Dog Paddling

If I close my eyes and drift for about fifteen minutes, I'm good; if I fall deep into sleep I'm off balance for the duration of the day. So, the fact that the days only allow for short bits of rest works for me.

I'm working more, which leaves me less time to ruminate. Sorry for those who are just so sick of hearing about my weary old woes. In fairness to self, my woes are plenty, and while they don't work at killing my body, they do work at killing the spirit. I do find it remarkable, as in worth mentioning, that I've developed a whole new muscle set, and I'm no longer taken to the bottom of the deep end, instead I endure the annoying dunk on occasion. I know if I hold my breath and hold still he'll grow tired and wander away until the next time.

While he has me down I take stock, ask myself how I can avoid his annoyance in the future. I come up with lists that sound so easy, yet when I consider all of the implications, the ripple effects, it requires more endurance and muscle mass than I've developed.

I've a new to do list and I'm learning the hard way that no action and action usually bring on the same unsatisfactory response, so I might as well be pro active.

Ruminate, Ruminate, Ruminate....

Will, you need stop by and kick my ass.

Will you think less of me if I take a nap...just for a spell...

Mundane daily tasks quell melodrama. Laundry gives me the opportunity to reflect on how generic my issues are in the scope of things. One of my bookshop workmates goes in for a lumpectomy February ninth. Hate and blind faith continue to kill and maim in the name of self righteousness.

We are all are living, dying, loving, hating, helping, harming, laughing and crying; all of us in our own little dust speck of ourselves, and each in our own way, we want to be significant, to be observed.

"We're here,
We're here,
We're here."

Nevertheless, I'm still struggling to accept the uncertainties that are certain to remain; warranted fears of harm and loss of property.

The property is important, I've children to raise. I've worked hard to maintain modest stability for myself and my boys. It is right to protect this hard earned shelter. I'm tired of doing it alone. I can, but I'm tired.

I"m physically beat and my heart aches from the effort to maintain its stone fences. I do not know what is honest, what is true, what I can trust, of what to let go, of what to hold tight. What is real, what is a projection of what I want, what is it that I want, what is it that I project, how do I let go and land on my feet?

The one certainty is that you do this alone.

Is it true that you can stand on your own with someone else standing alone next to you?

Can you lean toward the center and balance?

Can you take without giving too much and give without taking too much?

What is real, what is imagined?

What is right, what is wrong?

The blues are still lurking about, just hidden below the surface, but the sun is shining warming things up.

I've been so busy isolating myself, drawing curtains I lost touch with some people I value. I'm re-building, learning how we all suffer, and though it's of no comfort in the knowing, there is comfort in the comforting.

This morning I felt as if I'd broken through barriers; that I've changed in profound and positive ways. I felt like I'd bridged some gap; left my ills behind.
Most mornings start like this. Then the day wears at the edges. Oh, hell yeah, I know that I make the allowances, I know I'm to choose my perceptions.

Whatever the fuck that means.

I have changed. I'm angry, I can be mean. I'm downright surly and no team player...

a crab without a shell at the moment.

It's the things that add up to where I am, the things I should be in control of, but I don't know how to wrangle,

How do I fix the damage done by a the man who pushes me through my own door and shoves me half way up a flight of stairs spewing poison and humiliation all the way.

How do I protect myself and my children and not lose my boys' faith in me in the process. How do I move on and have a new life and bring them happily along. How do I create a positive and productive environment out of this mess. How do I own what feels far beyond my control. How do I gain some fucking control. I grasp so desperately for hand holds, yanking things that grow wild by the roots.

How do I pay the for the sins of the father;

for the daily bread
tell me my trespasses, and I'll work on forgiving them that trespass against me
explain what temptation I'm to avoid,
explain deliverance of evil
Where is the kingdom , the power and the fucking glory.
I followed this mantra, for ever, and ever.
How low be my name?
my kingdom has come,
my will undone,
where is earth if it's not good enough for heaven.

I like to teach what I don't know.

I don't pretend to know, that is for first year teachers and, well, rotten teachers.

Awe, hell, I don't know, maybe I am a rotten teacher.

maybe not.

Probably not.

It's just that there is so much to learn, and it's such fun sussing it out with friends.

The way it works is that I have a base of prior knowledge, so I share that. It usually takes place in discussions, I pull up YouTube, PowerPoint and the like, but without formal presentation. They usually don't get that I'm talking to them-each of them personally, that I'm really just wanting them to see this cool thing I found--hey, look what i found on You Tube, or a friend just sent me this e-mail with this link... or "this song makes me think of ...." I love the net. I can work on the spot, it becomes conversation, not lecture, Share and share alike. Then I start putting the kids to work, helping me to build on what I already know. I use them as my assistants, we become partners. We throw out trials, we make errors, we give it another go.

Days I teach like this are wildfire.

Then there are days like today, when I can't get focused, when I've too much weight and the synapse are not firing.

Oh, there were moments--moments when I showed clips from Jesus Son to Creative Writers so we could look at Camera work.

The worst moment of the day was when Jalen said "I love worksheets" after I handed him one because I was too lazy to teach him today.

Ironically, this was probably the best way to teach him. It's active, it's doable, it is a task completed with little thought. When he finished he was certain of his accomplishment and it was done, no need to think further about it. Punch the clock.

Wax on
Wax off

I was too lazy to run today or go to the Y. Anxious.
I'm hungry, but if I eat more... Anxious.

I don't think This is a good time to let alone the meds;
not yet.

So, I didn't get to the Gym or out to run.
I'll do a set of floor things that count.
I won't miss tomorrow.
I didn't fight or nag the boys before they went to their father's.
I did a couple loads of laundry.
I learned to play Horse feathers "Curs in the Weeds" on my guitar.
I worked at a new song that I'm struggling with.

I know someone who was thinking about me and smiling today.
He might be thinking and smiling right now.
I was thinking about him and smiling too.
I'm thinking and smiling right now.

Sometimes when I think about him my stomach does that thing that happens when you sit at the back of the school bus and ride fast down hills, or when you jump just before an elevator stops.

I like that feeling.

Filing the Protective Order

There are moments in the midst of moments that flash bright.
The first split-second luminous perfection;
bodies in motion casting beautiful shadow in candle light,
specks of brown glint in the blue of his eye;
laughter in his beautiful smile,
easy comfort in the strength of his hands.
Shoulders fall, heads roll, sighs, moans, sweet shudder;
purity and peace.

And yet, we know, It is not a charmed life I lead.
Other shoes drop, bad lifetime movies plot.
Ease made an appearance, then a disappearance in nearly the same instance.

That familiar shadow marked plague at my door;
Pounding accusations, searing threats
hurled against what is new born in me.

I move in White-blind,
grope for handholds between fast-flash; slow-motion.
The weight of what is left against what was, pushes back.
bruising the whole of what was so long lost in the deepest wells of who I am, who I want to be.

The scene, a cliche, repeats itself,
leaving cold water in my bath,
angry children echoing his poison, it drips from their boy-child lips.

Sweetness didn't run; he stayed long as he could,
he is much stronger than my humiliation.
I don't want my bed to grow still, quiet and cold.

If I am careful and cut the marionette strings that yank me this way and that,
I can focus, make out weak outlines, possibilities;
a passport on the dresser,
the next chapter marked to share,
a map of the unknown world.

That world is constant,
no matter how many times I drag this bruised ass in and out of the muck.
There will be grass huts to build, hammocks to hang, trees to climb, pies to bake and feasts of freedom.