When old women begin to dance

0 LYNNE HOME

I take a lot of photos of myself now. And I fiddle with them in editing programmes. Then I look carefully at them. I am looking for myself.

I am looking for Lynne in the shadow faces I see.

When I go out to my bathroom now I see all the assistance items – the shower chair, the high seat above the loo, the walking frame.

In my living room I see the lounge on raised blocks and in my bedroom – the commode chair for the nights. I no longer see my lover and a room of musical gear and a studio.

I get up in the morning and after an hour or so, I go back to sleep.

I consider walking to the letterbox and sometimes I can – and sometimes, I can’t.

If I decide to go out, its on a motorised vehicle which I call the Pony – only a while back it was in my Alfa Romeo.

A good deal of the shock and disappointment has worn off now. Just about 2 years since both major events – Izzy’s death was June 2014 and the Coma was September 2014. November 2014 – house move. I think I have been hospitalised maybe 7-8 times since then but in an uncoordinated manner with minimal follow through or explanation.

Sometimes, I do not wish to have any more energy than this. Sometimes, I am afraid of what life would be on offer to me if I had that energy. This Shrunken World in which I find myself might not be enough for me.

A good deal of the wandering through the swamplands has brought me to here. The extreme physical pain and cramping has gone thanks to acupuncture and the German Lass and her massage.

And so , I take photographs of my small world here. Of my loved ones. Of the small Pony Rides I take – and of myself. This, then , is the woman who remains.

I see other faces too. But I don’t have permission to photograph them. People who have also been shattered. I think of them – in their own worlds.

My own life has been ruthlessly public and visible since 1987. That is how I have survived since I put down alcohol and drugs. Now, I remain public and visible even in this Wasteland.  And I begin to dance.

WHEN LAZY HORSES BEGIN TO START. OLD WOMEN TO DANCE, AND WHITE CLOUDS TO RAIN – THERE IS NO STOPPING THEM.

And right back in October 2014, when I was on walking sticks, the wee redhead grabbed the sticks and threw them into the paddock and said

‘YOU DON’T NEED THEM, NANA “

I do not think the children are as haunted by Me as I am.

0 SAIL.jpg

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