Thirty Second

What happened to me?  What happened to the beautiful, perfect stories i used to tell?  Did i run out of them?
No, i don't think so.  I think there are many of them still waiting to get out. Still waiting for me to have the energy to tell them.

If the stories i used to tell were not perfect and beautiful I do not want to know that. To me they were perfect and beautiful. Because they are true.

To quote Kurt Vonnegut "And it's true even if it didn't happen."

Thirty First (dig it bitches!)

I am from moving and getting along and “don’t be that way.”

I am from casual cruelty and uncomfortable affection.

From military line-ups to determine who ate the cake in the freezer.

Roaming free all day through out the closed military base, which we were forbidden to enter.

Hiding in the tree house that Mr. Sloan built, covered with crude crayon drawings of male genitalia.  (I guess female genitalia were too much of an internal mystery to the artist to get depicted here.)

Burning model airplanes in the gutter when no one was looking.

Making “perfume” from flower petals and mom’s Dippity Do.  Got in trouble for that one.

Looking around to see who might be watching before swinging out over the abyss on the tire swing.  Hoping that someone would notice and comment upon how extremely high I had gotten, the highest they had ever seen.

Keeping quiet when mom was in one of her moods and needed a dark room, saving my needs for later, or preferably until I had forgotten them all together.

Hiding on the roof of the house reading books until someone removed the ladder that had been set against the house for several weeks, listening to the cicada’s rhythm of singing ebb and flow.  Knowing that I wouldn’t be spotted unless I desired to be.  Trying to ignore my desire to be spotted.

Thirtieth

I had a dream last night that i definitely didn't need to have.  Why must even my own brain betray me in my sleep?  Why is there no where i can go for relief?

Twenty Ninth

A while back i got a phone call from my mother that began like this;  "I just brought your father home from the hospital.  I thought you'd like to know."

What i would have like to have known is that my father was in the hospital at all.

Twenty Eighth

My biggest fear is that this will never be over.

Here is the truth;  i don't feel like life has any meaning unless i have a partner.  If that makes me pathetic or weak, so be it.  It is who i am.  I don't have religion or new age to comfort me, i only have my family, which i no longer have.

And i can't see myself ever getting another partner.  I am old and used up.  I no longer know, or want to know, how to play the game.  Who would want a partner that isn't going to play the mating game?  Someone who won't put up with your bullshit?

The only bullshit i will put up with is the bullshit i can't see or smell, my own.

Twenty Seventh

All throughout the day the tension builds.  The tension that comes from the anticipation of the loneliness of the coming evening.

Each activity fills up some space during the day, but each activity brings the evening’s lack of distraction closer.

Sitting on the fence, waiting for the jump that will crack open the night.  Sitting with a foolishly cheerful grin.

And, in the end, giving in to the lullaby provided by tears.  In the morning it begins again.

No night lights are allowed in the bedroom, as they are believed to be detrimental to a good night’s sleep.  The same is believed true of noise.  So there is nothing except the sweep of eyelashes on the pillow for input.  Eyelashes that should not be moving up and down, but should stay firmly shut.

Twenty Sixth (i can keep going on this until infinity)

I have long been in the habit of carrying ear plugs around in my purse.  They have saved me a few times from annoyance, and sometimes from real pain.

These are the earplugs I pulled from my purse when I took my daughter to her first rock concert.  The band was Green Day, with whom I had a passing familiarity, but about whom my daughter had unlimited passion.   I was attending this concert as an act of love, because at 12 years old, my daughter had no way to get to the venue without me.

And i had a wonderful time.  Sometimes obligation leads to new discoveries.