Wrong side of the world...

I definatly woke up angry this morning. I wish I could blame it on sleeplessness but I slept until 11 yesterday. BECAUSE I COULD. Becasue I couldn't think or talk or listen any more and I had to find time alone somehow.

This Fing sucks. I just want you all to know that. He sucks, what he's done sucks, how I feel sucks.

OK. Screw this. No more sucking. There's this local radio station tha does soemthing called "Simple Pleasures" The DJs will talk about easy fun nice things that make them smile and then they will take phone calls. I'm going to do this from time to time to remind myself that even if your husband is a dirty drunk who gambles away your life and then stuffs whats left of your money into a crack pipe and some dirty whore's unmentionables, there's still a silver lining to life.

My simple Pleasure:

Clean underwear.

Ghosts, Memories and Wishes

I wish I could tell all of you who are too eager to await the book what is really going on in my life.

I wish I could sit down with each and every person in my life now or who was ever in my life or who ever wanted to be in my life and tell you all what I think and feel and want.

To tell you what I have lost and sacrificed and left and been cheated out of. I wish I could tell you and you could hold me. And then you would tell me how much more I deserve out of life and that everyone makes mistakes. You would tell me of how much you valued me and how much I helped you or entertained you or made an impression on you.

You could whisper to me and cry with me and laugh with me and make me feel whole. But I can't and you can't and so here I am. Shit in one hand and a wish in the other as some may say.

I can't ask you to believe what I have been through. I can't write it or speak it or tell you in a hushed tone on the back porch with you old black lab licking your feet. I can't because I gave you up a long time ago and you are one of those things that never belonged to me any how.

Not that you ever whispered to me or held me or needed me. You were one of the type to sit across the room and watch me laugh and it would make you smile to see me happy. You were the one to watch me be kissed and revel in the glory of the peace I felt. You were the one to catch a glimpse of a sparkle in my eye and imagine that I were indeed a diamond myself.

Had I ever had any claims to you it was that of your grace and leniency of my faults. My quirks and unsavory bits and pieces you always forgave and they were to you proof that I was human and therefore worthy of your protection.

I say protection with authority, for everything you did you did to help me. You, I believe would have held me and kissed me and done all those things I need so badly now had you thought it would ultimately do me any bit of good. But you saw what was coming and you knew what was best, you in your silent and patient watchfulness knew how to gauge when to pick me up and when to let me fall.

So this is to you who let me fall and to you who pick me up. To you who come near and to you who wait in the wings. To you who praise me and embrace me openly and to you who secretly pray for me every night. To you who love me loudly and softly.

Desperado

I just want to scream, kick, and throw a fit.

Is that too much to ask?

I want to cry alone and close the curtains and sleep all day. and right now I want to watch Big Love.

A Rethought

She begins her session again, this time cautiously, knowingly. She sees the familiar but vague looks in his eye as she assumes the possition for complete lift off...

"What if they're not dreams?" Stumbling, she speaks out.

"they who?" Dumbfounded, he fumbles through. He never was very deep.

"what if my dreams aren't dreams? what if--"

"AHHHH, But if they are not dreams than what are they?" His fake British accent is so overwhelming he starts at the sound of his own voice. Won't make that mistake twice.

"I don't know... Maybe the dreams are the realities and the realities are the dreams..."

"What realities??" he picks up his pen, crosses his leg and begins to draw a familiar face, on a sheet of paper that also houses his grocery lists and other important things.

"What if the apartment... the car.... the love of my life... the hapiness, is all just a dream and the realities are just one big jumble?"

"Oh!... Jumbles..." he mumbles as his mind is distracted with the thought of his word jumble left undone on the kitchen table. He adds it's completion to his "to-do" listb as she drowns out his other, more important thoughts...

"What if it's all just... nothing?"

Then she fell. Flat on the floor. The room grew dark and he was gone and the alarm did not sound and the lists and jumbles and pictures and couch and chair and eerything were gone.

And she did not move, because she didn't know if her legs were gone too.