Same

Nothing new to report, here. The weather is strange, though. Foggy, and in the 40's. An unusual number of tornadoes, for this season.

I awoke somewhere around 5:00 a.m., today. Rude, as I'd promised myself and announced to everyone within earshot, that I was going to sleep until I was ready to get up, today. My body and my mind obviously have different ideas about what "ready to get up" means. The brain went straight to the job issues. Lovely.

There are a zillion things I need to do, today. A priority would be to get my car worked on. Another would be to do some laundry and grocery shopping. Something I need to do, but is not urgent, is to color my roots and get a hair cut. I so wish I could find someone who can cut my hair in a style that I don't have to screw with to make it presentable.

At around 8:30 p.m., or somewhere within 2 hours +/- that hour, I have to pick up my eldest son from the school. He's on a trip to TN, for an ROTC drill meet. At least I think I have to pick him up. He mentioned something about his dad going on the trip, if he didn't have to work, but that was never confirmed. I love the communication.

The other adult in this house is still asleep. The day is getting away, and I still haven't showered or eaten breakfast. I need to get on it.

The Truth Is...

I could tell you that I have an idiot brother,
Who doesn't eat anything but boxed mac n cheese,
Or that my aunt was an eccentric movie star,
Who would only wear pink and sequins.
I could say that I have a house in Canada,
That I go to, for secret weekend assignments.
A place where you can look out the window
And see the clouds beneath the treetops.
I could tell you that on New Year's Eve,
It is my tradition to eat sand crabs, from Spain,
And they taste just like dirt,
But they have spiritual significance.
I potentially might maybe have an extra bone
In each ear, that makes my hearing ultra keen.
So, I can hear conversations from next door,
Through the walls, sometimes.
And speaking of walls, there might be some
Top secret documents pasted behind the drywall
In the back of my bedroom closet,
Behind the gray and black portions of my wardrobe.
I might have a chip in my head
That tells me when there is a sale on at Spencer's,
And it might tell me a lot of other things, too -
Such as which dogs at the pet store are sickly
And which ones will be hardy and loyal.
Maybe one year, I lost both of my pinky toenails
In freefall accidents - but I didn't bump my head.
Perhaps the light bulbs in my home emit
A certain spectrum that makes it possible
For me to see inside your mind
And know your soul's wishes.

But, no.
The truth is, I did very little, today.
And I have a vivid imagination.
The honest truth is just, I love you.

Lot

Yesterday, I went to the drugstore to drop off a 'script. When I returned to my car, a dude was sitting in an old, beat up, black Toyota pickup. He was gray-headed, though almost bald. Rough looking. Whiskers. Smoking a cigarette. He looked mad, and guilty. By the time I was behind my driver's seat, and looked up again, there was another dude, about my age (mid-forties, maybe younger), standing beside his driver door, talking on a cell phone. The truck dude was obviously listening in on the call. I get a feeling somebody's physician quit writing pain killer 'scripts; and now he's using up his buddy's. Highly likely. Sad. Not only that the guy is potentially hooked on narcotics; but that he seems so miserable, and not proud of himself.

Constant

We are not digitally enhanced.
Our spirit comes, unedited,
Even if we have been physically remolded.
One can sense the energy.

True, some wear blinders,
Either subconsciously or not.
Deception is a cruel use of energy;
Tainted output.

Positive forces frighten us, though.
Looking at the light too long
Makes one apprehensive;
As if we undergo an endurance test.

How long can we keep this goodness?
When everything we see dies,
Or drifts out of our visual range,
It feels like we are undeserving.

Nothing, yet everything, "belongs" to us.
How can one realize, we are what we lose?
We are the adored pet, family member,
Icon, or object that passes into another frame.

We are that movement, that change.
Being stuck, clinging to a moment,
And how things seem to be,
Doesn't allow flow, progress, growth.

So, this moment, I will let it be.
I will hold all in the palm of my hand,
And feel the changes, and wonder
Why I even have to try.

What It's Like

Ask me what it's like to dress down, not to draw too much attention. There are so many reasons. Not that I care what anyone thinks; but I care that how they think will affect others. I can't be distracting folks, making them ask questions in their minds, and amongst others. I know too many people. I know how they feel, because it's how I'd feel. I don't want them judging. If I dress up, take what I want, it has to mean that someone else can't have it. So, let them think they have it all. Maybe they'll be quiet. I just want them to be quiet.

Ask me how it feels not to wear perfume, or lipstick, not to wear a mask. To be exposed, so I can hide. Is this me? Where am I? What are they?

Ask me, "What is your passion?" The search for truth is my passion. But look around. Everything is what it is. The truth is, no one can be true.

Sue

Saturday morning
On your call list
All about you
I don't exist
My whole life
I'm no good daughter
Mother or wife
I won't resist
I don't exist

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Blowhard?

Who is afraid of a country that sits on it's ass, posting and re-posting news that's been heard, read and imposed many times over?

Anybody notice that you can't go anywhere or read anything without seeing a button or tab for a social media network? Ever think about WHY?

While some are busy doing nothing to produce anything positive, or to take care of their own, there are still those out there who feel it's their purpose to rid the earth of what they honestly believe to be useless wastes of air and land. Those joiners and followers are making it so very easy for them, playing into their hands. Showing them how right they are about this country.

Some of us joined the social networks, so we could be...well...social. What does that mean, really, anymore? I thought it was about loving, caring, helping people. Friends. Alas, it seems that some are not in it for the compassion, but for the opportunity to hear themselves talk, or to read themselves writing something that's already out there. To cluck, cluck, cluck, like a bunch of hens about the egg so-and-so just laid. Like there has never, nor will ever be another egg.

To thank a political leader in this country for something that it has taken countless individuals to accomplish, shows a real lack of insight. As a U.S. Citizen, you have paid those fuckers to do this job. It came out of your earnings. They didn't do this as a favor. They sit on expensive furniture, and eat expensive meals, pretty regularly, and you pay them to do it. Who's paying you? What are you doing?

In this country, we are supposed to have choices. Choices about what to watch, what to read, what to do with our time. I do not watch "Idol," and can't imagine why, even if I did, I would want to read about every thing that was happening on said show, as it was happening, on a fucking SOCIAL NETWORK. I would watch the fucking TV, that someone paid for, that is probably not in many ways at all recyclable, that probably causes fucking autism.

I guess it must be comforting, on some level, to people who hate real life so much, to sit around on a social network, clucking...about...fucking...nothing. I guess that way, they won't notice when someone who's actually done something, out of some sort of PURPOSE drops a big fat fucking bomb on their neighborhood, to delete their consuming, bullshit ass.

When, when, when will people realize that to balance that hatred, there has to be a collective of LOVE? Stop advertising for the maniacs.