Marzipan Tin Foil

It's like there are two states: frozen and on fire and of course they overlap. I wish I had an idea. I wish I had a feeling.

What a fantastic time for my skin infection to come back. It did over Christmas, when I was home in California. And now it's back, just in time for Valentine's Day and then my trip to Austin. I'm going to try to go to the doctor's office to get oral antibiotics instead of topical ones because the topical ones take too long, I think. It's not only unsightly (it looks like my skin is burning off) but it's also really painful (it feels like my skin is burning off). My lymph nodes are really swollen and painful. This is all gross. It's funny because given how much complaining I've been doing lately and how publicly and shamelessly, it might seem counter intuitive but I don't love to complain. I don't like to be in pain. I guess that there are more than one ways to be sick. It feels like my body and my mind, my heart are going through the same thing. Oh yeah, this bacteria. This same old stupid painful awful thing that rears its ugly head every once in a while. Too often. Is there a cure? Not really.

As of today I am taking doxycyline, mupirocin and chlorhexidine gluconate. Don't ask. Trying to burn this shit out of me. The very sweet doctor who said she could "work with me" in prescribing oral versus topical antibiotics asked why I keep getting the same infection over and over again. I said I didn't know. She looked in her doctor database an it said that factors leading to recurring infections are: poverty, crowding, poor hygiene and being a carrier for staph. I asked if there's anything I can do to stop being a carrier, she said no.

I spend all my time packing. Wondering what to bring with me. Making lists instead of a story. Things I need to buy, things I want to buy. Marzipan. Tin foil. List of things to worry about. Endlessly interrogating myself. What should I wear for where I'm going. Where am I going. My new year's resolution was to stop flipping a coin, stop equivocating. I did this mostly, obsessively, with deciding what to wear. Both the most and the least important decision a person could make. I've only broken the resolution a couple of times.

Presents I meant to buy. Give. Compliments I meant to send. Thank you notes. I mean there's no rush it's not like anyone's going anywhere.

But still a body does reflect a mind, is like a drum for the heart of something. It reverberates outward and I do feel a bit as if I'm being buried alive. Now by my physical body as well. What bright contrast in taste and texture. I can't act as though it's not strange that other compartments of my life seem to be going ok. I mean I am for real in love. It's amazing.

It's like I know and I don't know what to do. I know what's wrong generally: I feel bad. But beyond that... it's like I don't even know what I want until I see it elsewhere. Like oh shit, I'd love to perform. I do love to perform. I'm glad I get to, to the extent that I do. I want to, more. It's so hard. Some optimism instead of ambivalence.

I feel drained. Boiled. I feel very much that I'm struggling to get somewhere, get out of somewhere, get to somewhere. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. I mean I know it's a matter of perspective, and I can look away.

And I've been looking away. And I've been taking a break. I've been working on me. I've been taking care of myself. The self I don't think I really have. And as I get a little bit calmer and a little bit more stable. As I begin to feel like I'm making progress. As I begin to feel like I'm ready to go off my antidepressants. The doctor congratulated me on going off of them (slowly). As I feel like I know where I should be looking. I turn and face the void again and it's as scary as ever! It's like there's no middle ground between just sleeping and being in denial and turning myself off and dying.

I am holding myself hostage. I don't know why.

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