Gone

I remember walking those halls, hand in hand, looking over all of the beautiful work. Those were happy days. We silently seperated and went through the room, only to converge in front of a couple works to look at them, hand in hand again, listening to the curator as she explained small tidbits about certain ones or changed the lighting so that we could see what was brought out with the lights changing facets. He found his first, it was beautiful and graceful. I could see it in the forefront of a church, its beautiful blues sweeping over the floor. I found mine after.
It caught me up in the way that it was stark. The lines were nothing that I had seen before in that kind of art, sharp angles, almost geometric. The colors were more neutral and did not stand out as the others did, yet the angles and how it was displayed stood out to me. It struck me how simple it was, because that was all that I wanted in who was in the picture.
We took them home after they were framed in gorgeous antique gold frames and black matting. Over the years they changed places on the walls a few times. We would turn on the art lights over them when company came over so that they could stand out a little more. I would often stand and look at them, at mine, for minutes on end, catching new details and pulling in their immensity in the dynamic smallness.
Quite a few years later we parted, along with possessions seperated. It was a sad time, a scary time. Many things I layed down and just let him have, I did not want to bother with the diatribes, the fights over who paid for it, who used it more, who deserved it more. I felt guilt over what I had done, my life had been turned upside down and I wanted to run. I was mortified that I had let my profession slide out of my hands, I saw pity in their eyes and I did not want to see that. I held so strong to a belief for so long that was really never there after hearing his words that we never truly loved each other. I know that I did...in a way I always will. I think he is just lying to himself to see those words and make the world believe it. Or maybe he truly felt that way and I was misled. Either way it was the saddest part of my life and one that changed my heart and took something away from me that I will never get back.
I took that stark piece of art when I moved out. I hung it on the wall at my mothers house. It looked so nice in those sunlit rooms. I made a big move and did not want to take the art and have it destroyed on the long trip. I would come back for it after I was settled in. I thought about it often, wondered how I would bring it with me when I was visiting next and where I would put it when I returned to my new home. I found a perfect spot, I moved things so that I could hang it as soon as I returned back from getting it. To my suprise it was not there any more when I returned to my mothers to get it. She said that he came, one day out of the blue, months after things were final and took it. Acted like I knew what was going on and took it out of her home. She was too nice to know.
I got there and wondered where it was. I couldn't wait to lay my eyes on it again. The first question I asked when I got in the house. "Where is my painting?"...it was gone. Six months later gone. It changed something in me towards him that day that I had never seen in him. I had never seen him lie or steal so blatantly. I am inconsolable, to this day. I want that  art back more than anything, because it was something that symbolized something to me. It was stark life and geometric simplicity in my Savior in that art. It was happiness together and warm memories of a time we had for awhile. I am at a loss for how to get it back from a man that took it from me without any regard. Gone.

Preparing for the next step

I always seem to be preparing for something. This past week, as well as the next  couple weeks, will be spent on a special no iodine diet and all medications dropped and out of my system. It hasn't been difficult at all yet. I pretty much have to make everything from scratch to eat, and the fact that I cannot eat any cheese makes me frown is only a minor thing. I never realized that practically everything has salt in it. Cereals, packaged meats, canned anything, some frozen veggies, marshmallows...everything. I love the fact that I live so close to some amazing farmers markets and healthier alternative grocery stores (Trader Joes and Central Market are less than 10 minutes from me). So getting fresh, whole foods hasn't been difficult. My kitchen is stocked up with food, I just have to make it. My energy has dramatically dropped in the 4 days of this diet already, so I am concerned how it will be in a couple weeks when I will be void of all medication or iodine in my body. I work in the evenings 4-5 days a week and I think the rest of the time will be spent resting and saving up energy for that. The Winery I work at is having their 3 year anniversary on Tuesday and I will be there most of the day to help prepare and then work the crazy celebration. In a couple weeks I will be confined to my apartment in isolation from anyone for 7 days to drain the radiation from my body and not make anyone else radioactive. I am looking forward to it in a way. Soaking in the bath a couple times a day to draw toxins out of me. Resting and catching up on reading and writing letters to people that deserve more of my attention than I give them, among other things. After that, the next step.

No Voice, No Answer

Today has been odd. And not in a good way. I have just felt that no one wants to answer any of my questions. It's almost as if no one wants to talk to me. Well, in my mind, that they basically don't want to deal with me. I have been on the phone most of the morning dealing with medical stuff. If you know me, I'm not great with phone calls anyways, especially business related things. The worst part is I am just getting the run around. I cannot get a straight answer. I have left messages for days with people, I have given my phone number, and email address, and information to so many people, I have asked to speak with the person who can give me answers, and all I get is more waiting. I am at their mercy, and I am waiting. I still hardly have a voice to speak with, and I sound like a little girl on the line. I wonder if they think that I am just making fun of the whole process sometimes because of my voice. In my head I sound ridiculous, others say it sounds sweet, and they don't even think anything of it. But I am getting frustrated in how much I have to repeat myself, and I wonder if I am even getting respect. I think I am only getting sympathy at this point. I don't want that. I just want answers!
If I could scream, I just might. It just sounds like a whisper at this point. I have no forcefulness behind my voice, I cannot project my voice. Heck, I went through a drive-thru the other day, and they couldn't hear me, so I had to go up to the window and place my order. I talk to people coming into the winery I work at everyday, I talk to them about the wines, I conduct wine tastings, I answer any detail that they have questions about. I get breathless, I feel like I have to scream to get out words loud enough to hear. At the end of the night my voice is so high pitch that I feel like my head is going to pop and my incision on my neck just throbs.

It's almost been a month since my surgery. I feel great, I have energy. I thought that these things would be the hardest to deal with, but they aren't. The biggest thing that gets to me is my voice. I can whistle like a bird, but I cannot sing, I cannot laugh, I cannot yell, I cannot talk like the ladies man, or talk like an old person. I have been told that I sound like Miss Piggy or Consuelo from family guy. They were trying to make me laugh about it and feel better. I hope and pray that it will come back one day. It could be months, it could be different forever. I wish I had an answer.