Just Think I use to Write this way back in the 90s !

Mistress Malice
by Viesta

I hear you want to talk,
about the man, your man, not mine,
do not concieve, or believe I am his,
I hear your hurt, i hear your voice, now
take the time, to perceive mine,


What I am to him and nothing more,
is his discomfort of you to even some score,
I am his change in mid-stream, I am his inception
of what he was, I am ease, I am his whore,
I am the dip stick for his tranmisson,
for his gears have been stripped,
he comes to me to talk of you, I am his transition,
I am the phone call waiting late into the evening,
for a moment, a day here and there, I pause,
for I do fool myself, that I could be you he’s leaving,
only to return to you, for I am his secret, his lost desire,
I am year in his life, while you find you are grieving,
I am the memory that will go with him in old age,
for now I am the need, the greed, on which he feeds,
You were the embrace, I became the lace, the stage,
His senses will return, and with me, it will end,
forgive him for what he does, he did not leave you for me,
He is just a man, a lost soul, I his am last and final sin~




Viesta Morrison, all rights copywrited- not to be republished




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I Know Why My Mother...............

I Know why My Mother.........told me stories

My Mom, Maxine was her name- she could spin a story like no one other on Earth, I never questioned if her stories she told me were true or not, I just remembered that were very colorful, light hearted adventures, she told me of a dog she owned named Pal, she also told me about a raccoon she had and even a horse, all this she maintained was in New York's Central Park. I know I remember what she told me and I remember I liked hearing her tell me these stories, that was just my Mom; Maxine. It was sad for me thinking of her some days, for Maxine lived in the past a lot, but I suppose all of us do that at some point in our life.

I Know Why My Mother............ lingered in the past.

Maxine a box that always sat at the top of her closet, she called it a strong box. When I was little and knew my Mom was not around, I would drag that box down and look in it, as if these were my Mom's only treasures. She had a large stack of post cards that she kept rubber bound together,the cards were from all over the states, from overseas and they all started the same way, My Little Kitten.. they were short but very sweet, it was Maxine's father that was sending her these cards, I took it that he worked away from home. When I asked Maxine what her father (Lawerence Merriman ) did for a living, she was very proud to announce that he sold ladies laundrie and that he had a office out of Manhatten New York. I know this story to be true because there is a 1930 Cenus that I found on the Internet showing the Merriman's, their apt, Lawerence, Viola Marie and one 17 year old girl by the name of Maxine....... I never bothered to ask my Mom why she always spoke of her Dad and seldom of her Mom... I guess that is one story I will never know of.. and when I asked how Maxine's parents died, she would say her Mother had bad kidneys and her Dad died of a broken heart, I kept my opnions to myself when she told me this, I wish now I had pushed harder for answers.

　

I Know Why My Mother ........ Cried

I can still see my Mom sitting in the living room nightly, with a flannel shirt on, a huge ashstray beside her, staring off into the dimly lit room and smoke rising to her nose, she was forever french inhaling her cigs. She would get so dark during these moods and she was quite calm when she was in this state of mind. She would not talk to me when I passed by her in the room, but I could see her crying, and I know she was lonley, the kind of lonely that makes you want to put your arms around a persons neck and tell them that it is going to be alright. But it was not going to be alright for Maxine, for she was so sad, that kind of dark sadness a person has a hard time coming out of. I know too that she was in pain, I would see her rise from her chair, her feet would be twisted, her hands would swell and she was forever putting two fingers to her throat to check her pulse, she popped valium like candy and I know today it was because her body, her past and her life pained her so. Maxine was a great person to talked too, I can't recall a single thing that I could not be open with my Mom about, but she on the other hand was quiet, she did not see the need to share why she was in pain or how she got there, but I know her memories did not keep her warm at night, she was in agony.

　

I Know Why My Mother......... drank.

　

I could tell the mood or the setting of the house I grew up in when I came home from school, I would take the top off the garbage can and count the beer bottles, if there were only a few, then she would be okay, but if there were many bottles, I would refrain from entering the house, I would wait and come in the back door. Now you might think in reading this, that it was quite sad for a child to come home to this state of being, but trust me it was not. For as many dark days as my Mom had, Maxine made up for it with her sense of humor, the sound of her deep laugh that filled my room when she would come in to crack a joke and then laugh at what she just told me. There were summer afternoons when my Step Dad would be at work, so my Mom would take me to the A&W Root Beer stand, I would get a burger and coke, Maxine would order a tea to have with another smoke. Those are days I treasure, the days when school was out for the year and it would be just us talking about nothing but learning so much about each other before the car was put in reverse to head home.

　

I Know My Mother Loved me........ cause I was born out of wedlock and it was not easy in 1953 for a woman in her early 40s to decide to keep her baby that she had had by a married man. I use to have a picture of myself sitting in my Mom's lap, it was the only picture I had of us and I can still see Maxine's deep red shaded lips, oh how that woman loved her red lipstick and her hair cut short with bangs. I dont know if my Mom's passing was easy for her, I know she was always in limbo when it came to living, she yearned for something more and something better, she was a daydreamer, she was always thinking the grass was greener on the other side. I suppose she finally made it to the other side when she died that day in 1982, she died alone with none of her children being by her side, that will always haunt me I guess, but on the other hand, I know Maxine knew I loved her, I loved her for being crazy, for her out of no where laugh and most of all, because she kept me and I appriecate the values she gave me, good.. bad or indifferent, it was all she had to give and I am glad I was the recipient of her few treasures in life, she was my Mother and I have no problem in whispering on a summer day, Mom I love you.

Just Another RA Day

It is late again and I am wide awake because my RA came into a flare and it has turned into a all night slumber party, just me and the RA, if I fall asleep I know the RA will pull a prank on me, like knot my knees up or maybe even knurl my hands into two fist of pain, so I will wait out the flare and sleep later.

I have come to believe change is the only constant in this life. We who live with chronic pain, from a multitude of reasons, are relentlessly faced with change. We experience it in our relationships as we are hemmed in by our boundaries, limitations and restrictions. Sometimes, it’s just too much for others as their lives are changed due to ours changing.

At other times the people we love are affected by our inability to travel or to perform some other act of daily life that others perform without thought.

When the buoy of life floats you to the top of a RA flare, you find all you can do is float, adjust and wait it out. So that is what I am doing at 310 in the morning, not the best way to spend the evening, but sure beats trying to fight off the pain or sleep it away.

You have little choice but to lie there as the stars and birds buzz around your head, waiting for life to resume some semblance of order. It takes time. It takes patience and it, most of all, requires good medical care. Unfortunately while the adventure is playing out in your life, you still have to perform the basics; you need food, you require shelter and you need care. And me, I just want to sleep and wake up to the good news, that the medical people are going to pay attention to the pain people have to deal with everyday without just tossing a handful of pills at us and say see you in a month.

Just a Moment,I hope to catch up to me, Viesta

Just a day

I’m not in contact day to day with another person who has a chronic condition like I have (at least not to my knowledge), so I don’t know what it’s like dealing with a person with an autoimmune disease like Rheumatoid Arthritis. My only point of view is from the side of the sufferer (the sufferer with RA), living with people who don’t have RA.
Most people are either one way or the other; treating me like a child who can’t cross the street without holding hands or not realizing how much pain and fatigue I feel during a major flare-up. There doesn’t seem to be too much of a happy medium, and trying to explain how you feel over and over gets old after a while.
I’m sure that every Rheumatoid Arthritis sufferer feels the same at one point or another. When people first learn that I have RA I’m treated with kid gloves, like I’m going to break into pieces if I do anything more strenuous than sitting down
Being able to be independent is certainly important to me, but I’m also not a martyr. When the pain, aches and fatigue are too much for me handle without a grimace, I am usually able to put my stubbornness aside and ask for help, and most of the time help is given.
My RA is like having a dog chewing on every joint-hands, feet, knees, shoulders and elbows, hips, and lower back.
I’ve discovered that I can handle more than I thought, it’s made me a stronger person, and I’m much more empathetic to other people’s pain.
I know that in my heart, I will make this diease my own, I will walk and carry RA within my life and do the best I can, one day at a time....... hugs to all- we will battle this together

Always Waiting....

Always Waiting.........


Ten years gone, by the wayside
I walked into the season, eyes opened wide,
I sat waiting for what, where, why- by the side

Of the road for what was to come
What was to be done,
With each rising and setting sun
Waiting on mankind’s kingdom come

And what logic was wasted on the prospect
That last look at the side glance
Of my last stance
My last dance
To linger in
my last trance
My last moment for romance
Ten long years waiting
For who
For what
For where
Just to question myself in the long run
WHY????????????????

In the Shadows of My RA

For those of us with painful hands, a simple handshake can be a terrifying experience, one that has the potential to bring us great pain.


I learned a trick that helped me a lot. In a normal handshake you present your hand out to the person you are meeting. For myself, I put my hand out with the palm facing the ground, allowing the person about to shake my hand an opportunity to see the top of my hand, and on bad days, the inflammation in the joints. It always causes the person shaking my hand to look and think before taking my hand because this is an unusual way to offer my hand.


Since using this method of handshake, I have never had anyone give me a firm handshake that would potentially bring tears to my eyes.

GETTING OTHERS TO UNDERSTAND


Since we are on the topic of dealing with others, another big issue is how other people react to someone with Rheumatoid Arthritis. There is a lack of understanding from people who don’t suffer this disease because you just don’t look any different than before you suffered or were diagnosed with RA.


The best article I have read on this can be found is called The Spoon Theory This article describes better than I ever could how difficult it is living each day with Rheumatoid Arthritis and how our day is filled with decisions on how to conserve energy to last through the day. The article was actually written about Lupus, but it relates very well. I recommend you share this story with people who care about you to enable these people to better understand the challenges you face each day.

We have to learn to be tolerant of others, understanding that, until you suffer this challenging disease, it is impossible to understand just how difficult it can be living with chronic pain, exhaustion and fear.

When we learn tolerance, then we will not be affected by the judgments of others, remembering those judgments come from ignorance. i AM VIESTA I AM OUT

Christmas Reflections

Christmas Reflections:

It is a fact of human life that, from time to time, we grow distant from those who we love. There are several reasons for this. Things happen in our life that take us to different places, and we cannot cover so much ground. Many of us have a number of friends and acquaintances and cannot be in contact with all of them at the same time. Christmas can be useful in repairing some of the damage that this does, and this is a major reason why it is seen as being a time of togetherness.
Whatever we may think at a given time, no friendship or relationship needs to be considered completely broken if one or both parts of it feel that there is a chance of reconnection. There may be a lot of hurt there, but Christmas allows a focus on things that we thought were lost. It is a time when many people feel that there is a chance for forgiveness, for apologies and acceptance. Whatever we feel may have been lost, we can focus on bringing back the good times.
Of course, Christmas is only here for a month, or a few weeks, and then we have to refocus on the world without Christmas in it. This is when the true test of what has been rebuilt comes, and if we are not truly committed to making it happen then it can still fall away again. But if you feel that you would like to reconnect with someone you had lost contact with, Christmas is the time to make it happen.