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. ...

Sorry to let this lapse so long!  We've had the bus in our back yard 2 weeks and at first things moved FAST but then it slowed right down. Between weather issues and my own body being weak and miserable, I haven't been able to do much myself. My hands tingle when I use them or when they get cold.  My feet tingle when I use them or when they get cold.  Because of all this pain I hunch too much and my back aches.  When I sit still to relieve myself of the pain, I get super stiff and moving becomes blindingly painful.  All this keeps me tired.  I'm working on remembering posture.  I'm putting on gloves more often and choosing foot wear with some cushion to it.  I'm smoking hash to help keep the discomfort from the forefront of my mind.  I work on things that take long slow quiet work instead of hard elbow grease.  Like weaving the blanket I'm working on: Or the hooked fringe I'm putting on Timmy's alpaca knitted fashion suit: I...

I went to a birthday party at a bar last night.  Talking away, realizing I'm talking too much, trying hard to get it right. The person I'm talking to comments that I dominate the conversation and it's not really that fun for her to talk to me while I do that.  Then she went out for a smoke and I sat and tried to stem the flow of tears and the urge to flee.  When she returned I think I did better but I still felt immense self loathing.  It's why I don't have enough friends, after all.   I just can't help it. I try so hard but keep failing. I got work done in the yard yesterday, moved kayaks and rocks and things.  It's getting closer to ready for the bus.  I found a generator at a pawn shop for $400.  I was relieved to learn I'd bought a good one as I was going purely on instinct when I bought it. My instincts said it was good, and there wasn't time before closeup to do any proper research. I was worried if I didn't jump on it the opportunity woul...

I haven't felt this much jealousy of other people since my 20s. It's a constant niggling pop up like mice in the garage or weeds in the lawn.  I see them living normal lives, pursuing satisfying endeavours, having successes and friends and experiences and I just want to scream in rage and self pity. Oh part of this is just the nerve damage.  I'm being bogged down energy-wise.  My brain isn't firing on all cylinders, and my nerves are full of static.  That too pisses me off. I'm mad about the colostomy.  I'm mad about regaining all that weight. I'm mad I still have these goddamn breasts and probably can't get them taken off and they're so annoying. Annoying, you ask?  Ok, so they're hot, always hot. They're obscene. You know they are. I can't just post a picture of them  no matter how well formed they may be.  They could be the prettiest tits god ever dropped on a chest (they aren't) and they'd still be classed as obscene, right...