Anxious

Tomorrow is a pretty big day. I had MRI’s a week ago. I’m amazed, fascinated and horrified. The images are so clear, one can almost read the writing on the titanium plate.
Part of me is fascinated, and thinking on how I can incorporate this into art. There is a large part of me that is trying to run from this. That MRI showed that the bone spur is actually starting to penetrate the spinal cord. Losing my ability to walk is not the thing that reverberates in my mind. Nope. That would be the loss of my hands. That part makes me quiver in fear.
Tomorrow, I get to hear the doctor’s opinion.
Too much knowledge can be a curse; I know how to read those MRI images. I asked for copies and got them. Wow.
Be careful what you wish for, right?
Still, I needed to see them. I really did. I had to know what the enemy looked like, what that bone spur is mindlessly trying to take away from me. I know it’s not personal, but there is no escaping what is happening, and that is very personal.
I look at my torches, and I worry. I look at my waxes and my oils, my powders and trinkets; I am scared of losing the ability to draw the people who live in my mind and on the public transit.
No one really has any idea exactly how I feel about this. I don’t tend to share that, cause I am supposed to be the rock the family relies on. I could use a rock, myself, right about now.
What there is, for me, is my work. My art, to see me through, to express, to emote about this with paint, pigments, beeswax and/ or mixed medias.
Well, the palette is hot, the wax has melted, and I have a piece that is crying to be done. Off to paint, to create, to spend one more day on that wonderful cruise ship, the SS Denial.

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