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Odds and Ends No. 11

Where did Monday go? My last journal entry
was mid-day on Sunday. I copied and pasted
the heading and automatically changed it to

the next day, Monday. But it isn’t Monday;
it is Tuesday. What is up with this? It is
coming to me now. How different it was way

back when I started to journal in the
mid-1970s! The Army sent me from Ft. Knox
on a special temporary duty assignment to

Honeywell in Minnesota. After training, our
team field tested the system on a Reforger
deployment to Germany. Every time the

DTOC jumped, we jumped to small hotels
nearby. Everything we did at the DTOC was
documented by a Honeywell team. During

my free time, I loved to take long runs in
each town we visited. I started a running
journal and fell in love with Germany in

the process. No doubt you are wondering
where this is going. Neu-Ulm was beautiful.
Then, my diary content was happy and

upbeat. Then it changed. My stormy
marriage of one year or so got stormier.
My journal wasn’t happy anymore. Me either.

I was a runner all my years in the Army until
I came down with FMS in 1983. My lament
and negative outlook continued to fill my

journal. If there was a short entry or no entry
at all, it must have been a relatively good day.
The longer the entry, the more negative the day.

This all came to me as I opened my journal this
morning. My journal supported my negative
mindset. Things are bad and getting worse.

But wait! Monday was a good day. She and I
walked Thunderbird together for the first time in
months. I’m still in a lot of pain; my feet are killing

me. But I wanted to walk. My swollen feet fit in
my hiking boots for the first time in a while. We
were not going to miss this window of opportunity.

Wow, a good day. Part of renewing my mind is
turning things around. My thoughts on keeping a
journal need to turn around. Fact is, we had a

sweet day Monday. Breakfast together, lunch
together, walked together, talked together, Netflix
together, went to bed at the same time together.

It was a lovely day together. But my journal was
blank for Monday; a few feeble entries for today
mindful that I don’t want to be negative. I’m

looking out my home office window. The only
thing my future holds from where I sit is that I
get to go outside and bring in the trash cans.

I’ll take joy where I can get it. (I’m alive another
day.) A journal treatise on trash cans? Or blank?
Blank is where the writer didn’t write. Blank is

where thoughts didn’t make it to the page. For
me, blank is where hope and hopeless meet.

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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