Mostly Minutiae No. 17


It is late and the page is blank, but
my mind is far from blank. It is just
that I can’t write about it.

If I think about it, my thoughts turn
dark. I don’t want to go there
anymore. It will end soon.

Better that I write about coffee.
Saturday. We had Joe. Mild,
milky, and sweet for me. A cup
of coffee shouldn’t sound sexual,
but it has been a raw week and
a raw day. I’m feeling raw.

Probably the EMDR. I had a sense
of loss over the years, but the loss
was greater than that I knew.

(Poor kid. We are doing the best
we can.)

Not sure why but as I got out of
bed, I said, “Oatmeal.” I decided
on oatmeal this morning. Another
poor decision. Coffee was good.

Oatmeal threw my whole day
off. It was massage day. Helped.
But I feel like a record playing at
the wrong speed. My mind is at
thirty-three and a third. Slower.

If I’m cutting back on salt, why
did I make a hard salami sandwich
for lunch? I cut up four radishes on
the side. Juicy, not hot. Dijon and
provolone. Read my Michener book.

I needed tea. Hot tea. I was chilled.
Taylor’s English Breakfast did the
trick. Again, milky and sweet for me.

(I’m spent.)

I have to end here without a real end.
Like I said, everything is raw, so raw.
Abuse cheated me of everything.

This came to mind, what God said
through his prophet Joel: “So I will
restore to you the years that the
swarming locust has eaten…”

There is hope in every dark place.
Only God can restore my soul.

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