Vagus Nerve Girl
Sunday, March 24th, 2019
Vagus Nerve News
FAQ & Disclaimer
@ginblossomsaz at the @boweryballroom last night, making my heart stop. Not pictured: Robin mouthing “my mannnnn!” to Sean as they played in unison after handing him a tambourine. Sigh. That voice. 😍
I always tell people that Sean and I were an old couple before having the chance to be a young couple, so things are a little backwards, in a really lovely way. Nowadays, I get home sometime around 730 or 8 at night, and Sean’s contribution to dinner is preheating the oven to 425 degrees. The instinctual part of me says ‘I’m going to smother you with a pillow tonight while you sleep’ (married couples will understand), but the elderly couple part of me says, ‘wow, what a wonderful, normal, age-appropriate complaint.’ Then I smile, and we cook dinner (I cook, he watches, and says he’s taking mental notes), and we talk about our day, which never includes talking about me not being able to dress myself, or not being able to walk, or what part of my body hurt the most, or what the doctor said, or what specialist I have to see. In these now ordinary moments of preheating the oven and cooking dinner, I remember the man that put my deodorant on for me when I couldn’t, and put my socks on and tied my shoes, and asked questions at doctor’s appointments, and kept me entertained during infusions, and carried me through the streets when I could no longer walk for that day, and held my hand in the middle of the night when I sobbed from pain that radiated and ravaged me from head to toe. And then I think, god I’m so glad he preheated the oven. Pic: Amsterdam 2017, rainy day waiting for the train. (Or maybe he didn’t preheat the oven that day.)
Regular bioelectronic programming interrupted for me to gloat about this cutie: Met my stepsister’s brand new baby girl tonight! Welcome to the world Miss Rosie... and brought Dylan a fireman costume, because being a brand new big brother is an adjustment, and having a little sister means he’ll have to get used to putting out some fires over the years to come.🙃
I can’t feel my face, but at least it’s pretty outside.
Musings from the gym: I’m on the low row machine. Just did my first set, dropped my grips for a second before my next set. Guy comes over, out of nowhere, doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a word, and changes my weights. I continue to sit on the bench, just looking at him. Now he’s annoyed, and without looking at me, he says, “You won’t mind if I take a turn.” Oh, that so, skippy? 💁♀️ Guys around me see this happening and look surprised. People take turns, but this isn’t generally how it goes down. I don’t think anyone’s ever done it quite this way to them. And this guy won’t be doing that to me after this, either. #NowPutMyWeightsBackAsTheyWereAndApologizeYoungMan.
Someone once told me that life is an ongoing journey of trying to find home. We’ve called a lot of places home — we’ve lived together in 10 towns, 2 states, and 2 countries. I’ve left pieces of my heart in each spot. That’s the tricky thing about moving around a lot — when so many places have become home, you may find yourself at home in new places, but you never stop aching for the old ones either. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away... this was the view from our kitchen window... the Ko’olau mountain range & Olomana. During the rainy season, we’d sit on the couch and watch dozens of waterfalls along the Ko’olaus, and on sunny days like this one, our landlords’ four-year-old and I would lay in the grass and imagine faraway kingdoms in the clouds. My heart lives in a lot of places, from the woods and fields of Kymer Road — to our first cold rinky-dinky farmhouse apartment in Branchville that gave us a $910 electric bill one month as heat escaped poorly insulated walls and we froze our buns off — to our townhouse in Hampton that felt like a mansion (it had cathedral ceilings and that felt fancy)— to starry nights in Ewa Beach — to views like this in Maunawili — to our rooftop balcony in Kapahulu — to our Amsterdam Adventures, first in the quiet town of Heemskerk where Murph made her debut and then to a garden villa in Hilversum where I came to life for the first time in 16 years and jumped on a trampoline with an oversized Dutch toddler that was apparently preparing for a career in the NFL as she successfully tackled me and giggled and we couldn’t even communicate in the same language other than joy — to the cozy living room I am in now, curled up for a snow day, awaiting a view of the lake across the street that will be cleanly coated in white and dazzled with diamonds of ice on the trees... The one thing I’ve found for certain, though, is that I’m always at home wherever Sean is — and I’ll always ache for places where we once were.