The raindrops are spattering against the windows as I sit at my table and stare out at the rising sun. The joe is warm in my hand as I think about how being up this early will force me back into bed tonight before the sun has kissed the sky goodnight. The last month has been a trying one. Amidst all the turmoil, decisions are rearing their heads that need to be weighed upon. And then a myriad of things that need to be accomplished or at least taken care of before the next round of hurdles stumble onto my path.
The days fall down, one after the other and my mind wanders and turns in on itself as it often does. Wandering darkened corridors of my mind, heedless of the warnings I've posted in those imagined hallways. The absence of children's laughter drives me into memory, if only to not forget. It drives into imagined shoe boxes full of photos, conversations, and electronic scraps of paper. The magic of modern times I suppose. Inexplicably? Inevitably, I find myself running my fingers and eyes through old stuff. Funny how looking for one thing always seems to lead to finding something else. "I'll love you until I die." "I love you so much, I just need you here today." "You hurt me, I'm sorry I'm so bad for you." "I just wish I didn't have to give up one of you for the other." It's a strange thing, it's like digging up a grave to feel something again as you look at the casket. Maybe because the headstone is so bland, or perhaps that grave was never marked at all. Hell, some days I wonder if anything was ever laid to rest there.
But the sun is up now, my cup grown cold. The daily chores beckon to me, a mindless routine just to keep myself from sitting and staring into space. It's like a party. Time to take of the old robe and put on my big boy pants to tackle the day.
"I wrote a little song for you
with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme
to repeat what you already knew
as the stones thrown at your window tapped a syncopated time
you kept a distance out of fear you'd break
but what good's a single wind chime, hanging quiet all alone?
the music our collisions would make is a sound that turns the road-that-leads-us-back-home
into Home."
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Too Shy To Scream.
Too Shy To Scream.
Transcribing from the backs of receipts is painful. But here it goes.
Scribbling notes on receipts today as paper is scarce at work and everything at home has been dedicated and used for children's drawings or homework. Mostly the former. But I'm unsurprisingly okay with that. There's no easy way to determine if these words find any ones eyes but mine, but that's okay. It's been so long since I've written anything that wasn't a spur of the moment random thought, that I think it'll be good for me to just get some of this out in a semi coherent fashion. These days it seems harder to collect my thoughts if it's not related to some task at hand. Under those conditions, I have laser beam focus. Trying to collect the various snippets of thoughts that bounce around my head seems to be a herculean task anymore. I guess I'm out of practice. But, here we go. I suppose it's like riding a bike or some such. And then, I lost focus. I've been staring at the receipt for 5 minutes. Random joys, hurts, and thoughts ricocheting around my head like some sort of high speed thought collision. If my psyche is an atlas of roses and scars, they are all starting to overlap. Today, I realized that I don't remember how to make small talk. (Not that I ever really was good at it to begin with.)
And that's as far as I got that day. Then I came home and crashed for about 20 minutes before the family surprised me with my Dad in tow. Then the obligatory dinner, beer/whiskey get together. Standing out in the drive way just wishing things were a bit different. It's gotta be something about this time of year. Right as the triple digit heat finally breaks and things start to cool off and live a little. I don't know, something about those conditions at my folks house is just nearly perfect. Then the conversations of course turned a bit sour. But, not in a family feud kind of way, just various things that are rarely talked about that are a bit painful. Ran around a bit earlier with Dad which was mostly fun other than the semi regular, "You can face withering enemy fire but you're afraid of talking to girls yadda yadda yadda." It's sometimes hard to explain to him that I *realize* that getting sex is not hard if that's what your after. But I can't really completely explain to him that I want someone to fuck my mind. Not in a warped manipulative way, but in a way where their intelligence, personality, I don't know their *them* gets my mind off. Even I know he and I are similar in that respect, I suspect I require more mental stimulation than he does. Just having sex with someone I have no real interest in just makes me feel like a whore. Most of the time I can't even get off in those conditions, so what's the point anyways?
"Feel like a ship on dry land or an island in the sand."
My Mom is more concerned that I've become such a loner it's becoming bad for me. But What can I really do about that? I explained that between work, school, and the Army, I don't really have a lot of free time. She's worried That I'm going to be an old maid. (Old mister? What the hell is the term for an old single guy?)
My sons continue to make me smile and breathe. I wish we could change our collective situation as they want me to, but I have to wait a little while longer. They apparently don't really care for the ex's husband and apparently don't really care for her boyfriend either. Knowing they aren't really happy there (to say the least) tears my heart up, but I have to take my time and make sure everything is ready for that big of a change. They told me they don't really care, they just want to be here now, but I'm trying to get them to understand the value of patience. (Oh the irony.)
Just another day here among the walking dead. I'm sure there are various other things to say but I know the value these days of not revealing everything. Some things you have to keep under your ribcage, lest they become damaged. And besides that, you never know who's watching you spill your guts onto the page.
Transcribing from the backs of receipts is painful. But here it goes.
Scribbling notes on receipts today as paper is scarce at work and everything at home has been dedicated and used for children's drawings or homework. Mostly the former. But I'm unsurprisingly okay with that. There's no easy way to determine if these words find any ones eyes but mine, but that's okay. It's been so long since I've written anything that wasn't a spur of the moment random thought, that I think it'll be good for me to just get some of this out in a semi coherent fashion. These days it seems harder to collect my thoughts if it's not related to some task at hand. Under those conditions, I have laser beam focus. Trying to collect the various snippets of thoughts that bounce around my head seems to be a herculean task anymore. I guess I'm out of practice. But, here we go. I suppose it's like riding a bike or some such. And then, I lost focus. I've been staring at the receipt for 5 minutes. Random joys, hurts, and thoughts ricocheting around my head like some sort of high speed thought collision. If my psyche is an atlas of roses and scars, they are all starting to overlap. Today, I realized that I don't remember how to make small talk. (Not that I ever really was good at it to begin with.)
And that's as far as I got that day. Then I came home and crashed for about 20 minutes before the family surprised me with my Dad in tow. Then the obligatory dinner, beer/whiskey get together. Standing out in the drive way just wishing things were a bit different. It's gotta be something about this time of year. Right as the triple digit heat finally breaks and things start to cool off and live a little. I don't know, something about those conditions at my folks house is just nearly perfect. Then the conversations of course turned a bit sour. But, not in a family feud kind of way, just various things that are rarely talked about that are a bit painful. Ran around a bit earlier with Dad which was mostly fun other than the semi regular, "You can face withering enemy fire but you're afraid of talking to girls yadda yadda yadda." It's sometimes hard to explain to him that I *realize* that getting sex is not hard if that's what your after. But I can't really completely explain to him that I want someone to fuck my mind. Not in a warped manipulative way, but in a way where their intelligence, personality, I don't know their *them* gets my mind off. Even I know he and I are similar in that respect, I suspect I require more mental stimulation than he does. Just having sex with someone I have no real interest in just makes me feel like a whore. Most of the time I can't even get off in those conditions, so what's the point anyways?
"Feel like a ship on dry land or an island in the sand."
My Mom is more concerned that I've become such a loner it's becoming bad for me. But What can I really do about that? I explained that between work, school, and the Army, I don't really have a lot of free time. She's worried That I'm going to be an old maid. (Old mister? What the hell is the term for an old single guy?)
My sons continue to make me smile and breathe. I wish we could change our collective situation as they want me to, but I have to wait a little while longer. They apparently don't really care for the ex's husband and apparently don't really care for her boyfriend either. Knowing they aren't really happy there (to say the least) tears my heart up, but I have to take my time and make sure everything is ready for that big of a change. They told me they don't really care, they just want to be here now, but I'm trying to get them to understand the value of patience. (Oh the irony.)
Just another day here among the walking dead. I'm sure there are various other things to say but I know the value these days of not revealing everything. Some things you have to keep under your ribcage, lest they become damaged. And besides that, you never know who's watching you spill your guts onto the page.
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