In Case My Voice is Lost in Bad Reception

Will she stay?
Will she go?
Who's to say?
No one can know?

 I hate being at someone else's mercy.

I need to be financially and emotionally independent.
If God reads blogs, I'd like to cash in my karma points
and get the ball rolling and fast.

 Read this blog, God in case my voice is lost in bad reception.

God, do it for my dogs if it can't be done for me.

To be specific, I'd like the path of least resistant from here on out.
I'd like to work somewhere where the employees and employers are
like family.

I'd like a savings account.

I'd like to earn my own income.

I'd like to have money and not because someone died.

Show me how.
Show me how.

Let it be now.

Open the door.
Usher me inside.
Let the road ahead
be a much smoother ride.

I want my own home
where my dogs are received
the 3 of us finally reprieved.

I pray.

Drop of Blood On a Blade of Grass

A drop of blood on a blade
of grass
I began to panic as
badly as the ants that scattered
shaken by it's thud
ruining their morning's labor.

I checked my nose.
I checked my head from
the branch I grazed 3 steps back.

My cheek. It was from my eye!
I wiped my hand across my face
a smear of red followed
wet iron filled my nostrils..

My heart raced causing alarm
the blood will pump faster
I will bleed more
I anticipated the end.

I wanted my mother
I prayed to God
I hugged the tree that stood near me
asking for rooted strength.

Believing that rough bark may
hold my body up
as I slip away into a paradise
even though I preferred this maudlin ball.

I bartered and swore I
would use the things I saved for better times.
I would scuff myself up proper
and not preserve myself for brittle age.

Broken glasses will be cleaned with joy
horrid weather will be embraced
every spider rescued
every mouth kissed unapologetically.

No! The plan is not to be a rake!
But to embraces sweet tides
Love this tree. Love that road.
Adore the simplest things.

Not to destroy to prove life
but garden and grow unbroken
to breathe life into birth
nurture devastation.

I can protect and serve
feed the starved souls sinking empty dollars
into careless pockets
and awaken them while waking me!

Yes! I will be a champion!
If only I can live lush and green.
Praising pioneering stairways
climbing upward eagerly.

Just let me live!

It wasn't until I looked up at the sky
to see the red rain falling that
I realized
the blood wasn't mine.

Soaked in cloudy tears, mine and it's
I stumbled back home
and with the closing of my front door
hope my promises aren't lost
with the lock of the door.

Anywhere else or bust

I've got no place to go.
She's got no place to go
so we stay home and drive each other crazy.

I want to go out-venture, but with a purpose.
I need a game plan for my life.
For our relationship
else we're doomed.

New York City provided us with our own autonomy.
L.A is isolating-lonely.
I'm looking for that click.

I've hit a wall and, ironically,
this town is forcing me to face myself.
Lots of alone time and now
I'm sick of me,
and tired before I even start
of all the things I need to do.

Where to begin?
I don't know
And now time has clamped
onto my ass with a lock jaw grip.

The dog loves me though.

Anywhere else or bust.

To Actually Live Before I Die

Time and mortality are the great levelers of life. It makes us all the same height when it strikes us. We all bend.  But then there are those who, metaphorically, slam their foot on the gas pedal and head, unyielding, maniacally towards their demise without the slightest glimpse at self preservation.
Jim Morrison comes to mind. He danced near the veil that separates life and death and courted the idea of crossing over. Of course, he was a man. He laughed, he loved and thought deeply. The only difference was that he was beautiful and in the public eye. In view of all who knew him or wanted to know him, he dove off of his life and into a casket-soul released and dancing.
We eventually will be alive a hell of a lot longer that we can ever live, and unless one is in a desperate situation that cannot be turned, why not live?
I was terrified of death. Then I lost my grandmother. We were extremely close and now she’s carried on. Of course, I started questioning my own mortality, the wasted minutes that I’ve spent. I’ll still avoid dying like the way a cat avoids a bath, accept now I know that when it does happen, I’ll be okay. Now, I would like to shelve the dying part. The gruesome fettering away of the mind and body, while the spirit fights to be buoyant in a withered, weighty vessel. I don’t want to go out by human stupidity-an oops moment. That would suck.
So now I want to really live. I’m not sure if I’m having a midlife crisis, I’m in mourning, I’m finally getting the big picture or all of the above. Whatever it is, I intend to do the opposite as Morrison or Belushi or any other revered person who went too fast and by their own recklessness.
I suppose there’s something to being too cautious. I seek balance. I seek the thrill that I felt in my younger days with the experience that I’ve collected up until now. I’m not going to say that I’m wise. My bank account is near empty, I have no job and I’m auditioning at almost 40 years old. But it’s the gamble that I’ve decided to take. This is me insanely jumping into waters with a depth that I’m unsure of.
Can this be the beginning of the proper steps that lead me to eat cat food in an 8×10 room of a condemned building? I seriously don’t think so. I have no children to carry on my legacy so it’ll have to be my art-my acting, my writing, my voice. It’ll be what is. That is my calling. I encourage you to follow yours because soon enough the curtain will drop, and don’t you want a standing ovation for your performance? I sure the fuck do.

I thought it was an earthquake but it was actually my BrAiN

I don't like sleeping because of those moments when I prank myself, in a way. There's nothing like feeling vulnerable in your sleep and then suddenly (this is one type of example) I feel rumbling. My first thoughts are that it's an earthquake. I open my eyes groggily and the rumble continues. Only, it's not real. It's coming from behind my eyes. I feel my eyes, my head doing a rocky roll. Five more seconds pass and I become fully awake.

I grab my phone to check for earthquakes. No earthquakes. It was one of my tumultuous dreams. My heart pounds and I feel like I've been messed with. It really takes the joy of sleep away from me, and yet, I cannot function unless I have a minimum of 7 hours, so I have to sleep. So wrong!

At least the sleep walking has stopped.

Night terrors usually end with childhood. I guess my childhood is not over yet.

I really struggle with my magic brain.

I can create. The more it flowed, the more the back lash grew, and so I attempted to suppress it,
and only became a shell. So I've begun again, this time silently. Careful. Tip toeing even though I can feel that uneasiness.

It's pretty cut and dry. I know what I need to do. Create and face it. Luke Skywalker had his failure in the cave. This one was mine, and now it's time to succeed by at least confronting this thing. Whether it's here to stay is anyone's guess.

It's as though I'm missing a valuable lesson in all of this.

I don't seek answers because I know there are none. I simply want the cranial earthquakes to stop. The terror. The darkness. I want it to be a memory. Then I can enjoy sleep.

In the meantime, keeping it weird and making the most of it.

Forgive then Walk Away

I got my heart broken today. By two family members. Actually, one bumped me down from "family" to "relative" and said everything was my fault. The other one was trying to be top dog with me over something completely insignificant. He got personal, and I cut him down. These two then got on the phone and discussed the problem of me. Wow.

To blame an entire incident on someone is astounding to me. But I guess we do that in war every day.
If family, I mean relatives can't get along then how do we expect the world to?

I'm sad that I have to say goodbye to them. Both situations were the big sign to me that it's time to move on. Forgive and move on. I will silently mourn these deaths. I may see them again, and only out of courtesy will I acknowledge them.

What do you do when your portrayed as a bad guy, and in your heart you know you're not a bad guy. People commit some awful things in this family and are forgiven. I make first time mistakes and I am shunned.

I was always taught to forgive-kiss and make up as soon as you can because ya never know what can happen. That extra day of animosity might be someone's last day and then what?

Not everyone knows how not to fight. Not everyone knows how to forgive. Do I feel bad for their childhoods? Do I take pity on them? Or do I just feel this out, heal and carry on?

Honestly, I do have a temper. But I can count on one hand all the altercations that I have had in my entire life-including the school yard. Those two don't have enough fingers and toes to cover one decade. They know how to hold a grudge, drown out reason and vilify. They know how to avoid taking any responsibility.

Neither of them realize how much I held back. The first one didn't want to hear the truth, let gossip spread (she was the source) and garnered allies who retaliated against me. Today she went above and beyond what was necessary. The calmer I got to bring the situation down a bit, the louder she would go, blowing straight past the rafters. Hurtful words, but it's my fault that she said them, according to her. The second one didn't like that I playfully corrected him on semantics and thought he could call me crazy, old, out of the loop in return. It made as much sense as telling someone how to spell something nicely and then getting your ass kicked by that person so that he could show his friends how awesome he is. He did try to humiliate me publicly. That blew my mind, so out of anger, I let him have it.

My question in both cases is WHY? Why light the fuse and then behave in a surprised manner when the stick of dynamite at the end of said fuse blows up then blame the dynamite for any scrapes you may have? It's the matches fault for wanting to be lit. It's the dynamite's fault for working.

Why the lack of responsibility?

My head hurts. My heart hurts. My stomach is in knots. I don't exactly enjoy this. I'm tired. How do people thrive on this. It feels like a cancer, and I desperately want it out of me. The only logical thing is to cut out the cancer. They are not cancer. They are human beings doing the best they can. The situation became cancer. To avoid cancer, one avoids a tanning bed, too much sun, cigarettes, Splenda... So I know what I need to avoid. I ache as I write this, and I blog it because even if no one reads this, I know I've put this out there and, now I have to commit to what I'm saying. This could be seen the other way around, too. I'm bad for them. So now it's over.

I'm grateful for the people in my life who would never be in this scenario with me to begin with. Who love me even if I use the wrong word. Who understand that I am also doing the best I can. Who would never hurt me, betray me then behave as though it was all me. Who love me even when I'm unlovable. I've got a lot of those people, and I love them in kind. I love. I even love those two. I really wish them the best. Truly. But we are now strangers.

I made mistakes. I'm paying for them. I'm walking away, and I hope the sun comes with me.

Waiting for the Day That is Here

The last few years I've felt more awkward talking to people face to face, but I guess that's what sobriety does to you. I'm suddenly that only child that's thrusted into a classroom with PEOPLE. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking down the elderly and stepping on children. You can't see it. I just feel it. That slight suspicion that I'm not like the other children. I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way. Far from it. We all have that one thing that makes us different. And I'm not insecure about it. Fuck no! The weird thing is that I am not insecure. Me. Overweight in a bulimic or anorexic town-older than everyone these days, everyone who is chasing the dream that I've encountered, anyway.

My one thing that makes me different is that I can feel what you feel. And I don't play that game where someone tries to make me guess what they're feeling. This isn't a carnival, and I'm not the tweeked out carny who is going to try to guess your weight, fuck you for even entertaining the thought. I pick up on emotions. It gives me the gift and curse of empathy. It strikes me to the core. I used to block it with my party habits, but now I have to face the feeling.

As of the past year and a half I've become a bone yard skulker. It started out as a hunt to find celebrity grave sites, but now I go there to be in peace. Though, I don't think it'll be where I end up when I pass. I have different spots that I like to go to. I respect the body that's there. As any occupant of space, they may come and check things out from time to time, so I am sure to thank them for letting me hang out there. My hobby may sound eccentric, but it's nothing more than me being able to be outside without dealing with frenetic people in make believe situations, trying to pin time under their thumbs in their best clothes and cleanest, sleekest cars. The truth is, I don't want to compete. None of that stuff has ever felt important to me. I'm no fool, I would love a fine income and the choice to choose between this showroom car or that one, but I want to do it in a t-shirt and jeans. I want to pay for things quietly. If my face is recognized because of my endeavors, then I'll deal with that, but my times of wicked debauchery are behind me, and my day to day is benign, so I doubt if any voyeurs will take any interest in me outside of my work.

I wait for the day when this sensitive, maybe old soul, but new at life human, will achieve the things I set out to do in spite of the crooked roads and temptation, the hucksters and misers. Then I can make my backyard into that peaceful place sans bones and tombstones. I'll have hallways and rooms-a lush den-that is free of the poor cats that I find myself allergic, too.

My oddities, that which sets me apart will finally blossom. I've waited long enough. Patience is virtuous, but for a long time, she's been a whore in my house. I want to see the other side of her, the virtue. The side where we embrace and I softly tell her, "thank you". I want to be the woman to tell people to be patient and mean it. To open my arms and say, "I'm proof that things will prevail. You can, too!"

I'm ready to receive my fortunes. I can handle it now. I have love, now I need the house to place it in, keep it warm, fed and creative. Now.