Failed To Last

At 4 am this morning, (all night fidgeting and failure to fall asleep), nothing seemed possible but to get up. What could possibly be the cause of this sudden inability to get to sleep to save a life no matter the extreme fatigue? Coffee. It had been two weeks since having a cup. Forgetting that the indulgence had occurred, it suddenly dawned like the morning light.
Into the studio with the space heater to sit at the table watching videos of quilting until the warmth of the bed was enough of an invitation to try again. Success. Finally. Grumpy Old Men helped with their chatter in the background.
It wasn’t long before there was another getting up. But like a nap, the little sleep had been enough to cut the slumbering inclination. Another cup of coffee was had to start the sequence of routine fidgeting in the middle of the night.
And then — maybe because of the subtle delirium induced by adrenal fatigue — an old boyfriend’s number was dialed. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t of much value other than to remember why he had managed to become an old boyfriend — any manner of significant conversation where each other’s needs can be met is forever and always disguised under layers of unbridgeable and differing expectations — any fondness aside.
Coffee had been drunk, on the day that it was, because depressive thoughts were creeping in and needed a rapid and successful booting out — adrenaline seems to help some with that. Why bother trying to come up with something in short order for managing running away from trouble when coffee could work so well on the double — obsessively watching quilting piecing can help a little too — calling old boyfriends… not so much.
People come in and out of our lives and change us. What they really do is help us find ourselves through the process of elimination. Sometimes they have to be eliminated over and over because the unbridgeable differences act like a ghost and disappear in the middle of reminiscing.
However, looking back can often help with looking forward because it is reinforcing to know that the decisions you made were correct. Sometimes one needs to be reminded.
Fading fast again — today, coffee failed to last. Perhaps coffee should be eliminated the same number of times as the old boyfriend so that fidgeting in the middle of the night can be eliminated soon. It might be time to become a residing member of a zoo with a sign that says, “Look at me. I need some loving too.”

* This was an exercise in getting through a session without saying I, me, or my (first person singular pronouns) more than once. #Check


The Daily Dozen

  1. Wake up happy with stories pooling in my head from dreaming and making them up while sleeping (sometimes they just go in notebooks for another day later)
  2. Take thyroid medication (until I can figure out a way to fix my broken system)
  3. Feed the kitties (the two inside and any strays that have accumulated outside – especially the pretty gray one who thinks he lives here now)
  4. Make coffee
  5. Drink first cup of coffee while listening to the birdies or the children playing in the school yard or any other of a number of wonderful sounds that permeate from solitary, quiet living (the trash truck – not so much)
  6. Soften peanut butter by putting it on the counter out of the fridge, (I get closer exp. dates so the oil is more separated and pour it off and save it for something – maybe varnishing the wood fence – so the peanut butter is more like fudge and doesn’t have as much oil in it)
  7. Feed Buster the girl turtle, (she’s so cute and will, not too far from now be heading toward brumation and will tell me when she’s finished eating until next Spring by quitting…eating)
  8. Check on plants and make sure none are thirsty (or about to die from brown thumb lack of intervention)
  9. Check emails, (mostly for A Story Everyday from Brian Andreas and/or Fia of Flying Edna and to see if the latest book order has shipped yet)
  10. See if anyone liked yesterday’s writing (and even if they didn’t, remember it doesn’t matter)
  11. Open a new tab for writing another
  12. Stare at the blank page all day until something comes together, (visiting now and then to look for inspiration or just type whatever is in the brain at that moment)

So, that’s pretty much it and this will go in one of those spaces that were neglected while me and the kitties were waiting for a signal.

A Story Every Day

Cup Of Starbucks

“The good thing about being poor,” she said, “is that you can’t buy things that you don’t need.”

     There is a dream about it where paths go wandering and are cleared of rubble off to the sides and rocks line it and green grows all along it — yellow, pink, white and purple flowers scatter high and low — and critters run to and fro.
     Birds light the trees and mornings offer music for drinking coffee at the table.

     Nothing is wasted and nothing is useless.
Everything fits together.
     All in harmony and beauty.

“When I have more money than I need, I spend it wildly — like splurging on a cup of Starbucks coffee — though I would never. I like the organic Mexican variety I get at Walmart and for six bucks I get six or seven pots…or more. What a waste Starbucks is and yet there is a queue a mile long whenever I pass it. Let’s go to lunch,” she says, “I’ll treat.”

She had a little extra money and wasn’t spending it wildly but wanted to treat her similarly-poor friend to a bean burrito, which she wanted.

“I do think I will get a new, used washing machine though, because the muscles and bones in my shoulders just won’t let me keep up with all this hand-washing.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” her friend said. “And yes, I’m up for a bean burrito, thank you.”

“I’m not going to pay for your drink though. That’s a pure waste of money and it’s poison and I just won’t buy your poison or waste that kind of money.”

As soon as she said it she regretted because it isn’t very giving to make conditions like that but she wanted her friend to keep on living. She was about the only friend she had now.

     The clear paths and beautiful flowers were waiting on someone to get better. Someone who was gloomy and sadly thinking and the stray cats were eating all the birdies. There         had been a cat that morning pouncing on the stick pile digging for a lizard.

“Hold on while I go scat a cat,” she asked her friend on the phone another day that they were talking.
“I thought you said, ‘Hold on while I go stab a cat’,” her friend exclaimed when she got back.

They had a hoot together and ended up talking the rest of the afternoon trying to see who was the most disturbed over living or to cheer each other up a little.

“Yeah, all the rich people I’ve ever known I haven’t liked,” her friend said.

They talked about the rich people that they’d known and how most of them had gotten it by ill-getting — someone else had to suffer for them to have it or they had cheated things somehow. If they had gotten it in safer ways, they were nonetheless rabidly consuming or living lifestyles that scarcely took much into consideration other than what they wanted or needed.

“Archie used to bill one of his clients twice because they were such a big company and were set up such that they never noticed and I knew of him burning down a building for the insurance. Actually he probably paid someone else to do it for him, but they were all laughing about it just the same.”

They couldn’t think of anyone they knew that they thought of as rich that had gotten it in a way that they admired — or who were spending it in any way that they could envy. They all kid themselves but somehow money corrupts and destroys — and they all end up having way more stuff than anyone could need — they agreed, and that it all looked like too much greed and then they decided that they could never be happy having more money than what they would ever really need.

“You know, people in India sitting on dirt floors with flies hovering around them all the time would think I’m a millionaire and that that bag of organic Mexican coffee was a total waste of money or a splurge. I need to stop thinking that I’m anything less than wealthy. I have no reason at all to be unhappy.”

Things are so relative and so much sadness is uncalled for. It helps a lot to have friends to talk to.

     Evenings were cooling and it wouldn’t be long before the days would be too. The paths would turn brown with rubble and dead weeds still in them but it might just be, that long before spring, the sad mood would leap out of the soul it was menacing and leave that soul to be the thing that could change things. There’s magic in dirt even when there’s no bother — things pop up routinely without trouble — though it might do better with a happy helper
     the path wasn’t likely to clear itself. 

Everyone’s just trying to leave something of value behind.

Even Broken Clocks

Well one does, forget things. The coffee in the mug was hot — so by all accounts, it had just been filled but the memory was like driving home in a drunken black-out funk — in this case though, not much could have been hurt, shuffling to the pot and back.

Things were breaking down, the house too — water seeping in from the roof, doors leaving their jams, hot or cold air creeping in through every crack and crevice with no account to fix the things — at least not everything. This or that, here or there, but most things were useless to bother with since, quite frankly, it would be better to raze the thing and just start over from the beginning.

Great Uncle Larry had made a fortune not fixing anything in or on any of the many properties that all the ladies who had liked him left him and some that he had bought himself. Uncle Larry was a gay man and old ladies seem to love gay men.

So, possibly the best way to handle things is to let the house fall down upon itself and by the time that there are too many students at the school across the street, they might want to pay a fortune just to have the land — why bother throwing money in a pit. The only thing that seems to have any value in the world at all is something that is real, like a residence estate or the land that it is on.

All other opportunities, riddled with far too much complexing — if this, if that, when this, when that, by then, if ever — suggest that one buy, buy, buy something, anything but especially, and if you want to get rich, buy something that will hold its own — whatever that might be. Some less then one percent able to and they had it rigged for their and only their surety.

The millionaire distant uncle’s own second cousin had been swindled out of all of her gold in the blink of her negligent broker’s, possibly blacked-out funky eye by some Hunt brothers pushing things into corners — all of them full members of the surety rigging team. Gambling it really is. Distant uncle didn’t gamble.

“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency..”, said Thomas Jefferson — but even broken clocks are right twice in every day and he was wrong on some accounts.

It seemed that he’d been right this time and that Americans might be doomed on the continent their father’s had conquered.

She found herself happy that, and even though sometime she wished she didn’t, she still had all her dolls and her doll’s clothes and they were all able to keep from getting too wet, too cold, too hot and that they weren’t all out in streets with no roof at all covering their real and plastic heads.

“If a country starts out in conquer mode, what should it expect?” she pondered.

If inflation and deflation and banks and corporations could work to take her things away, she would work to have nothing that they would likely want — probably not her dolls. That made her happy to think about — how to fix the fixers.

even broken clocks

We Tell Ourselves

Quiet and horrifyingly loud.
Not knowing at all but completely.
Touching but too far away to feel it.

I would have if you’d have been there.
You wanted to but you didn’t. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d let you.
Someday it wouldn’t be different, no matter how much we would want it.

It wasn’t right without being wrong.
There were far too many others
who would always have been unhappy.

We tried the best we were able to be what we never could be. It was wonderful while it lasted. I’ll miss it like never knowing.
It was all it could be without being.

I loved our time in your kitchen or wherever you keep your coffee and the bug who would have starved to death if it hadn’t have been for your caring.

I wanted to be something different. A friend if that was all that it should be.

Did the best I could to step up to the edge without falling
but stumbled and fell a little. I thought you might try to catch me, was a little bit wrong in assuming.

Goodbye darling dear. I’ll miss you.
I believe that I thought I loved you. I was pretty sure that you wished you could love me too.
It is what it always will be and all that it ever could be.

We tell ourselves what we want to hear. I wanted to hear what you had to say but for that to be what I wanted. And pretty much it exactly was and why it is so hard to let it go.

I think I’m beginning to see that I’m good at imagining.


we tell oursleves


In The Margins

Pink flowers, yellow ones too. Blue surrounding the edges with markers no eye can see to separate the space where the colors change.

Blown up to scale the knowing of which only God can, there in the other worlds, do those who dwell fit or flounder such as we?

Does this mean anything to anyone?

If it can’t be known is it real?

If it isn’t seen is it there?

Making things up is no better than quantum thinking — except for those who speak that language — who doesn’t, don’t we all? Isn’t it just a matter of tapping with psilocybin help or meditation.

She remembers reading a poem that her teacher told her was great but she couldn’t figure a word of it unless it be dissected by the class to see the meaning of. “Gnarly feet.”

She thought then that if something had to be explained it could be explained in countless ways. Context was the only true measure of meaning  — so, to understand, one had to know all the elements that had had any influence there — the time, the place, the people, words in history — meaning something altogether different in the flux, as margins shift.

“Of all the billions of people, we ‘met’!” But it’s always the case when two connect, it’s always out of billions.

He picked a bug up to take outside, “One of those bugs that look like a giant mosquito” he said “because it will die of starvation if it stays in the house.” And while he shifted getting coffee, freeing the bug and staying near his phone laid on the counter, his white shirt got spotted coffee. He wasn’t worried because he had been trained how to get coffee out or any stain for that matter — he was pro at it and had the charge of doing all their laundry.

It was fun for a minute pretending, to be coupling thoughts and searching in the margins where it can be told — that is exactly where the colors change and things or people fit or flounder.