Suffer fast and suffer well for it’s just the two of us as far as I can tell.
Coat burning party. January wasps. Chasing away winter. Will there be room on Mars?
An old man, uncomfortable on his death bed, lets insight slip from his lips and linger as he makes his exit. “It goes by so fast,” he said. “It goes by so fast.”
It is almost here, where dreams take over and fool the weakened and desperate mind, “the big change” is inevitable and much needed. I am not looking forward to what lies ahead and question whether I’m reading into the right signs.
My ten year crutch is no longer serving a positive purpose, but in this day and age, a substitution had better be in place. I have one in mind, but it provokes so much longing that little reminders pop up uninvited, and attempts to come clean fall to the whey side.
Today the rain came instead of snow. Our arctic blast lasted about a day and a half. The ice melted as fast as it came, and flood warnings return without skipping a beat.
What do you believe in now?
We have been beaten into submission by fear. Are we capable of change?
Gear up for the season in bloom. We need something to believe in, maybe this year will be our year. Pull away when addiction grows stronger, easier said than done, easier said than done.
The middle of the week will be my undone. Smile now, when needs are met and time is fine, but hours are passing and resources are scarce and tomorrow it will only get worse. Save a spot for me wherever that may be, get it right, get it right, get it right in spite of me. Gear up for longevity, no choice but to grow and accept what has already come to be, I’ll repeat everything I’ve already said at least a hundred more times. I’ll keep it together this time, I’ll make it work this time, I’ll make it stick this time.
I’ve given in again, no surprise in that, relaxed now and fighting off the crud that killed my Friday.
One by one, row by row, acre by acre they fall and are left behind, a constant hum of traffic – I want to run away with the coyotes and leave this place to the bulldozers. I can’t watch the final massacre.
I’m sitting here listening to Buddy Holly puppy sitting for my mom while she’s out of town for the weekend. My eight year old terrier is curled up next to me and a one year old lab mix keeps dropping slobbered toys in my lap. She’s obsessed with fetch. My terrier is more my mother’s dog than mine, but I’m second in command. The Buddy Holly album is mine. It’s his greatest hits album. I found it at Half Priced Books for five bucks. I also ran into an old boyfriend whom I didn’t even recognize until he mentioned we used to date. He asked me if I was still writing. I was amazed he remembered. It’s been almost ten years since I last saw him, Ole Blue Eyes, unrecognizable to me now.