Eating Taco Salad (loosely based on Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat)

its 2 in the morning
the middle of july
i'm writing you now
just to pretend to ask why

i'm eating my taco, spreading
the lettuce, wanting to say
that i know why you let us
drift on
to that place
in the nether
you're living for everyting now
i hope you're keeping some kind
of journal

and she came by with a smile
and a bod, you all balding and fat,
still enough to attract

send her my regards

Ha ha

Trying to go to bed

She throws a pad away in the bathroom
garbage and forgets to close the door.
I only know this when I pull the sheets
back to go to bed. The dog has dragged
her pain into my life, once again.

Banish dog to crate. Self-talk about what needs
to be said. Make an effort at 1 a.m. to lie
down. Question tomorrow: (which is today):
train new coworker, enter data, empower
client, empower family, wait for son to return
from concert, think about last night's dreams.

Who lies down easily? Who sleeps through the
night? How and what.

My ankle turns easily to the right as I think.

Mourning Dove


Mourning Dove Plumage

Yesterday morning

I woke up remembering a kiss. Remembering
what it felt like to lose yourself in a kiss. Remembering
how just that one kiss changed my entire life.

A few days ago, a mourning dove was standing
in the middle of 41 A. Birds do that sometimes. Birds
other than scavengers. She was standing there, slowly
walking in that herky-jerky way birds walk, to the
southern shoulder of the road. I thought she would
just fly over me, but she flew right into the grill of my
car. Feathers rained over me for a few miles. I drove
to Kroger but refused to look at the front of my car.

Then I drove to the liquor store where this most
beautiful young man works. He reminds me of a
young Bob Dylan. The hair, the nose (though his is
a much nicer nose than Dylan's and his hair is light
brown). He's taller though. He's gentle and seems
somewhat delicate, he laughs easily, he listens intently,
he appears to be genuinely interested in what I have
to say. He asks me questions about how to cook
certain dishes, what music I listen to, who I like to
read. He tells me he's grilling portabellas and wants
to know what wine would go well with that. He tells
me he and his girl go kayaking. He has this bemused
look at times. His arms are muscular, his body lean.
He is one of the few people I look forward to seeing
every week, though he's soon to be gone. Almost
out of school. On to bigger things. I don't even
know his name.

The young man at the liquor store walked out with me
and pulled the bird's nearly intact body from the grill. He
then reached in with his fingers and removed bloody
bird parts. The whole scene made me love him more,
this young man. If I was twenty five years younger
and single, I'd most likely have kissed him that way.
The way that kiss was so many years ago. That kiss.
Yes. The one which changes everything. Never been
kissed like that since. Though I have kissed through
many years of my life.

I felt old and sad and confused when she flew into the grill.
I think she killed herself. Maybe her partner had been killed.
Maybe she was sick and needed to be released. Maybe I am
to feel blessed that she chose me, and that I, in turn, chose him
to touch her still nearly perfect body.

I wonder some days if I shall ever be able to feel passion
the way I once did. I wonder some days if it wasn't to my
advantage to live with mania. It drove me. It kept me
on the edge. It kept me wondering. I am just simply tired
all of the time now. Not much room for passion. Real
life is intense but devoid of passion.

Had to hospitalize A. Mother-in-law broke her arm and
was hospitalized for 5 days. Trying to help her out, too.
A. was discharged Monday, so I brought her home after
I got off work. She's gone for the weekend, and I hoped
that would help her and help me, but there was to be no
R&R for me. J. calls telling me that A. calls her telling her
things which are red flags for J. I lost it. I said Why don't
you call L. and ask her what the hell is up? Intense. The
intensity is sucking the life outta me.

It's been raining throughout the night and morning.
Not raining now. Perfect weather for weeding. I need
to weed. I need weed. Weeds. I need to feel them
reluctantly untether themselves from the earth as I pull
them out. I need to feel their resilience.

Sometimes I get this idea that each time I pull a weed,
it laughs. It knows. I can come out year after year after
year and pull away, but I'm never going to win. There is
something in that losing which is healing and uplifting
to me.

To Do

brush teeth
wash face
do dishes
mop kitchen floor
do laundry
mow yard
plant the speedwell before it dies
shower
cook
do it all over again
and again
again

May just lie in bed and read--too hot to do anything outside.
It was 95 yesterday with a 105 heat index.

Let's see--lots of stress this week. A. is up and down.
I don't want to be making any kind of diagnosis, but
she is going through some definite rapid-cycling.
I can't think this would still be from the drug.

I love her and want her here, but she and Wes are not
getting along and she really doesn't like Molly at all!
Every time Molly barks, A. looks like she's going
to jump out of her skin. I think she's making Molly
a nervous wreck. Molly's definitely not behaving
like herself (not eating her breakfast 1/2 the time,
looking mopey). But what can I do? I am trying hard
to be here for everyone, but I'm getting stretched
rather thin. Thank goodness for the good days and
moments when things are on an even keel and we're
just quietly all hanging out together or we're playing
a game or having a nice meal.

Speaking of having a nice meal, something weird is
going on with me. I f****ing don't even want to cook
anymore. I was so digging creating new dishes or
finding old favorites in the recipe books or reading
new recipes and trying them. My shelves are lined
with recipe books, but my heart isn't in it. Matter of
fact, I don't even want to eat many days. Eat I do
though, and drink. Mostly drink lots at night and just
let the liquor take me away. I did teach A. how to
make tortellini soup last night. It was good, and she's
thrilled to know how to make it. Tonight something
very basic like a ginger-glazed chicken, some fresh
corn, broccoli, herbed new potatoes, but I could really
care less.

Sister lost her house. F***ing Obama plan is nothing
but hype. Any reader of this tripe who so chooses should
go review the website and read some of the testimonials.

Here's one that really gets me:

http://makinghomeaffordable.gov/example_modification.html

The chick in the example brings in $4,200.00 a month. Holy
crap! And she can't make ends meet on that? That's ludicrous!

It appears this is another one of those plans for people with money
who live beyond their means. I know my sister has worked
hard all of her life, not lived beyond her means, currently works
2-3 jobs to make sure she can pay her bills, but is she going
to get any help? Nope. She lost her job in Nov. and is now bringing
in only about 1/3 of what she once brought home, but can't they
work with her for five years to give her time to hopefully find
a better job or for the market to improve so she can sell the house
and actually have some money left after paying off the loan,
or enough time to find a better job and be able to continue to keep
her house.

But, it's a done deal. They (the infamous they) said no.

So, I have to figure out when I can get to Fl to help her
transport her art here. Most likely, she will rent a U-Haul
there and bring the work here and I'll take her back.

Much to consider.

Time to go brush my teeth. Crashed last night without doing
that and they feel really gross. Yuck.

Purpose

In the last week, two or three of my clients
told me during their initial assessment that they
just feel there is no purpose to their lives.
One of them is in her mid 40s--the others in their
50s. All presented with anhedonia and dysphoria,
all had suffered losses in the last 2-3 years, all had
grown children, each expressed a prior interest
in a variety fo things--gardening, art, reading--
which no longer exists. For as dysphoric as each
of them was, it gives me hope to know they reached
out for help.

So, I am thinking about purpose. What is my purpose?
Does it matter? How much? Will I be one of those
people who thinks I can never be the person I want
to be, who thinks of myself in utilitarian terms, who
lives the rest of my life on the outside looking in?

I don't know. It goes back to the old question:
What do you want to be when you grow up?
The question was not What do you want to do?
Be. Key word.

Today, I "be" lazing. Slept until 10:30. Eating a
light breakfast. Going to have lunch later with a
friend. Then I need to clean this mess up.

Email from Lauren. She was sick all night with severe
vomitting and diarrhea. That's bad enough when you're
in your own home, but when you're in Costa Rica in a
hostel room you're sharing with your boyfriend and
brother, that's real bad! She says she feels better
this morning. I sure hope the worst of it has passed.