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Dangerous Compassions

flower ministry

I used to think there was one type of physical pain. It hurts–who needs to know more than that.

Lately I got an eye corner infection, and to make a long story short, I have a slice of fresh garlic medical taped to my eye corner as I write these words to you, dear reader friend.

Garlic taped to an infected eye corner feels like this: Nothing, warm, hot, hot-pain in about ten seconds.

Then realish pain, for about 30 seconds, hard to breathe, maybe a 5 on the ten point pain scale. Then the pain stays for about five minutes, tapering down to nothing.

“When it hurts so bad it’s hard to breathe, what number is that? Is that a 5?” I asked Ming.

“Any number can be hard to breathe,” he said. Ah, what a brilliant ex-nurse. He knows shit. He should have a master’s degree in pain.

“Why does pain make it hard to breathe, sometimes?” I asked. We talked about it. Tense-ness, fear of more pain, maybe. But no, I think it’s more like my body is freaking out because it wants to get away from itself but doesn’t know how. The not-breathing is from panic–feeling trapped in materiality.

Raw garlic gives a hot, burning pain. It stings–makes me think of figging. Are garlic and ginger related?

There are aches, like from overusing a muscle, aches the next day. Mild aches can be ok.

Sharp pain is bad. It usually feels scary also. Poked by a needle or cut by a knife, pain mixed with surprise.

The pain of a muscle cramp, what’s that? Tight malfunctiony constriction. Error. A horrible way to wake up, really. Drink some water, eat a banana, massage it.

Worrying about the meaning of pain can be exhausting. Why the body is doing this. What went wrong this time.

Well, I don’t know much about pain really–how lucky I am. I’m sorry if you’re reading this and laughing at my ignorance. “Oh, Laura-Marie. If only I could be like you.” You might have a PhD in pain. It might control you.

I often get a headache during my period that lasts for a couple days. But it’s not that bad.

In the hospital, I was annoyed by the pain of blood draws every six hours, especially when they couldn’t find good veins anymore. I’ll spare you some details. But mostly, it was the pain of my roommates that destroyed me. Compassions can be dangerous. I’ve lived that.

I’m changing the subject now. This morning I took a metal colander and picked greens from the garden–chard, beet greens, parsley. I’m going to miss that parsley when it’s gone. Didn’t know how much I’d like it.

I put ripped up greens, olive oil, the rest of my garlic clove minced, carrots I boiled for carrot broth yesterday, leftover rice, spices such as chili powder and pepper.

I fried that up, then looked for salsa in the fridge and pantry. All we had was Ming’s nasty corn salsa. Eww!

So I put shredded cheese on top of all that, an excessive amount, which is my favorite amount. I let it melt. Wow, even better than I thought it would be. Treat breakfast!

Ming couldn’t have any because he has a problem with chard. I was eating my cheesy delight and asked Ming, “Do you know what this is?”

“Leftovers?” he suggested, crankily.

“No, not leftovers!” I said. “Heavenly amazing ricey veg deliciousness!”

I’m not sleeping enough and may still be tired from the board meeting yesterday. I had never talked so much during a board meeting. I’m usually awkward and near-silent, like the anxious, daydreaming kid I was. There were a couple things important to me I needed to speak up about.

Love to you, reader. I wish you were at a halfway house in my neighborhood so I could give you flowers in a pasta sauce jar, brought by trike. I was going to call it Anarchy Flowers, but now we’re calling it Flower Ministry.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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