The next 50 years

No, not because it's ugly.  I don't care about that.   I'm not embarassed or ashamed, why should I be?  It's not a punishment for bad behaviour so why shame? No, I hate it because it's a bag full of shit dangling off my belly.  that alone I suppose I could learn to live with if I could ignore it for a moment of the day.  I hate it for the following variety of reasons. It stinks.  I don't care that the pros insist they don't stink, it does.  It's faint and I doubt anyone else notices it, but I do. It always stinks, sometimes worse. It runs when I try and sleep.  Oh yes, if I try to sleep at night or trying to nap, that thing will start putting out poop, guaranteed. Now you'll be saying "oh, so what, let it run."  Yeah, uh huh.  See, it does run and it doesn't work as advertised. Nope, the poop comes out, clings to the lump of obscene red flesh that is my "stoma" and piles up against it, contained by the plastic ring of my co...

It's going to be hard and I may fail, but I'm going to try and fast again, indefinitely.  I can't get irrigation to work and I can't live with this colostomy if it's going to keep spitting poo at only the worst possible times. It robs me of sleep, distracts when I'm driving on the freeway and spoils my meals. What have I been doing since the last post?  Well I've been working on the bus periodically. I have long stretches when I can't get anything done because I can't figure out how or because other tasks interfere like buying groceries or cleaning the house. it's come along a bit but I'm feeling pretty hopeless right now. I may get the bus done. I might power through not knowing how to do the electricals or not knowing how to build the storage. Maybe I'll miraculously make the smart car ramp and door. but I won't get it out of the yard I'm sure. Ok, well maybe I'll manage to dig up the fence and drive out and maybe block the...

I knew she was a bitch, just didn't understand how badly she was.   I'm doing my social duty, volunteering my time and back ache to help a solo mother. She's working and raising a child.  She's doing pretty damn good with it, has a home she bought, it's furnished, and they eat quality food.  She manages to find time for socializing and trips home to the family or to festivals.  So all in all, she's doing better than my married mother was raising us. But she's complaining about how she can't clean her home well enough. Hey, I can relate, I like a clean home.  hers is easy to do because she's not as dirty as most modern humans.  That's not to say it didn't need cleaning. So I volunteered to help out once a month.  I've done it before, when she was sick. Both times she wants to yap at me and so I oblige although this is more work than house cleaning for me.  Well she starts in about how hard it is to raise a toddler.  Again.  And again. I ...

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. ...