NEW! I am delighted to have a new short poem, "Haunted Escape" appearing in Luna Luna Magazine!

"Grim husks drift apart
so the insides can escape
but where do they go?"

from my poem "Haunted Escape", newly appearing in Luna Luna Magazine 

read more here (and read the other poems there too) - https://www.lunalunamagazine.com/blog/poetry-juliet-cook

Thank you very much to Lisa Marie Basile. I am delighted to be included in Luna Luna.

Stressed, Uncomfortable, Nervous...

I don't want advice about this stuff or for anyone to tell me what to do (I feel like I've had enough of that lately and it stresses me out), although I don't mind comments. I'm not looking for any one to feel sorry for me either. I'm just putting this out here because it happened Wednesday evening and I feel like expressing it to an extent.

As some people know (and some people don't), I have occasional seizures, as a side effect of another health issue I had about 15 years ago. Hard to believe my stroke happened that long ago now, but then again, not really, because time flies faster and faster.

I'm not going to get into an elaborate amount of detail abut my seizures and related factors, but I will say I can usually tell less than a minute before one is about to happen, so I can at least sit down on the floor.

But then afterwards, I don't know exactly what happened (I mean I know I had a seizure but I don't remember the part right after that involves getting up off the floor, walking into a different room and so on). This time I think I was even more confused than the last few times. I was confused about what time it was and how long ago the seizure happened (although that's usually the case). I had trouble finding my phone (it was just on my bed which is where I often keep it). I had trouble figuring out how to use my phone, how to find the contact info on my phone, what to press to make a phone call (later I saw that I had sent Darryl two little random emojis on facebook messaging which might have been me trying to use my phone but being confused). So I felt more confused (and for a longer time) than I usually do after a seizure. I feel like it took me at least 20 minutes to figure out how to use the phone.

I had been upset, stressed and sad on Tuesday. I then felt somewhat better on Wednesday, but still sad. Even though I've been in menopause for about a year or two now, it felt somewhat similar to a variation on PMS, which I haven't had in quite a while.

Then shortly before the damned seizure happened, it suddenly got substantially worse. I started to feel guilty about my FB Wall Posts/personal blog post from Tuesday, my heart started racing a bit, I felt very unnaturally negative and off-filter and as if I was on the brink of a panic attack. I couldn't make it go away and it was getting worse. It was very uncomfortable (mentally more so than physically). I thought about lying down because I didn't know what else to do. First I was going to pee, but then while on the toilet, the sensation I have right before a seizure came over me. I quickly wiped, flushed, moved into my computer room, sat down where I usually sit down there and had the very uncomfortable out-of-control sensation as if my neck is suddenly twisting itself to one side (the right side) and in my mind, I'm randomly sitting on my computer chair (even though I'm actually sitting on the floor) and seeing some random cartoon-ish images. I remember seeing a cartoon chicken.

Next thing I know, I'm in my bedroom, looking for my phone, and after finding it, having trouble figuring out anything about it for quiet a while. I was confused with words, which happens for a while after one of my seizures. I finally managed to call my mom about a minute before midnight (I know she stays up late). But then after we got off the phone, I ended up calling her back again, because I then felt a sore lump on the right back of my head, saw two red marks on the left side of my neck (probably/hopefully just scratches?), and saw that I had bit the inside bottom of my lip. I am not sure how any of those things happened, especially the lump on the back of my head, because last I knew, I was sitting on the floor. Maybe I somehow bumped my head into a door or a wall after I got up. The lump on the back of my head and the scratches on the left side of my neck make me uncomfortable and nervous since I'm not sure exactly what caused them. It sucks not knowing how something happened. It causes me to think a bit about my damned stroke.

The seizure itself also makes me feel uncomfortable and nervous because it's only been a tiny bit more than a month since the last one I had. The last one was October 7, three days after I got my latest Covid vaccine. Normally I don't have seizures anymore near that close together. For a while, I was only having one or two a year. Not one in October and another one in November. Maybe this has something to do with the latest Covid vaccine, because I remember feeling low energy, down and oddly out of it for several days after I got that (more mentally out of it than physically out of it, which I'd not experienced to that extent after one of my previous vaccines). I'm repeating myself again here, but it's bothersome because I don't think I've ever had only about a month before the last seizure. I certainly don't want my seizures to start getting worse or more frequent.

I suppose it could have something to do with hormones or stress. Despite trying not to mentally overreact too much about the election, (not that I'm ignoring it, but I didn't want to escalate my stress into some sort of toxicity) perhaps the disturbing fact that Trump won kicked in more about a week later, plus which some stressful seizure pill oriented paperwork I've been trying to deal with that has to do with health insurance suddenly telling me I might not be eligible for the pills I've been taking for years being largely covered by insurance, so I might have to switch to different generics and deal with different side effects and that's very upsetting to me, because I remember what some of my previous pills side effects were like.

Anyway, apparently it's just been one of those bothersome weeks and hopefully I feel better tomorrow. And hopefully everyone else who is overly stressed out or upset feels better too (but without ignoring real issues).

HELLO! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DO YOU HEAR ME?

I know how my own brain works and how it feels. Sometimes I feel like certain people seem to think or act as if I'm less intelligent than I used to be or less intelligent than I actually am. I'm certainly not a genius, but I'm certainly not unintelligent. I have some word issues. I am not great at quickly and easily explaining some things. In some ways I'm different than I used to be, but doesn't that apply to most of us in different ways? I have some memory issues. I'm a rather slow reader and need to concentrate harder than I used to in order to initially process something and then not too long after that, I might forget certain things again. But just because my reading is slower and my processing takes longer and I have more memory issues than I used to, that doesn't mean that I don't understand things when I concentrate on reading them.

It also doesn't mean that I need someone else to repeatedly explain things to me as though I don't understand or to repeatedly talk over me or to tell me what to do as though I'll make the wrong choice if they don't or to indicate that I'm less than I used to be. Just because things take me longer and require more substantial effort and repeated concentration, that doesn't mean my brain is a broken down mess.

It means my brain is different.

My brain is still my own. Not worse. Not less than. Different.

In addition to the above (or perhaps somewhat interconnected with the above), I am feeling rather sad (and like I'm not getting enough accomplished in a timely manner, whatever that even means). I guess that's just the kind of day (month? year?) it is.

Somewhat related to my own slow process, on the plus side, one really positive thing about slow reading/processing is that I'm used to that and enjoy it (sometimes) because of poetry. Poetry has always been a preferred form of reading and writing for me and poetry is a form of writing that I have often chosen to read (and re-read) slowly in order to process (and interpret and interpret again in different ways) because that's how poetry works for me.  

Along those lines, I will say one thing that is causing me to feel a bit sad is this meme I've seen quite a few of my poetry friends sharing on social media that shows a burning world on fire and then underneath that image of a burning world, a silly comedic "poet" asking, "Do you need any poems?"

Quite a few people are commenting that they don't know whether to laugh or cry and I feel that way too, but it mostly makes me feel upset and like crying and like maybe nothing is very important; not even the things we really like and are strongly drawn to.

I think a lot of us poetry/art people already know that poetry is not hugely important to the mainstream. But regardless of that, I still think it is a very worthwhile and meaningful form of expression and connection and sharing. Even if it's relatively little on a larger scale, I don't think that makes it meaningless or silly. I think it is meaningful and important to a lot of different people for a lot of different reasons.

It's Raining Centipedes...

Woke up about an hour before my alarm was set for me to get up today and started unexpectedly writing some poem lines. That hasn't happened in a while, so I ended up feeling excited and energized enough to get up about half an hour before I had planned to so that I could try to finish the poem.

I think I finished it, but it feels even weirder and more WTF than usual and includes centipedes (among other things) and also the last collaborative poem I was working on included centipedes too, not sure where these centipedes are coming from, but at least they're not dolls (or are they?).

While working on the new weird poem, I noticed this other new poem (completed? in-progress? I don't know yet...)...that I must have written a few days ago and then forgotten about. Me and my out-of-whack brain waves, but I'm happy I have two new almost done poems and a few collaborative poems in progress and I'm sorry I'm behind on almost everything else.

Oh and I ended up incorporating a recently acquired word for a certain foot deformity into today's centipede poem, so I'm pretty sure that's something new.

Then I semi-randomly looked up centipede socks and found some.

Then it started pouring rain (and thunder and lightning) and maybe that's because my new poem is called "It's Raining Centipedes".

I also found out about Sinéad O'Connor dying (at only age 56), which makes me sad.

She was one of my favorite singers back when I was in high school (and beyond). I loved her first two albums, at the time I felt like I didn't know anyone else who was as into her music as I was, so my Dad went to one of her concerts with me. In later years, I saw her perform at one of the Lilith Fair concerts, attended with my sisters, and she was wonderful.

Sinéad O'Connor  singing Troy (Live) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lV21J75vFE 

NEW! My poem "When You Try to Make Something Sad Look Pretty" is included in Of Rust and Glass's new SCARS issue!

"You are the pallbearer wearing high heels

even though you never cared very much
for high heels. They are now sewn on
to the bottom of your feet.
Unable to be removed

from the unwanted, you wobble haphazardly"

***

Delighted to have my poem "When You Try to Make Something Sad Look Pretty" included in Of Rust and Glass's SCARS issue!

If you visit this link, you can click on the cover to see/read the full issue - or you can scroll down a bit and specifically click on A Word from the Editor, Artwork, Poetry, or Prose - and if you want to, you can purchase a print copy too!

https://ofrustandglass.com/no-11-scars/

When you find out that someone from your past died

What are you supposed to do and how are you supposed to act when you find out that someone you knew and really liked many years ago has died?

I FEEL sad, but I don’t know what to do. Scott Gallaway was a college friend; we were in the same BFA Creative Writing program in the mid 1990s; and I just found out via facebook that he died a few days ago of cancer. He was only 39.

I've not seen him in recent years (other than on his facebook page), but I had a small bit of contact with him online. Less than two years ago, in July 2011, I found out about his cancer, and mailed him some poetry chapbooks and we shared just a few emails - but that's it. He crossed my mind numerous times, including these last few years, hoping he was feeling/getting better.

A number of people were posting photos on his page; most of them from many years ago; and I thought about maybe adding one there; but it sort of bothers me a bit how when someone dies, they suddenly appear to be receiving more attention than they did when they were alive.  (If you’re going to be really terribly hurt and sad and sorry when someone dies, then maybe you should try to pay more attention to them now while you still can.)

I know that doesn’t mean people were not paying any attention to him when he was still alive; I know the sudden rush of correspondence and photos are related to remembering and honoring – and that often in life, people's thoughts, feelings, attentiveness, and attentions are kept inside their heads - and they tend to open some of that up and share it more in the midst of tough times, such as when someone dies but is still so deeply remembered and missed.

It's terribly sad when someone my age dies. 

(A contemporary poet, whose creative work I have not read in recent years either.)

***

The past. He's in the front middle.

Seizure Horror Fest

At the moment, I don’t really feel like writing about this or doing much of anything, but if I don’t write/do things, then what is the point of existing, so I guess I will give this a try.

This past week was an unexpectedly unfortunate, bad week for me. It was supposed to be a uniquely creative week, involving my first time being a part of the extra-special Kerouac Fest at the Grand Midway Hotel in Windber PA. Part of the festivities were going to involve me & Margaret Bashaar introducing Margaret’s new poetry chapbook, ‘LETTERS FROM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL’ , which was inspired by the haunted hotel and published by my Blood Pudding Press. Unfortunately, I did not get to go and participate in that.

The day before I was to leave, I was working on packing my attire and took a quick break online. A few minutes after 3:00, I wrote a comment to Margaret on facebook. The next thing I knew, I woke up, was lying on my bed, and was gazing upon my new manikin with confusion, not remembering where it had come from. Even my older headless manikin seemed confusing. Even all the clothes lying on my bedroom floor and the passage of time seemed confusing.

As soon as I got up, it got worse. I felt nauseated, dizzy, faint, and as though I was about to pass out. I immediately become afraid that I was dying. About a year and a half ago, I had suffered from a sudden, unexpected carotid artery dissection which led to a couple aneurysms which led to a stroke. Was I having another stroke? Was I about to die? I felt like I was going to faint and collapse. I called my mom. As I glanced at my cell phone, I saw that it wasn’t quite 4:00 yet, so it’s not as though a lot of time had elapsed since I was online, but what had happened since then?

My sister and parents arrived to my house shortly. I was still feeling disoriented and dizzy – and we soon found out that I must have fallen down hard, because the back of my head was terribly bruised and painful. I later found out that the bottom of each elbow was also bruised. Within about an hour, most of my memory came back to me, except for the memory of when/how/why/where I had fallen down. I figured I had suddenly passed out but why? That is not something that often happens to me. I had been feeling fine that day, eating healthy, drinking plenty of water. I wasn’t drinking any alcohol or doing any drugs. What the heck had happened?

We decided I should go to the emergency room just to make sure I did not have a concussion. I wasn’t lucking forward to doing that; I was worried it would take several hours, when I still had packing and other last minute preparation for my trip, for which I was scheduled to depart via Megabus the next morning. Unfortunately, I did not end up departing. Even though my CAT scan did not indicate a concussion, they suggested the fact I couldn’t remember what had happened made them feel as if I could have had a seizure, so they wanted to send me to the hospital for more testing.

Next thing I know I’m inside an ambulance, talking with the man behind me. I wasn’t in a terrible mood because I was thinking that my hospital testing would last a few hours, then I’d be home and even though I would be rushed, I’d still have time to prepare for leaving the next morning. Well instead, I ended up being in the hospital from Tuesday night until Friday night, receiving multiple tests and lying around on a hospital bed with an IV inserted and a heart monitor plugged in. Instead of being part of an artsy extravaganza with poet and photo artist friends, I was a hospitalized, disabled, out of control old lady.

And then even though none of my testing indicated that I’d had a seizure, they still decided that I should take seizure pills, twice daily, just to be on the safe side. Well I have always been an anti-pill person; the last thing I want is some pill changing my personality, my passion, my sex drive, my interest in life, and/or making me fat. Blah blah BLAH.

I've not had a seizure before in my life; I don't have epilepsy. BUT sometimes people who suffer from a stroke then start having seizures, due to how the stroke affected their brain. BUT my stroke happened more than a year and a half ago, so why would seizures suddenly start overtaking me after all that time? After a rather crappy (sad, depressing, difficult) year or so, things were finally becoming so much happier and better - and now I'm going to start having seizures? I'm hoping it was just a weird fluke.

But even if it was a fluke, the pill I've been given is a seizure related pill – and research indicates that some people have bad side effects from it. I'm really quite nervous about it. Again, I don't want a pill to change my personality, my energy, my poeticism, or anything like that.

I don’t want it to zone me out or make me unemotional. I don’t want it to make me uninterested in poetry, uninterested in art, uninterested in knee highs, uninterested in almost everything.

I don't want a pill to change me. I don't want to be lacking in passion.

I’ve started taking the darn pill but have also started taking notes and will share some of those soon.

I could go into more detail and perhaps I shall later, but being in the hospital for four days and then feeling out of it and depressed my first few days home have put me behind, so for now I need to get to work on publishing and promoting the chapbook that I was supposed to have available live at a haunted hotel while hanging out with its scrumptious poet lady, but alas. Instead I’m all worried about seizure medicine. Blech.

Marabou Deaths Head

I've been feeling low energy lately and that bothers me on several levels. I've always been a high energy, productive, passionate person, so feeling low energy is not my style and it worries me.

I’ve been frequently overly tired and am starting to think what if I have cancer or something (granted, I can sometimes be some sort of...what's the word? not “nymphomaniac” which suddenly semi-randomly spurted out of my head; not “kleptomaniac” either; probably not maniacal anything, but the word for people with a tendency to exaggerate possible health issues they might have; I don't do that all the time, BUT if I am more frequently than usual experiencing some symptom of physical discomfort, then that also seems to lead to more mental discomfort for me too).

So lately I’ve been thinking, “What if I have cancer?” and “What if I'm pregnant?” and then realizing that I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been to the doctor for a regular physical not to mention a gynecological exam (and why did the word “kleptomaniac” spurt forth again, before my brain got “gynecological”?;) I can hardly remember time/timing at all, but I do know that in more recent year(s), I had so many non-regular hospital/doctor appointments, that the regular visits stopped AND my health insurance changed AND my location changed and I’ve never been to a doctor in my current locale, so…

My over-tiredness made me think of cancer, because I remember my ex-husband telling me about how his first wife (who suddenly died young of cancer) had early symptoms of losing her energy and feeling overly tired. My pregnancy concern is because my stomach seems to be sticking out a little more than usual and feeling a bit oddly uncomfortable too. Is it my stomach or my cervix? I am not entirely sure. Do I need gynecological testing? Who wants to give it to me? (Just kidding and teasing my own sudden frequent infiltration of the “nymphomaniac” word.)

Speaking of teasing and words, this morning I thought about how yesterday my dad was jokingly making fun of someone because he drove past their garage sale sign and they had spelled the word “sale” wrong; they had spelled it “sail'. Even though I didn't say anything about this out loud, I IMMEDIATELY thought something like, “Well what if the person who wrote that sign had a stroke and that's why there spelling is off?” I used to be an excellent speller, but now I have trouble spelling easy little words; for example, the word of that thing you take flight upon at an airline - is it spelled “plane” or “plain"? I think it's “plane” but I'm not sure; I'm never sure. In fact, editing this very blog-style piece of writing, mainly due to spelling reasons, is literally giving me a headache right now. Oftentimes when I am unsure how to spell an easy word, I just switch to a different word (often a bigger word, oddly enough), so at least I have that capability.

Back to my possible new health issues, maybe I have just not been sleeping very well. Maybe I have often been staying up too late and ought to work harder on adhering to a more consistent sleep schedule. In any case, I sure did not stay up too late last night for cripes sake.

I was at my sister's place for several hours yesterday evening (with family members, dinner etc...) and got back to my place a little after 7:00. My other sister and her family checked out my new place for a little bit and then left. I played with Sockeye for a little bit. By the time it was only a little after 8:00, I was feeling really tired. This is nothing new these days. However, despite feeling tired, I usually stay up and work on things until about 2:00 A.M. (sometimes even later), in part because getting things done takes me longer than it used to. So last night I told myself I'd have a cup of coffee and then start working on Margaret’s chapbook for a while. I started drinking that cup of coffee and after just a few sips, I felt so tired that I told myself I would lie down for half an hour or so and then get into my swing of things. I'm not usually a nap taker at all, so this was already unusual for me. I took another sip of coffee and then placed my coffee next to my bed and laid down.

It wasn’t even 9:00 yet when I laid down, but I ended up laying down and resting until after 11:00, STILL felt really tired after that, and so decided that instead of getting up at midnight and then maybe staying up way too late, I was just going to bed for the night. So I did. I meant to bed at 9:00 for fuck sake.

Since I went to bed at 9:00, I was not about to sleep in as late as I usually do, so I got up at about 5:30 in the morning. It was actually quite interesting to get up much earlier than usual (even though I STILL felt tired) because when I first took Sockeye out for a walk, I loved the cool almost autumnal way it felt outside.

While walking Sockeye, I saw this other little disabled creature (I can't think of its name; it's a creature that is very similar in size and shape to a mouse, but has a different kind of mouth). Unlike some people, I like mice and mousy critters. This critter was alive but lying on its back, moving around as if it couldn't get upright on its stomach. I carefully used my leg to shift it upright, but then found out that something was seriously wrong with it, because it swiftly shifted onto its back again; then I realized that it was uncomfortably twitching rather than simply stuck in an unusual position. I made a second attempt to position it upright, but no luck. The creature continued to twitch and I felt strangely sad.

A few minutes later, I took Sockeye back into our home, but then went back outside with my camera and took a few pictures of the twitching creature (only a few, thinking that if someone happened to see me doing so, that might seem rather perverted, or worse yet what if they thought I had smashed the creature and now was taking perverse photos; this is the way my weird mind works sometimes). Interestingly enough, less than a month ago, I took a substantial amount of photos of a dead baby mouse (as did my artsy photographer friend K. who was visiting me for a few days, thus I am not the only one who enjoys unusual photos), but that creature was dead not twitching and about to die.

Less than half an hour later, when I walked back out to look again, it was gone. Perhaps a bird seized it up.

As for me, despite having now been up for more than five hours (whereas I would usually just be getting up at this hour), I have not gotten much accomplished yet today, I am STILL feeling tired, and my head hurts.



P.S. Mole. (Pasta.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New update: Today will walking Sockeye, he suddenly started rolling on the ground. He is not the type of dog with a tendency to roll around in other dog's shit, so I looked to say what on earth he was rolling upon. It happened to be a dead version of the above mole that I photographed a few days back while it was alive and twitching. Perhaps it was dropped back down to the ground by a huge death's head moth. In any case, I have now found out that my dog likes rolling around upon death rather than rolling around upon shit. No wonder he's my dog.