The next 50 years

This song showed up in a carol burnette melody. so I looked it up and discovered our favorite white boy bee gees just copied a black guy, Al Green.  Sheesh. There was way too much of that. Well Al's soulful rendition broke me down into tears and I realized, I'm married to the man who broke my heart.  Broke it so good I don't know or want to know how to love again. But still married because of economics. So I'm working on the bus. It's causing me grief because Dan likes to walk in and start a fight about anything he can, start an old argument back up.  It'll be like 'what if we do it this way" and I respond "must we start that over again? we already did this last week!" then it's the old "you never listen to me" bullshit which really means "you're not amazed enough with my brilliance." Then Ray, he's an old frenemy from way back, he's over on Wednesday to help put a ceiling panel up. Takes three fucking hour...

Exceptions Perceptions rules and fools. I'm always the exception to every rule. I don't want to be, it's just part of me. I have an opinion, but not an asshole. I have a part, but not a role. You can try to quit, to make hasty exit. Only to find that, again, you're the exception. You can make life worse but not kill the life force. I love to work hard but didn't get dealt the worker card. I stand short, I walk tall. I'm shy but act bold.  I'm quiet but look loud. They call me strong, I've felt weak for so long. You can try to fit, to connect a bit. But feel alone however far you've gone. You can't draw them near, but you can send them far. The more sane you become, the crazier you feel yet. I love myself, man, I just don't think anyone else can. I have confidence I can do it, but think you won't let me to it.

I was in hell for a while before I knew it.  I'd travelled quite a distance but not gotten through it. I stared at the others who journeyed there, faces tired and worn with care. Angels of mercy, delivering pain, smile, apologize, jab it again.  Hell is populated with innocents and saints, all stuck in like flies in paint. I told myself i was on TV, some scifi show that didn't star me.  As an extra I played my part, laying on machines like engineer's art. The soundtrack made by IV pumps is the perfect song when you're down in the dumps. I smile and cry and wonder why.  Why so many of us here in hell? Why so many of us so unwell? I feel ashamed of my full head of hear to see so many bald women there. I used to feel so sure I knew the cause and I had the cure. Now others tried to put their ideas in my head on how I could best crawl out of my bed. I spent my days in a drug filled haze wondering, is this the new me? Is this how my life will be? Am I a lucky one, will I b...

When I first began, I wanted the wonder.  Then as I began to see it, I wanted recognition. I wanted the respect and deference people give to wise ones.  I never could have it because as a self-taught and a woman, I am not deserving in the eyes of others.  I thought one day the stamp of wisdom would be deep enough on me that others would see it and I'd get that deference.  But as I grow wiser I begin to lose interest in it. I begin in fact to want not to want it at all.  To be content as nothing more than a mouse in a crack.  For years I've known I'm a mouse, that it is my nature to always be disrespected, disregarded, unseen at best, and occasionally found endearing. Like mice are. I begin now to see that the admiration, respect, or deference of others is not a good thing for me. For anyone.  It justifies the ego beyond that of having self confidence to haveing self entitlement.  Ego is a weakness, a chink in the armour, a source of suffering. ...