The Shadows Outweigh Their Light Source

I haven’t updated this blog like I would really like to this past week. It’s not that I haven’t done anything special—because I have. I went to a poetry reading/open mic night last Tuesday. I read three poems for open mic, and I was a shaky, sweaty, nervous mess, but I loved it! It was my first time at the Poetry Lounge, which takes place at Studio Roanoke, a wonderfully intimate theater that I wished more people would support. But, then again, I try not to expect too much of Roanoke anymore. And I’m awfully disappointed in the Commonwealth of Virginia here lately, as well, what with our fine elected officials (not by me) trying to deny gay students rights against discrimination AND cutting funding for the already-emaciated Arts and Education.

I just haven’t been feeling well. I’m not talking about a case of the sniffles or hayfever or a general end-of-winter malaise. There’s this disquiet inside of me, and it grows from the center. It’s got spiritual arms, emotional legs, intellectual fingers and toes, and black, empty eyes. It is hungry, and I don’t quite know how to feed it. What I do know is that this growing thing inside needs a job and health insurance, and, believe me, I’ve been diligently searching, applying, waiting, calling, revising, applying, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and calling, and testing, and waiting, waiting, waiting. There has been little forward movement. But I can say, with 100% certainty, that I can type 55 wpm with 100% accuracy; I am 100% efficient in my data entry skills; I am 90% customer service ready, and I possess advanced skills with Microsoft Word and Excel. Who doesn’t want a temp with two college degrees who is willing to work for minimum wage? Sounds like a damn good deal to me.

Feeling put-out like this always intensifies the physical pain, too. On a good day, it’s not easy to have a non-specific, yet-to-be-identified, auto-immune dysfunction that causes inflammation in the blood vessels of your retinas and sets all your connective tissue on fire, whether those connections are in your knees, the balls of your feet, your shoulders, or your spine. Vasculitis, they say, but they don’t know why. “A curious case, indeed!” the Big Doctor at UVa proclaims. But, on a bad day like Saturday, this dis-ease will leave you flat in the bed, especially if it aggravates the neck injury you sustained in a car accident a few years ago. Silent tears will fall down your face and into your ears like you’ve rolled sideways in the swimming pool, and they are silent because you simply can’t bear the physicality of sobbing.

Right now, the shadows outweigh their light source, and I abide, patiently, patiently.