I'm Not Ignoring You

3 hours after fall

I broke my foot on Sunday, 3/11. Urgent care said it was a bone chip, but the orthopedic doctor said the chip is attached to a tendon, so requires surgery. Oh, and I broke it in 3 other places as well. While this validated my pain and made me feel less wussy, it has really thrown a wrench in the gears of my life.

I have to take extended leave from school. I still don’t know if this means disability or a sub – and if my sick days are limited to M/W/F (the days I teach) or the whole week. And if I’m doing lesson plans. I don’t know anything. It stresses me out a lot, but then I take a Vicodin™.

Day 2

I also have not been upright long enough to write and/or blog. I am woefully behind on checking people’s crusader challenges and missed another Romantic Friday Writer’s opportunity. It stresses me out, but then the Vicodin™ kicks in and I’m comatose for the 4 hours the drug works.

It’s the only way I can sleep now because I’m wearing a big f-ing (I've been cussing a lot) boot that weighs 20lbs and doesn’t fit right. They were going to cast it, but I had to get it CAT scanned so they opted for the boot.  I would complain more here, but my Vicodin™ is starting to work and I need to lay down.

Stupid $%&#&#@ boot

So this blog is to say I’m not ignoring anyone. I will catch up after my surgery (Wednesday-ish).

Second Campaigner Challenge: Water Pear

Blame this on the 2nd Crusader Challenge.

This is waaaaaaaay outside of my box. I dabbled in poetry as a teenager as an expression of my angst, but not really since. It's almost enough of a bizarre phenomenon to warrant recording the date.  I have no idea why I was drawn to write a poem, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. This poem addresses:

  5.  Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.

It is definitely less than 200 words (at 83). I actually felt like its natural stopping place was after the 2^nd verse, but opted for quantity over quality. Since I write romance, I made it a sensual experience.  I actively dislike the “toothsome delight,’ but I can’t think of anything better.

Joy in the Wanting

Spray dusting my skin

Cool, sweet, springtime fresh

Surprised, awed, I blink

My beaded lashes

Paint my blushing cheek

With soft, wet kisses

Longing for the taste

Just a reach away

Honeyed mist floating

Teasing my senses

With false promises

Gone in a flash. Lost.

Incorporeal

Unattainable

Tasting my own lips

With my seeking tongue

A lingering hint

Finds what could have been

No succulent flesh

No toothsome delight

Just a memory

To tantalize me

Or is it torture

To know I’m denied?

Thank you for reading my submission, #61. I look forward to reading through the other entries.