should live. Those are my comprehensive thoughts about war and the Other Side.

Listen. Let’s say you and I were driving somewhere, maybe to see my mother or camp or go shopping. You are driving. We are in a sharp curve, and a dog runs out in the middle of the road. I scream, “look out,” and you do and then you swerve to avoid hitting it. We crash into a tree. I die, you and the dog live. You are banged up. The dog is fine. The dog is not cute. The dog trots off, unphased. You were in a situation in which you had to react immediately, and you did what most people would do. Or what I/we would hope most people would do. What happens is I die and then you start second-guessing yourself. Not only that, but you’re overcome by the guilt that you and the ugly dog lived while a nice person (me) died. But you go beyond that because you are in such pain. You blame yourself, but then you begin to criticize all the people who ever liked dogs to begin with. All the fanatics who ever placed any value on dogs’ lives or expect others to. All those people are, in part, responsible for this tragedy and how you reacted.

End scene. Now listen. People are scarred by grief. Torture comes in many forms, and I’m most familiar with the self-inflicted kind. The selfish kind. Still, swerving to avoid the dog was the noble thing, no matter what the results were, no matter what the rules of war were, no matter what the “liberal” media says or does.

So, anyway, what I’m saying is this. We should die, and the dogs should live. But also, the dogs should die and we should live. We’re just all trying to live with what we can live with.

So I suppose I’m back to being a bleeding heart.

Even if you question yourself, my death, and the version of me that values the life of dogs.

I don’t question you. I know.

You did the right thing.

I read books and watch movies that are devastating to remember I’m not immune to being devastated, or to prove to myself that I can still be devastated.

 

The war books I’m reading…I can imagine what combat is like, the fear, the brutality, but what draws me in is that I know it’s much worse for the people there. I wonder how much suffering can a person take. How much can a person bear. It seems to me that no matter who wins, or who actually lives or dies on the battle field, everyone is fatally wounded. And that is devastating.

 

I watched a movie last night called The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. It is one of the most brutal movies I’ve ever seen. Not because there’s overt violence. It’s brutal because the audience becomes more than mindless viewers. They are forced to become witnesses, if not of life, then of death. The ending is merciless and renders you (as the audience) a helpless victim, who’s suddenly had their entire world vaporized and turned to ashes. It will leave you in stunned disbelief, saying “no, stop, this can’t be happening…”

Dear Medicated Lady,

 

“Can you define ‘irony’?”

 

Paul

 

Dearest Paul,

 

I am reading a book about this schizophrenic lady who goes on rants, creating the proverbial word salad. Now. I shall attempt to answer your question in the same format.

 

Irony? Because I need more iron siren, crying. Do you cry? Why are you crying? Why are you trying to kill me? Killing shilling do you like the English? Cheerio. [indecipherable singing]

 

 

Dear Medicated Lady,

Oh no! My dealer just prescribed me Wellbutrin to pair with my Zoloft… But I think if I lather, rinse, repeat and fluff! I should be alright, no?

socratesoul

 

Dearest socratesoul,

 

This combination is actually quite good, I think. See, Wellbutrin has an “energizing” effect (read manic), which is confusing for people who stay in bed for weeks. I remember seeing sunshine…until I started having gruesome and vivid images of me hurting myself. The problem is I feared for my life because I had energy, where before it was simply too much work to go through with personal injury. However, Zoloft has a much more calming effect. I didn’t notice it helping depression as much as anxiety…which means it sucks the energy and emotion right out of you. So, I think you could benefit from the true antidepressant properties of Wellbutrin since you’ll have the two meds duking it out on the energy front.

 

Don’t commit suicide.

The creating of luminous hair always makes things better. Remember to shake it out.

 

Medicated Lady

 

Dear Medicated Lady,

 

I’ve heard Ambien and Lunesta both have side effects such as ‘driving while sleeping’. Can you confirm or deny this?

 

Lastly, perhaps you could get alimony from Bryan??

 

1writegirl

 

Dearest 1writegirl,

 

You’ve come to the right person.

 

I can confirm that Ambien will fuck you up and you will not remember much about it (and only will it come back to you in a fuzzy state if it’s brought to your attention by other people or evidence of your transgressions). For example, I was an Ambien texter. Lord only knows (and maybe Bryan) how many crazy texts I sent out, some of which got me in major trouble since I sent them to my should-have-been ex. So I ended up getting myself back in his clutches time and time again. Also, I’ve been told that I’ve fallen asleep for several minutes while talking to people on the phone or I (allegedly) tell people I’m “crackers” and I’m dating a guy from “beef.” Also, I had this “dream” where I was driving on the interstate one night and I realized I was driving under the influence of some medication and was not staying in my lane. I had a momentary sense that I shouldn’t be out. One can only hope this truly was a dream. Now, do not get me wrong. Ambien was pretty much worth it in my opinion.

 

Perhaps pairing it with benadryl was not the best idea, seeing how it made the effects that much more potent. But what I learned is that I could very easily enjoy an Ambien-only diet if only I could have it. It’s a punch drunk feeling. Also, I would marry it if the politicians weren’t so gun-ho about the Bible saying people should only be allowed to marry people and not inanimate objects.

 

Lunesta made me sleepy and I had no episodes in which I questioned whether I ruined my life the night before. However, a word of warning: Lunesta is expensive as hell. Ambien has a generic version.

 

Hope this helps.

 

Medicated Lady

 

P.S. I would ask for alimony but then Bryan would call me and demand we “settle up” all the time and it would piss me off.

 

Dear Medicated Lady-Pot,

*this novel of a comment has been truncated due to sheer length and copious amounts of bullshit and lies*

 

Perhaps you should re-evaluate your relationship with this Bryan person. Ask yourselves *yes, plural* did he really mean to helicopter you out of the swing and break your ass? Or was he simply trying to give you affection and show you a good time? When he sprayed you in the eye with cherry air freshener, was he simply being a concerned friend and didn’t have a way to tell you that you smelled bad? When he folded you up into the wall-bed, was he actually attempting to – well, sorry – on this one, I’ve got nothing. Regardless, I would submit to you that despite your posturing as the victim, you are not the battered gay housewife in the relationship – this Bryan person is.

poeticgrin-Kettle

 

Dearest pg-Kettle,

 

I’ve found that quite often abusers find a way to blame the abused. Like that time a guy got mad at me for making his bed the way I wanted to and accused me of wanting to change and manipulate him. Did this Bryan character intend to consistently attack me? Bryan knows my luck. Bryan is in love with my luck. Bryan likes to see what I do with life’s lemons…and in effect creates situations in which I have to suffer and overcome obstacles. Or simply suffer. Or suffer and go to bed for weeks.

 

Also, more evidence. Bryan once fell and cracked his ankle and used it as an excuse to refuse to go parasailing.

 

Also, are you trying to kill me?

 

ML-Pot

Dear Meded One,

When you host “Bindo’s Eulogy Slam” with what’s his face, I would like everyone to be given free meds at the door. I figure that the meds I have not taken and the amount it would have cost is quite substantial, but my request stands. I would offer the royalties from my book sales to help out but alas, I doubt it would cover a days supply.

bindo

 

Dearest bindo,

 

To cut costs, I shall begin to save all the samples I get at my doctor’s. That way, the people can flock in and get a taste to see what they like and don’t like. For those who find chemical heaven, I will have my shrink available for wholesale prescriptions and such. He’s a very nice man. He will ask you to rate your depression on a scale from 1 to 10 and you will frantically try to come up with a number, but you won’t remember numbers. And you won’t remember what you said last time, so you can’t remember what you have to go on in comparison. You will feel the awkwardness of the moment and still not have an answer. The doctor will write something in his notes.

 

You might ask him if he’s trying to kill you.

 

Medicated Lady

Dear Medicated Lady,

Can you please change the blog roll website you have posted for me?

Consider my freckles as what, sexy lady? (In reference to my writing blog last week.) Beauty marks? Connect the dots
in a tattoo parlor to resemble the Milky Way?
Hey! That’s visually appealing. Can I use that
for my next piece? XXX for a triple threat?

Uncle Tree

Dearest U. Tree,

I cannot help you. However, I will have my technical assistant and chief manipulator, Bryan, get on this right away.

Feel free to use this as a XXX supposition. I was intentionally vague as to the consideration of freckles so that the reader could consider all possibilities. My brother used to look for constellations in my freckles. I also have a freckle birthmark on the side of my face that looks like a thumbprint. So somehow, some way, Uncle, you get my cosmic melatonin and I certainly can appreciate that.

Medicated Lady

Yesterday, I took lunch and went for a light jog/walk around the old neighborhood I used to live by. It was a beautiful spring day. Like the ones I remember when I lived there. It was strange to be back in the same place and remember the version of me that when up the hill and down the hill so many times. Giddy up the hill, giddy down the hill. Crying up the hill, crying down the hill.  Numb up, numb down. Angry. Grieving. Content. Up and down.

 

I felt a sense of satisfaction and unease. So I think I’ll go back. Then, I think it’s not a good idea. Is there something to be conquered in remembering, in going over territory I’ve been over a hundred times or am I in danger of remembering too much and reverting back to that weaker person? Fuck yes. Or. Fuck. Yes.

 

For now I think I’ll try to think nothing of it.

SOB with me

Blog Stats

  • 32,615 hits

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 49 other followers

EMAIL ME

at MedicatedLady@yahoo.com, loria29@gmail.com Or Facebook Me: www.facebook.com/loriataylor3

CopyScape

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape
%d bloggers like this: