“Oooo, baby, when I get this feelin’, I need that…”
“…couplative recovery?”
“Ya, that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite like them other words I’m thinking of, but props for soundin’ like an AI robot tryin’ to get its own kinda freak on.”
His recovery will be slow. That won’t do. He needs to be up and ready now. I can’t do this alone, I need him. My sidekick. My partner-in-crime. My everything.
Disk recovery
Lost segments of files
Corruption
And the orderly platters spin into chaos
Blue screen of death
Time’s up
Some things start out, out of warranty
And no one comes to their rescue.
It’s a long and bumpy road. I know. I’ve been on it. I still am. It hurts. Every day I want a drink. Most minutes, actually. But I’m staying strong. And it has gotten a little easier. Well, the bumps are still in the road, but I can anticipate them better and avoid them. I see the trigger up ahead and I dodge the bullet. I wish it weren’t so hard, but recovery isn’t about ease. It’s about determination.
I always think of the one episode of Martha Speaks, a show I used to watch when I was little, and I think Martha got sick and they told us all about recover and rest. I haven’t thought about that show in a long, long time.
Cryotherapy is my new obsession. I need to experience the 240 deggers below zero to feed my curiosity and satisfaction. I love botherhood. My brothers will recover with me. We will recover so that we may do more.
Recovery sounds like a hospital word. Recovery from illness, from a broken bone, from something. I wonder if you could ever have to recover form something you brought upon yourself. Can you recover for someone else? Can you force someone to recover?
Her feet falter for a moment, but she recovers herself before anyone else notices. There’s already a mounting sense of dread congealing in the pit of her stomach, worrying at the edges of her consciousness. Still, she follows the others, single-file, as her desire to run grows with each ensuing footstep.
you know I’ve had a great recovery from what I was experienceing about two years ago when I was living in a small basement, had no money coming in, and no dating or social life. Now I’m in new york and my life is awesome. I have fully recovered
Life is full of hardships and failure. A lot of times you will find yourself doubting your choices and you’ll realize that you fell but the most important thing is recovery. Just get up and move on.
I am hoping that the recovery he had planned for himself would be sufficient for his uprising. The powers that be had big plans for him and he only needed to put his nose to the grindstone and make it happen for himself…
Welp, recovery. That’s a word. I suppose I could recover from a injury or from a insult. But I think the main thing I need to recover is my sanity. Or maybe I just lost it down the back of the sofa. I don’t know. I will go and look down the back of the sofa now for my sanity. Goodbye.
Would she ever recover from this? Most likely not.But she made the effort to try,to get better everyday, to walk on her own.She tried each and everyday, and each and everyday, she fell, but she kept getting back up.I recall one of those days;she fell and never got back up.
(so, so tired)
She didn’t think she’d ever be able to overcome the pain of losing Anna.
Oh, her best friend wasn’t gone, nor was she forgotten. Perhaps the most painful part, really, was that nothing had actually changed at all. Just a simple, innocent addition to Anna’s life that had Elsa reeling where she stood.
Elsa didn’t think she’d be able to face losing Anna. Not to //him…
A single, soothing touch of warmth could cure all wounds. That tender gaze of contentment had healing powers.
She was recovering by day,
But the minutes before sleep came tore her apart.
It’s been what, three hours? Three hours since you started and you’ve failed twice. Nice. You’ve never done anything right, have you? Good job, loser. Now get the fuck up.
Recovery. There is active and passive recovery. Passive is the recovery made without intensive movement, while active is done at low intensity exercise under 40 percent.
it feels like time stands still. waiting to patch up the wounds, waiting for the easy fix that won’t come. i realize now, i’m on a mountain trail, climbing up, sweating and panting. and the top, oh the top is going to taste sweet. the burns on my heels will be worth it.
Sometimes after a holiday you need a recovery holiday. a full holiday just to get over your holiday. that’s what we need. we had our holiday. now we need a recovery holiday. but we don’t have days off for a recovery holiday. where would you go for a recovery holiday? I would go to the Maldives. Beaches, sun, sand, surf. sounds like a good recovery holiday.
Perhaps it takes a second coming, some kind of reincarnation to develop the ability not to care, to avoid vulnerability. Because in this life, heartache arrives relentlessly and each time it takes you down again, strips you bare and leaves you shuddering from pain which is just as fierce as the last time and the time before that.
It’s been eleven days since you told me that you couldn’t meet for coffee because you didn’t want to risk hurting your wife. They were the words that spelled the end. The ones that made me cry my heart out. It was too hard to say the ones you actually meant because you are a gentle man. “You have to go away now, for good, because this has gone too far.” And so I have spent eleven days now in the recovery position, not wanting to eat or remember or live another day.
Life isn’t like technology where you can just recover everything you’ve lost. In life, it takes more time and effort and tears for that. Some of it’s fate, some of it’s just blind luck and some of it is your own fault. But that’s life.
Not the insistent kind you hear in streets, or the gentle humming of a pager. This one was consistent, even, rhythmic. It was comforting, to say the least, considering the fact that she was in a room she couldn’t recognize, with scratchy sheets wrapped around her legs and a horrid dressing gown the only thing saving her from complete nudity.
“Oh, hey, you’re up!” she heard somebody say, though she couldn’t turn her head to see who it was. The voice was familiar, though, and that was good enough for her.
‘She’s going to make a full recover, Anna,’ Dr. Henson stated. She exhaled slowly and paced back and forth. The doctor walked down the hall, scratching down notes. She could hear a familiar grumblings emerging from behind the sterile white door and an eruption of questions and accusations. ‘Why am I here? What the fuck are all these wires? Did you put them on me? You put these on me! Jesus H. Christ! I’m not dead!’ Anna deduced from this one-sided interaction that she ought to intervene.
The club had taken quite a hit with the loss of Bynes and Darcy, and everyone in the room knew it would take a season to recover if they were lucky as it was. Red skipped lunch and spent the rest of the somber afternoon in the Ford.
a tree falls in the middle of the woods. and the forest competes for its space. nothing of the trunk is wasted, each inch of it coated in a verdant luster of leaves and fungus. from its rotting corpse grows new life again, a rebirth, a recycling. a testament to the will of the earth, that though its pillars, fall it will grow again.
Overnight the guilt hit me like a tornado and I was stuck wondering about my past for three days, wether I should run away or stay and face it like I should, but as all things are all it was a rock and it never stopped staring me in the face.
Ha! Recovery… Pffff! I spit in the notion’s face! Sometimes, MOST of the time, “recovery” is nothing more than a myth. Something mothers tell the children of their alcoholic husbands to help them sleep at night.
I am not in a physical recovery, but a mental one. Its hard work, but it is not recognized as such. I am just seen as crazy, and not hurt nor struggling
recovery doesn’t happen over night and it never happens fully. Just like an addict getting a handle over his addiction, a broken hearted woman learning how to carry on with life is an ongoing expedition, one that is easier to give up on than continue. Good thing she was a fighter.
Recovery means to me getting over a work out, or getting back on your feet after a hard time. It covering yourself again….an odd concept, really….to cover back up your dignity, your sense of your life, to find its purpose again, to be able to cover what you want to do with your time after struggling through
The doctor told us that Sasha should make a full recovery in two weeks. Until then, all we could do was spend time with her. Sasha’s older brother, Cole, had just returned from a six month tour in Afghanistan. He never wanted to leave her side. He brought her a vase of tulips and left them by her hospital bed, and one night, I caught him singing a made up little ditty to get her to sleep. It was like they were young again, sledding in the mountains and smiling arm in arm.
If you lose something you have to recover it. Often this may be presented as something very sentimental and even metaphysical, but it is not. Basicly when I think of recovery I just see the victory of consumption culture , and that we own way to much stuff. Constantly I lose trivial things, like the remote controle, the reason why I live, a shoelace or a juice bottle. Often I have to entail on a quest through my chaotic room. I search in places unthinkable for them to be there, its absurd really but out of desperation you look for your t-shirt under something small as a mobile phone.
But this whole facade changed when I started to live on my own, cause before I was able to blame when I can’t find certain things. I used to get very theatrical about it, I was a victim of my family’s heedless hands who moved my stuff around when they clean out the house. Instead of looking for the thing that i lost , I thought of plausible scenarios on how and why my thing got lost because of my family , every minutely detail would be discussed just to proof this dark conispracy. Obviously in the end nobody touch any of my stuff nor moved it, I just forgot where I put it and was forced to apologize for my delerious behaviour over an USB cable or something else silly.
Who am I to blame now ? myself am I suposed to laugh at myself? look into my eyes and see what kind of madman would sabotage himself so that he can go an expedition of recovery? I guess in the end its only human.
Im pretty sure people who constantly can find their stuff are fascist anyways.
I don’t think there is such a thing, not from a casualty like this. Recovery, is such a sweet possibility and yet I cannot seem to land my flag onto that Land of being satisfied, and having, ultimately, recovered. I don’t see an end point to anything. There is hardly a closure for anything, and I can’t cope with that sort of uncertainty. Now I am cheating the whole process of it and now allowing myself to recover. Maybe wounds do heal, maybe I should start believing that time heals, without being illusioned.
“Oooo, baby, when I get this feelin’, I need that…”
“…couplative recovery?”
“Ya, that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite like them other words I’m thinking of, but props for soundin’ like an AI robot tryin’ to get its own kinda freak on.”
“Anything?!”
“No, not yet! It’s murky as hell down there! It’s going to take us the rest of the week to find him! IF he is down there!”
“Damn. Alright. Let’s pull it in for the day people. It’s nearly dark. Not gonna find anything in the dark.”
His recovery will be slow. That won’t do. He needs to be up and ready now. I can’t do this alone, I need him. My sidekick. My partner-in-crime. My everything.
Disk recovery
Lost segments of files
Corruption
And the orderly platters spin into chaos
Blue screen of death
Time’s up
Some things start out, out of warranty
And no one comes to their rescue.
It’s a long and bumpy road. I know. I’ve been on it. I still am. It hurts. Every day I want a drink. Most minutes, actually. But I’m staying strong. And it has gotten a little easier. Well, the bumps are still in the road, but I can anticipate them better and avoid them. I see the trigger up ahead and I dodge the bullet. I wish it weren’t so hard, but recovery isn’t about ease. It’s about determination.
I always think of the one episode of Martha Speaks, a show I used to watch when I was little, and I think Martha got sick and they told us all about recover and rest. I haven’t thought about that show in a long, long time.
Cryotherapy is my new obsession. I need to experience the 240 deggers below zero to feed my curiosity and satisfaction. I love botherhood. My brothers will recover with me. We will recover so that we may do more.
Recovery sounds like a hospital word. Recovery from illness, from a broken bone, from something. I wonder if you could ever have to recover form something you brought upon yourself. Can you recover for someone else? Can you force someone to recover?
Her feet falter for a moment, but she recovers herself before anyone else notices. There’s already a mounting sense of dread congealing in the pit of her stomach, worrying at the edges of her consciousness. Still, she follows the others, single-file, as her desire to run grows with each ensuing footstep.
you know I’ve had a great recovery from what I was experienceing about two years ago when I was living in a small basement, had no money coming in, and no dating or social life. Now I’m in new york and my life is awesome. I have fully recovered
Life is full of hardships and failure. A lot of times you will find yourself doubting your choices and you’ll realize that you fell but the most important thing is recovery. Just get up and move on.
I am hoping that the recovery he had planned for himself would be sufficient for his uprising. The powers that be had big plans for him and he only needed to put his nose to the grindstone and make it happen for himself…
Welp, recovery. That’s a word. I suppose I could recover from a injury or from a insult. But I think the main thing I need to recover is my sanity. Or maybe I just lost it down the back of the sofa. I don’t know. I will go and look down the back of the sofa now for my sanity. Goodbye.
With each recovery came a new discovery about who he was and what he could achieve.
Would she ever recover from this? Most likely not.But she made the effort to try,to get better everyday, to walk on her own.She tried each and everyday, and each and everyday, she fell, but she kept getting back up.I recall one of those days;she fell and never got back up.
(so, so tired)
She didn’t think she’d ever be able to overcome the pain of losing Anna.
Oh, her best friend wasn’t gone, nor was she forgotten. Perhaps the most painful part, really, was that nothing had actually changed at all. Just a simple, innocent addition to Anna’s life that had Elsa reeling where she stood.
Elsa didn’t think she’d be able to face losing Anna. Not to //him…
But as they say. Time heals all wounds.
Well… it tries to.
Maybe it just makes her a better liar instead.
A single, soothing touch of warmth could cure all wounds. That tender gaze of contentment had healing powers.
She was recovering by day,
But the minutes before sleep came tore her apart.
It’s been what, three hours? Three hours since you started and you’ve failed twice. Nice. You’ve never done anything right, have you? Good job, loser. Now get the fuck up.
Recovery. There is active and passive recovery. Passive is the recovery made without intensive movement, while active is done at low intensity exercise under 40 percent.
it feels like time stands still. waiting to patch up the wounds, waiting for the easy fix that won’t come. i realize now, i’m on a mountain trail, climbing up, sweating and panting. and the top, oh the top is going to taste sweet. the burns on my heels will be worth it.
Sometimes after a holiday you need a recovery holiday. a full holiday just to get over your holiday. that’s what we need. we had our holiday. now we need a recovery holiday. but we don’t have days off for a recovery holiday. where would you go for a recovery holiday? I would go to the Maldives. Beaches, sun, sand, surf. sounds like a good recovery holiday.
DEVELOP
Perhaps it takes a second coming, some kind of reincarnation to develop the ability not to care, to avoid vulnerability. Because in this life, heartache arrives relentlessly and each time it takes you down again, strips you bare and leaves you shuddering from pain which is just as fierce as the last time and the time before that.
It’s been eleven days since you told me that you couldn’t meet for coffee because you didn’t want to risk hurting your wife. They were the words that spelled the end. The ones that made me cry my heart out. It was too hard to say the ones you actually meant because you are a gentle man. “You have to go away now, for good, because this has gone too far.” And so I have spent eleven days now in the recovery position, not wanting to eat or remember or live another day.
Don’t touch me.
Don’t talk to me.
Don’t look at me.
Don’t even think about me.
Because I’m on the road to recovery from falling in love with you.
Life isn’t like technology where you can just recover everything you’ve lost. In life, it takes more time and effort and tears for that. Some of it’s fate, some of it’s just blind luck and some of it is your own fault. But that’s life.
The first thing she registered was beeping.
Not the insistent kind you hear in streets, or the gentle humming of a pager. This one was consistent, even, rhythmic. It was comforting, to say the least, considering the fact that she was in a room she couldn’t recognize, with scratchy sheets wrapped around her legs and a horrid dressing gown the only thing saving her from complete nudity.
“Oh, hey, you’re up!” she heard somebody say, though she couldn’t turn her head to see who it was. The voice was familiar, though, and that was good enough for her.
‘She’s going to make a full recover, Anna,’ Dr. Henson stated. She exhaled slowly and paced back and forth. The doctor walked down the hall, scratching down notes. She could hear a familiar grumblings emerging from behind the sterile white door and an eruption of questions and accusations. ‘Why am I here? What the fuck are all these wires? Did you put them on me? You put these on me! Jesus H. Christ! I’m not dead!’ Anna deduced from this one-sided interaction that she ought to intervene.
The club had taken quite a hit with the loss of Bynes and Darcy, and everyone in the room knew it would take a season to recover if they were lucky as it was. Red skipped lunch and spent the rest of the somber afternoon in the Ford.
a tree falls in the middle of the woods. and the forest competes for its space. nothing of the trunk is wasted, each inch of it coated in a verdant luster of leaves and fungus. from its rotting corpse grows new life again, a rebirth, a recycling. a testament to the will of the earth, that though its pillars, fall it will grow again.
Overnight the guilt hit me like a tornado and I was stuck wondering about my past for three days, wether I should run away or stay and face it like I should, but as all things are all it was a rock and it never stopped staring me in the face.
Ha! Recovery… Pffff! I spit in the notion’s face! Sometimes, MOST of the time, “recovery” is nothing more than a myth. Something mothers tell the children of their alcoholic husbands to help them sleep at night.
The children?
No. The mothers.
from illness, shock etc. Hospitalisation, nursing, diet, medicine may be needed. Doctors help recover from health problems.
I am not in a physical recovery, but a mental one. Its hard work, but it is not recognized as such. I am just seen as crazy, and not hurt nor struggling
recovery doesn’t happen over night and it never happens fully. Just like an addict getting a handle over his addiction, a broken hearted woman learning how to carry on with life is an ongoing expedition, one that is easier to give up on than continue. Good thing she was a fighter.
Hi Recovery,
I always remember that I have to backup before recovering. So I love backup than recovery.
But I know you, and prefer backing uo job!!
recovery: health, lost hopes and goals, from bad news, difficult times.lost friendships
Recovery means to me getting over a work out, or getting back on your feet after a hard time. It covering yourself again….an odd concept, really….to cover back up your dignity, your sense of your life, to find its purpose again, to be able to cover what you want to do with your time after struggling through
The doctor told us that Sasha should make a full recovery in two weeks. Until then, all we could do was spend time with her. Sasha’s older brother, Cole, had just returned from a six month tour in Afghanistan. He never wanted to leave her side. He brought her a vase of tulips and left them by her hospital bed, and one night, I caught him singing a made up little ditty to get her to sleep. It was like they were young again, sledding in the mountains and smiling arm in arm.
If you lose something you have to recover it. Often this may be presented as something very sentimental and even metaphysical, but it is not. Basicly when I think of recovery I just see the victory of consumption culture , and that we own way to much stuff. Constantly I lose trivial things, like the remote controle, the reason why I live, a shoelace or a juice bottle. Often I have to entail on a quest through my chaotic room. I search in places unthinkable for them to be there, its absurd really but out of desperation you look for your t-shirt under something small as a mobile phone.
But this whole facade changed when I started to live on my own, cause before I was able to blame when I can’t find certain things. I used to get very theatrical about it, I was a victim of my family’s heedless hands who moved my stuff around when they clean out the house. Instead of looking for the thing that i lost , I thought of plausible scenarios on how and why my thing got lost because of my family , every minutely detail would be discussed just to proof this dark conispracy. Obviously in the end nobody touch any of my stuff nor moved it, I just forgot where I put it and was forced to apologize for my delerious behaviour over an USB cable or something else silly.
Who am I to blame now ? myself am I suposed to laugh at myself? look into my eyes and see what kind of madman would sabotage himself so that he can go an expedition of recovery? I guess in the end its only human.
Im pretty sure people who constantly can find their stuff are fascist anyways.
I don’t think there is such a thing, not from a casualty like this. Recovery, is such a sweet possibility and yet I cannot seem to land my flag onto that Land of being satisfied, and having, ultimately, recovered. I don’t see an end point to anything. There is hardly a closure for anything, and I can’t cope with that sort of uncertainty. Now I am cheating the whole process of it and now allowing myself to recover. Maybe wounds do heal, maybe I should start believing that time heals, without being illusioned.