Moving Right Along

Further excerpts from my hospital journal...

Note: The names used in my journal are not the true names of the individuals.

November 16, 1957:

Thought for the day:

My thought for the day is very brief:
Of bed and cast I'm weary.
So if you read this looking for a laugh
you'll have to look elsewhere, Dearie!

November 17, 1957:

Thought for the day:

The funniest thing about my cast
that leaves me all in stitches
is the frustrating fact that I can't scratch
exactly where it itches!

November 18, 1957:

Thought for the day:

How're You Fixed for Blades?

It makes me mad, it makes me sad,
It even makes me scary
to see my leg all skin and bones
and worse than that...all hairy!

November 19, 1957:

Thought for the day:

I had a lurid nightmare
that gave me quite a fright
after taking purple pain pills
in the middle of the night...

 

November 22, 1957:

Thought for the day:

We Want a Touchdown!

I dearly love the football games
when the season turns to fall
and at five o'clock each morning
we have one in our hall...

The lights glare on all down its length
and the brass band marches in
one hundred bedpans strong it is,
Great Godfrey, what a din!

Then the cheerleaders start to shout
waving washcloths high
"Breakfast in two hours...wake up!

Let's wash our hands and dry!"

Both teams are dressed in spotless white
but there the resemblance stays...
one team "huddles" in their beds
while the other calls the plays!

November 30, 1957:

I've become all stiff and self-conscious about my journal and haven't written anything for lo! these many days. This annoys me, too, because there have been amusing and interesting things to write about. I think I'll try an experiment. I have always contended that I couldn't write unless I was "inspired" more or less. I've also said that it was no good if forced. But maybe a bit of self-discipline is called for here. So I am going to write something in the journal every day, even it's only a few words. Perhaps if I get into the habit of jotting down the thoughts and events of each day, writing will flow more smoothly and I won't need to feel "inspired" to write. I rather imagine that all writers, professional or otherwise, have "arid" spells when it becomes a chore to even think creatively, much less put such thoughts on paper.

I've been simply wallowing in music ever since Mr. Carter brought my record player for me. I knew I had missed it, but I didn't realize how much until I put the first record on!

December 2, 1957:

Gloria is coming day after tomorrow. It will be so wonderful to see her for the first time in over a year. I cannot even give in to a faint sense of guilt at the thought of her traveling so far just to see me. Of course I'm not really her primary concern in coming up here. She is worried about my son, and will take him back with her if we decide that such would be the best course to take. I am in a real quandary because there are angles to be considered whichever way we take. O, well, surely I'll be able to see which way is best.

December 21, 1957:

Last night I fell asleep feeling like a woman again for the first time in months. Strange what a few hours of conversation with an interesting and intelligent man will do for me! My opinion of Tony is only half-formed until I know him better. He seems to be seeking a destiny with no clear idea of what it might or should be. I do know this...we talked steadily last night for three hours after Dwight brought him in and introduced him to me. They were on their way to Coloma School for the Christmas program. Tony elected to stay behind and talk to me while Dwight went on to the program. We talked about many things, easily and simply and satisfyingly.

After reading my poems, Tony asked me to marry him next Sunday. "You may not love me," he said. And then he added, "but you sure tickle the hell out of me"! This morning I woke up feeling disturbed and wishing he had not promised to come back today. I am too susceptible to a kind word and I am too tired to worry about another relationship with a man, especially this particular man.

December 22, 1957:

I think perhaps I am at last reaching the point where I have a little perspective. Yesterday Tony came about 2:30 and we talked until 6:30. Then we went over to Dwight and Sylvia's for drinks and Chinese food. We laughed a lot and had a wonderful time. Tony carried me out to the car making ribald comments about girls with cement pants. We drove down Main Street and I goggled at the lights like a two-year old. Talking with him is wonderful but dangerous, for I could get to like it too well. And we would not be good for each other. We are both too vulnerable. He kissed me on the forehead after he carried me back in and put me on the bed. It was so very sweet to feel cherished and respected and even, in an odd, sexless way, desired. But after he left I felt disturbed and apprehensive and sure that I never wanted to see or hear from him again.

This afternoon I feel differently; our friendship could be very satisfying. We have much to offer each other intellectually if not emotionally...a couple of lost souls looking for sympathy and companionship. I hope he writes to me.