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Mostly Minutiae No. 24

Word wooed me for the last time;
I almost went over to the dark side.
Again! I was a master at wasting

time today of all days. I set up this;
I set up that. But by the end of the
day, I knew it was an electronic drill;

a complete waste of my time. One
of my hardest lessons has always
been and remains to be content

with what I have (Or who I am.
This EMDR, abuse thing has left me
raw for another day. Still thinking

of whom I’d rather be than me.)
I can live with Google, I guess, better
than I can live with me as I am.

We did have other plans for today.
We were going to make an
emergency plumbing run after lunch

but it has rained a deluge all day here.
Since when in Arizona? It was early
this morning. I got an I-can’t-sleep-

anymore headache. Popped out of
bed a little before 05:30. The toilet
in the hall bathroom wouldn’t flush.

No go. I took the cover off. The rod
coming off the handle was cracked.
Need a new handle and rod thing-a-

ma-bob on the day before Christmas.
The rain did it. She got sleepy so I
went back to my computer wars.

Since my immune system is at risk,
didn’t want to go out in this downpour.
The toilet will have to wait.

About three, she announced she was
going to church. I didn’t feel like going,
going there, or going out at all.

She left. I deleted stuff from the dark
side and returned to Chrome to write
this. (I could use a manicure.)

We had Joe today, but I could use
another cup of something. Too cold
and rainy! Tea, here I come!

We’ve got gifts wrapped and under the
tree. If she stops for lettuce, we might
have a BLT. If not, your guess is as

good as mine. (My nails have gotten
very long. Red? Clear? None? I said
red to see if you were listening and

I’m trying to ignore my inner child who
will not leave me alone today.) Time
to think of the Christ child and

remember it isn’t about me (or you)
tomorrow. “Merry Christmas to all and
to all a good night.”

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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