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wifey | i dont want to write

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My spouse, yes spouse, has gone to bring me my meds, yes meds; zoloft, amitriptylin; melatonin & diphenhydramine tossed in to top them off.

“In the mornings he takes HTN and cholesterol meds, topped with aspirin. We’re old now. We were just starting to age when we met, I think. I remember looking in the odd full length, more or less 10″ x 10″ gold marbled hideous mirror plates, and thinking, It’s sure too bad I couldn’t use this on somebody before it goes bad. I have image issues. I just turned 53. 53. 53. 53. 53 – I think I’m still a late bloomer.”

I don’t write because I write shit. I want to like what I write – to feel the catharsis. Perhaps it’s actually a rush. Always the one to want to experience and feel.

I’m so constipated. My fingers are itching but receive no urge. I can only seem to write on an urge (I need the urge to write). I can’t coax it. NayNay. What kind of name is that? What world is this I’m living in. “Where I am?” (Dennis Jaennette). Now my spouse is a writer. If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d have had his book out there way before now. I feel like such a loser sometimes. I’m cyclothymic. yes, Cylothymic. Diagnosed. Unbelievable the effect chemicals can have on an individuals life. Unbelievable I can be so self absorbed. I’m ashamed of that. I wish I could dig that shame out of my past, look at it and toss it away; or butt stub it out; just do whatever I need to do to move on. To progress. (To grab the hair and rip the roots right out of the scalp (LPJ)

I found at one point in my life that I no longer had the option of bearing a child. I have resentment and guilt to deal with over 5, yes 5, abortions. The first at 16 (by my first guy – 21 when I was 15)(got busted on the winding streets above Linda Vista, still wild, van full of contraband (M80s)(probably pot and who can remember what else? I mean, crimany, we’re talking almost 40 years ago). I have to remember there are people who are crazier, much, than me. I wish I would pray more for those whose lives are lived incomprehensibly – beaten, desperate, raped, Dear God rape used as a weapon (though I bet it’s happened all along to some extent in every war or conflict) exploited, sick, hungry, doomed. There’s no excuse.

No excuse for no compassion with all that we have. Somebody said there’s enough to go around for everybody but not enough no to. Or something like that. I feel such inertia. What is it I’m supposed to be doing? Certainly not nothing!!! But what exactly? To be. To be Taoist. Pooh. Dennis. Innocence. Harmony. But I rarely feel harmony. Why can’t our culture be based on encouraging harmony and honesty and trust and care and…

Lou keeps yelling, “food!!” He says, “You know you’d feel better about everything if you just grilled me up some chicken??” Ya, that way with words of his. He’s a natural. Leads a truly unbelievable but charmed life. Enjoys people (usually). I hate them mostly. Yes, I’m one of “them”. A hater. A bumper sticker: “Yes, I’m one of them” with a “Christian” symbol on the back window. I hate them. But I am a believer. A terrible example of one I readily admit. But I pray for sincerity and God’s goodness to be manifest through me. I can feel it when It is. Nothing like it.

That rush thing again.

I’m glad Lou has a short memory. But that does tend to make him a starter, rather than a finisher. But I like to finish lots of stuff, do the detail, tiding up stuff. Where was I? Other than stoned…

He lets me burn off his skin tags now. Like I’ve always done. He pointed out the other day how furry my face is getting.

That age thing again.

Other than being over menopause, I can’t say much for it other than I hope to one day gain a lot better perspective on life than I have now. I’m ambitious.

I have no complaint what-so-ever coming. How dare I take offense at anything, or cry about anything? After all, relatively speaking, I’m right up near the top of the food chain, way more have I than most. It’s disgusting. I’d love to be nomadic and drag my tee pee and stuff behind my second horse, and just move around appropriately, in a less populated time.

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