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Dangerous Compassions

addictive

poetry meme

Here’s a new poetry meme.  They comfort me to make, and they’re kind of addictive.

Speaking of addiction.  I thought I had been addicted to cigarettes, long ago, and then I learned chocolate–I was using chocolate to help myself recover from being social.

We would get ready for the Sacred Peace Walk every spring, which was too much, a week of known big stress.  Part of my preparation was to collect chocolate, and I would eat chocolate alone in the bedroom, by myself, to survive!  I remember sitting by myself on the bed, with a big ziplock that had different kinds of chocolate, self-medicating!

Anyway.  I thought cigarettes, chocolate, and then touch–I have a strong response to touch, the oxytocin, I believe.  I loved someone who was bad for me, and the touch seemed a big part of why I couldn’t manage to escape his orbit.  When he touched me, I felt much needed relief and well-being.

But the well-being was not correlated to him!  I mean, it wasn’t love or kindness, or something in his spirit helping me.  It was a hormonal response.  I cry to admit that.  Recently I learned that touch doesn’t need to be involved.  I can do the hormones all on my own, sadly.

Here is another poetry meme.  Yes, addictive.

addictive

phone call

“Did you know J doesn’t have an answering machine?” Ming asked me.

“Yeah,” I said.  “It’s been like that.”

“She doesn’t have voicemail either,” he said.

We laughed.  That’s an ongoing joke at our house.  Ming is old and says “answering machine” when he means “voicemail” sometimes.

“It’s ok,” I said.  “Every time you call someone who doesn’t have an answering machine, a fairy gets it wings.”

I thought about when I call someone and get the “We’re sorry.  The person you have dialed has a voicemail mailbox that has not been set up yet.  Goodbye.”  Does a fairy get its wings then?

bunny bread

Last night I made myself laugh and laugh, thinking the sentence, “My bunny is surfing the big bread loaf.”  This sentence sounded like a sexual activity euphemism, to me.  Oh jeeze–I’m still laughing.  That can be addictive too.

I guess I was the right level of sleepy for it to really tickle my funny bone.  I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

“Maybe there’s something wrong with me.  Maybe I have a funny-dysfunction,” I said to Ming.  He said no–it really is funny.

That sentence came to me after I took this pic.  We have this new bread pillow.  Also, I made a heart garland to string between the Ravi Zupa goddesses above our bed.  The heart garland I made out of Walmart glitter hearts bought after Valentine’s Day two years ago.  I poked holes in them with Ming’s antler awl, and strung them on pink zine binding thread, which is crochet thread, really.

bread pillow

I was poking holes in the hearts and told Ming, “Yeah, I know.  When you have a hole in your heart, you’re supposed to get surgery.  Well, what can I say.  I’m stringing up hearts.  I’m brutal.”

Then I told him how I was trying not to make a pattern, which is hard.  “People want to make patterns!” I told Ming.

“People want to see patterns,” Ming added.

“Yeah, we’re pattern machines.”

Love to all bed buddies, bed bunnies, and other stuff that sounds similar and may be, in practice, similar.  Love to you.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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