Daily Prompt: Linger
Right now, my entire life is one long linger. I am waiting for the other shoe, figuratively speaking, to drop. Waiting to be repaired. To be hurt, then to recover. I may not show the stress such waiting causes in any outward display (other than bad temper), but my dreams tell a story. Anxious dreams, wake-up-screaming dreams. All have one theme in common — events that are out-of-control.
Clearly, I read too much fantasy. The other night, I dreamed my real self was murdered by killing my shadow wraith which was roaming somewhere far distant from my flesh and blood self. I remember being surprised: I didn’t know you could shoot a wraith and have the attached body die. Dream and learn, eh? That isn’t Freudian — that’s literary.
Last night was more mundane, closer to home. A friend of my daughter’s who seemed to have moved in (her friends never want to go home) realized her clothing was dirty, so she decided to wash it. By hand. Then leave the piles of soggy garments all over the house.
I was in the process of trying to corral the wet laundry before it destroyed the floors … and I woke up realizing, hey, it’s laundry day again.
Caught as I am between chapters of my life, I find myself making strange (hilarious?) discoveries. Apparently when the plastic surgeon rebuilt my breasts (implants) following the double mastectomy a couple of years back, she used muscles as part of the construction. Factory-original breasts have no muscles. There are muscles on the chest wall and off to the sides, but real breasts are not designed for men to ogle but to feed babies. Milk production. Way back in the long-lost past, I had (for a few months) “working breasts.”
That was more than 45 years ago. Last night I discovered I can make my breasts do all kinds of things. I discovered those newly arranged muscles! Together and independently, the muscles work and since I’m healed from that surgery (finally, just in time for the next one), I can control them. Cool.
This was a startling discovery. I stood in front of my mirror making my breasts dance and salute for quite a while. Then I came out of the bedroom and showed Garry who laughed, but for some reason, did not think making a video to post on YouTube (it might go viral!) of my new talent was a good idea. Spoil sport.
This is what happens when you are on a long intermission between life and life. You linger.
Of course, I’d make every attempt to linger anyhow. The single thing I really don’t want to end is my life. I want to live. Life is the ultimate event and I want to keep it going.
I’m lingering with enthusiasm and verve.
More Lingering:
- My pre-game Pre-Game | The Bohemian Rock Star’s “Untitled Project”
- Daily prompt: Linger | The Wandering Poet
- A Love Affair With Southern Italy | AS I PLEASE
- Home Sweet Home | Views Splash!
- Step by step | Le Drake Noir
- Daily Prompt: Linger | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
- Linger Longer… | Hope* the happy hugger
- Never fly solo | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
- If ever | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
- Love for lingering, drumming | Journey of a Culture Carrier
- Lingering longer | Sue’s Trifles
- The Trouble with Lingering | Wise Woman in Training
- Daily Prompt: Linger « cognitive reflection
- I see stars | littlegirlstory
- Linger At The Beach | Lisa’s Kansa Muse
- Lingering, all day today | sixty, single and surviving
- Linger | forgottenmeadows
- Not Wanting this Moment to End. Daily Prompt | Angela McCauley
- Linger | The Library Lady and Rosie Bear
- Daily Prompt: Linger | CHRONICLES OF AN ANGLO SWISS
SERENDIPITY: SEEKING INTELLIGENT LIFE ON EARTH 
I think it follows form your post that after a certain point in life, all clothing is lingerie.
Lingerware. For sensuous aging.
It would be enough to make the breasts dance, if one had them.
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It looks pretty funny. And feels a bit weird, too 🙂
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You are on my mind every day now, Marilyn. Sending you all kinds of healing/empowering/breastdancing vibes.
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Thank you. I’m practicing making my breasts move on their own. It’s very empowering 🙂
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Mine are moving relentlessly toward my feet. I am jealous.
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Don’t be. REALLY. Fake boobs are better than none, but nothing beats the original equipment. They look like breasts, but they don’t feel (to me) like breasts.
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May you linger longer dear Marilyn. If only to delight us with your writing! 🙂
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Thank you 🙂 A reason to keep going. Or more to the point, ANOTHER reason 🙂
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If nothing else, you can laugh. Laugh while you linger, my dear friend. The best medicine. 😀
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Thank you. Sometimes it’s the only available medicine.
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Wow. Talk about hitting the nail on the head, that’s great!! Perfect.
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Jumped in my head by the second or third use of “linger”.
She puts on a decent live show.
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She’s on target. I’m a sucker for good lyrics.
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What do you make of the name of the bar/restaurant across the street in your first photo? More literary jests?
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I must admit though I appreciated the humor of it, its location was a happy coincidence of which I took advantage.
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enthusiasm and verve — yes, that’s you! xo
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Lots of verve … as long as I’m sitting down 🙂 Hugs to you, my friend.
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That is a very inspirational post. I don’t have breast problems (up to now) more digestive system, but that is not the point. If I did, it would be very comforting.
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Thank you!! Everybody has something “wrong.” By the time we are spritely seniors, something is not original equipment, something has been remodeled, something doesn’t work like it used to. As long as we don’t let it keep us from living, we’re FINE (or anyway, that’s what I tell myself!).
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